Dancing On My Own

These words feel huge.

Like I’m a tiny spec trying to hold something enormous; probably only visible to me.


When I’m sad I can’t tolerate the complication that is you

I can’t contemplate it.

When I’m happy, when work and family and the rest of life is going well, I can tolerate it. I can see you and not wonder what the deficit is. Not wonder what this is, not wonder why I let myself be pulled ever further towards drowning, sure why would I? Don’t I think I can swim.

I can’t swim



But in actuality, I am the definition of that Robyn song; I’m in the corner watching you kiss her…

I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re taking home…


I keep dancing on my own.




The lust of my life got married last month. Not to me, I might point out. And I was struggling to reconcile how I felt about it. I still don’t know, but I love this song, it makes me happy because at least Robyn knows, she gets it. 

Here it is, if you’ve been living under a rock and don’t know it:

Super Amazing Robyn Track

And that white boy, bleeding heart, cover can get fucked.

Sex and Your Career – where’s the line?

I know I told you all about the last time I had sex during work hours – that was great. But this is more the figurative sense; when is it ok for your sex life to cross over into your work realm. Or is it ever?


I got a LinkedIn ‘connection’ request from an old beau this week. We ceased contact over 2 years ago. And it ended civilly but not well. There has been absolutely no contact since, which to be honest I was a bit surprised about. I had held some notions that he would see the error of his ways and duly get in touch to express his contrition. Alas and thankfully, he did not. More on that anon.


So Monday morning I see a message from yet another name I don’t know ..but hold up, I do. I vaguely recognise the person’s name then who the company is! I know them too. It takes a good two minutes before I figure out it’s him (his pic is not that flattering or fair to how he actually looks)

But I have no idea what’s going on. Why would he contact me like this? What did he hope to achieve? And then I got annoyed because this really isn’t appropriate. There are only 3 reasons I can think of, why he would try to contact me on a career social media platform:

He was drunk & for some reason updating his profile

He has deleted my number but is super desperate to find me

He is genuinely trying to connect with me (because of who I work for) & thinks this is ok


1.                  He was drunk & for some reason updating his profile

I’m not sure about you guys but hitting up LinkedIn when I’ve had a few is not top of my things to do when I’m drunk and bored. Texting exes, check. Trolling Twitter, convincing my mates to give me a boob pic for Twitter, saying wildly inappropriate things on Twitter; check, check and extra check. But somehow, even for him, I doubt this was the case. I think this is low on the possibilities.

0.5 out of 10


2.                  He has deleted my number but is super desperate to find me

Again I think we might have to also add the caveat of ‘With or without alcohol’ to this. Cos either are plausible. OK, so I’m not that easy to find. Or real me isn’t. I’m not on social media and because I’m not an old person you can’t look me up in the phone book. So, if by some weird turn of fate he was trying to get back in touch…. This might be the only way?

But honestly, would anyone do that? I really doubt it. 2 out of 10

BUT would a drunk person do that… much more likely.

4 out of 10


3.                  He is genuinely trying to connect with me because of who I work for

This was the last thing that I considered, and only because someone on Twitter suggested it. I spend so much time feeling like a dope that I never consider myself a networking possibility for someone else.

Maybe he genuinely thought it would be a way to get an introduction to my company? Not in the area I work in, but given our respective positions, I would certainly know who he should talk to. Was he looking for those names? Did he think I would give him some introductions?

Oh God. The audacity.

I still can’t believe that someone would have the neck to contact an ex-lover looking for a favour in a business sense. Maybe a beau that they still looked on favourably, or one that it ended well with ….?

Would you do it?

I wouldn’t but I fear the plausibility here is nearing 5.5 out of 10



Where are the juicy details

I feel I should give you a brief run-down of our short lived dalliance and why I am so utterly opposed to helping this guy out. There are two sides to every story but who gives a shit you’re well aware that this is my side.

Our time together ended one Saturday morning after breakfast when he said ‘This isn’t a relationship Abbi, that’s not what this is. I’m not looking for a relationship. I have to focus on my career right now’. (I did not make that up)

For some additional background; we’d been seeing each other for a bit. Proper dates, dinner, theatre, drinks, brunch. I’d met some of his friends, he’d met some of mine. On the morning of the above statements he had brought me to a 5km race I had agreed to do with work, waited for me and brought me home again. And in case you need me to spell that out – I was happy to run the risk of him possibly meeting my colleagues and or boss. Happy because I thought we were seeing each other.

I’m not sure where I got this crazy notion that we were seeing each other. Yup, I fabricated it. In my crazy lady mind.


Add to that the fact that we had not had sex. So I’m not sure what he thought it was but it certainly wasn’t fuck buddies cos I think you have to fuck for that to be the case. (open to correction on this?)


To row back a bit

There was of course a reason why we hadn’t. We had, I thought, agreed that we were exclusive and as he wasn’t proving great with condoms and I was on the pill, we agreed to both get tested. I was tested he had to wait for an appointment and then wait again for the results. In the interim we’d been having a great time. And I thought we had loads in common; dark sense of humour, low tolerance for eejits, hatred of weddings, similar familial background. On paper it was perfect.


To say I was upset when he told me it wasn’t a relationship would be disingenuous because I really wasn’t. I was furious. Furious that he thought I would hold him back in his career, furious that he thought I wanted more than what we already did. Furious that I had waited WEEKS for his cock and was now not getting it.

But mostly furious that he didn’t think I was worth going out with. HOW FUCKING DARE HE! If he wasn’t sure about my worth then I was certainly assured of his and it was getting precisely zero more of my time.



And now?

I don’t think anyone would claim that there was any cordiality owed to him. While I’m well past what happened, I would be disinclined to acquiesce to assisting him.

It’s so funny how I was so initially convinced that he would get in touch, that he would realise how fucking awesome I was ….. but he didn’t. He spend so much time telling me how much he hated being single that I was sure he would miss  me and get back in touch. But weeks passed and I got over it and deleted his number.



But the truth is, much like his statement that fateful morning, I don’t understand and have no idea why he would try to connect with me now. But I do feel it’s wholly inappropriate. I don’t and never did know him in a professional capacity and I don’t think it’s right that anyone should cross that line and expect a warm reception. Work and private life are delicate eco systems that shouldn’t be infected with casual acquaintances. It’s almost impossible for me to imagine infringing on anyone’s career like this. By either contacting them on their work email, or showing up on work premises or calling them on a work number. Not unless you are a serious partner – let’s say of over 2years – then I don’t think there’s any justification for it.


To be fair, he didn’t actually ring me at my desk so this is the lightest of infringements I suppose but still. It’s unprecedented.

And if it had ended better I might be more inclinded to see this in a fabourable light. But I didn’t and I don’t.


So, what will I do?

Oh I’m a dickhead who likes drama for her own amusement – I’m going to accept and see if he has anything to say. Either way it should be amusing.

But I think the sad reality is he’s probably one of those people who just likes collecting connections and there will be no more intrigue to it than that. I’ll accept and there will be no more communiation.

Last Night A Dicking Saved My Life

Sex stops me from wanting to end it all

I don’t say that flippantly, it keeps me alive. And on one occasion it saved my life.

This is very hard for most people to understand. I know this and expect this. Less easy to understand is how I explain this to people in my life who don’t yet grasp it. People who know my duels with mental health. People who know that when all hope is fading then my interest will always be piqued by the salacious.

It’s a physical release that immediately relieves tension, no one needs me to spell out how that can be beneficial. But it is more than that for me, it sends badly needed endorphins or serotonin to my very damaged brain, that quells the erupting despair and salves an ache that is ever present in my mind. Two admittedly very useful things that I’m sure are not my experience alone. But there is also one more thing it does which I’m less sure people will connect with. When I have sex, I don’t hate myself. I get a break from my eternal monologue which tells me I’m useless at everything.

Which one is me?

Whether it’s respite from my real self or whether it’s where I get to be the real me, I’m not sure. But I like the version of me that exists when I have sex. When I’m having sex I don’t worry about anything else, I don’t feel fear or failure or dejection – I feel peace.

I feel accomplished and skilful and comfortable that I know what I am doing. And so much of my time is taken up with feeling the opposite of those things. Most of my colleagues would be surprised to hear how riddled with doubt I am given my frequency for walking round like I own the fucking place.

The lies I tell

But the biggest and most common lies I tell are ‘I know what I’m doing’ and ‘I’m ok’. It’s rare that either of these is true. And that can get to you. Thinking and feeling you’re useless and pretending you’re ok, a person only has so much in reserve to fight that. My stocks are frequently low. And the only thing that is guaranteed to alleviate that is a good seeing to.

It wipes my slate clean, gives me the tiny respite from being the terrible me. And that good version of me, the me that I like, well getting to be her helps me to survive. Or even want to survive.


People joke that I’m so lascivious and are always waiting for a brazen quip from me. But more than once it’s been asked if I thought I had a sex addiction’* or what is my “obsessive” interest in sex, why am I always dating, is it really good for me.

Almost all valid questions when put in context of when I’ve been hurt or disappointed. It’s not hard for me to understand where these questions come from. I put myself out there and get knocked down accordingly; you could say I bring it on myself. But when compared to the alternative? I’m not sure they would continue to ask why I seek this out, why it’s important to me.

Sometimes it’s the only thing.



*Sigh, in case you’re also wondering, I’m not a sex addict, I won’t just sleep with anyone, anywhere at any cost. I just really like a good ride.

Please don’t advise me on how to manage my mental health, how I do is not open for discussion, just please accept that I do manage it and it does involve professionals.

Get Fucked

I’m outside your house

Well come in then!


He closes the door behind him as I walk away and up the stairs. Telling his I’m soaked and I need to change, he follows me up.

I have my pants off by the time he stands behind me and grabs my hips.

What are you doing here? I say not out of irritation but inquiry. I genuinely don’t know why he’s here. He’s now kissing my neck as I try to take my top off.

I’m here cos I thought you needed a friendly face.


Ughhhhh – I think to myself, not what I wanted to hear. But he hasn’t stopped touching me so I move his hands down between my legs as I try to pull off my bra.

He takes his hand away from where I’ve placed it almost instantaneously and my mood fleetingly sinks even further; convinced that he’s not here to fuck me. But he moves his hand up to my mouth so I can wet his fingers before he slips them inside my underwear. My lips part easily for him.


Instinctively I push my arse back against him, trying to find a hardening cock. I’m not quite convinced that this isn’t a brutal tease; that he will leave at any second.

Do you have time? I ask with loaded expectation. My need is greater than even I knew.

Of course I do! He says this as if it was understood from the moment he arrived. But how could it have been? It wasn’t arranged, he doesn’t live this side of the city and he had already told me he had plans tonight.

It was not understood until right now.


I turn to face him, sheer relief coursing through me as I drop to my knees and get his cock out. It springs towards my mouth and he makes that glorious noise as I slide it past my lips. This is for my pleasure as much as his. I am so greedy to be filled with it everywhere, I’m probably doing a rubbish but enthusiastic job. I am so ravenous. I suck it eagerly then force as much of it as I can back my throat. I know he loves this.

Loves the feel of it as much as how it looks. How my eyes water and I gag and choke. How I cough up his dick when I can no longer breathe, spit dangling from my lips to the tip of the head.


I go back to sucking him more gently but he’s had a taste of what he likes now and wants more. He places his hands either side of my face and slowly starts to fuck my mouth. Any control I had is taken from me. I relish the delicacy with which he holds my face in place with the roughness of how he fucks it. He pushes me right up to the edge of where I can breathe – then holds me for another beat before letting me go. I spit out his saliva, dripping cock and gasp for air.

He calls me a good girl and leans down to kiss me.


I’m in no mood to be messed with this evening and in no mood to take my time. I barely register his kiss and uncharacteristically order him on to the bed and I climb on top of him. I rub his still slick cock up against my wet cunt. I am oozing need.


It’s not wet enough for me so I push the head of his cock into my lips. It’s still not wet enough so I just slide right down until it’s all in and grind down on him. Trying to get the greedy orgasm I need so badly.


Even with his thumb working my clit I can’t get there. This isn’t hard or direct or brutal enough for me tonight. I need to be hurt with it.

He pulls me off him and I think he’s going to flip me over, but he climbs between my legs pushes me flat onto my back. And his tongue starts to work my swollen clit.


It’s all gone too far for any teasing or slow movements and he duly eats with precision – ignoring my bucking and not even holding me in place. I am rabid with need, unable to keep my hips on the bed – forcing them up to meet his mouth. I can’t even articulate that I want his fingers but he eventually adds them, sliding two into me with ease now.


As soon as I have them they are no longer enough. I just want more, I want to be filled and stretched. I am writhing and bucking and all I can breathe out is ‘Harder. More’


I cannot contain myself or articulate just how much I need to come. He pushes his fingers harder into me and I lift my hips and press myself on to his tongue as much as I can. And I feel it coming, a giant climax erupts and I come hard on his mouth and fingers.


Before I have gathered myself he thankfully grabs my legs and holds them up as he forces his solid cock into my still pulsating cunt.


Another wave of release hits as he starts to pound me. He forces my legs back harder, pinning them back by my head. I can’t move, I can only take it, take whatever he fucks into me.


His orgasm builds and he announces that he’s going to come. Just before he does he pulls out and shoots jets of it all over my tits and belly. Giving me the last glimpse of him with his cock in his hand

and we both collapse. Sated.


I feel so much better. So infinitely better than I had done 30 minutes before.

I don’t need a friendly face, I need a furious fuck.

Why Don’t I Give Blow Jobs?

I love a cock in my mouth so why don’t I give blow jobs?

Good question, but a trick one – I do give blow jobs but this only depends on how you look at it. Or so it seems.

I read an article this week on The Dublin Inquirer page, where it was suggested that it’s only a blow job if the guy finishes. (hang on to your raised eyebrows for a sec) Or rather someone was lamenting that their partner had claimed this. This was breaking news for me. It had never crossed my mind that someone might have been considering me stingy with the blow jobs because they weren’t regularly getting to finish in my mouth? Regardless of how many times I was happy to have it in there.

Had I Been Looking at This all Wrong?

While I was somewhat surprised that someone would take this stance it did seem a little ungrateful to me. But was there any merit in it? Would I think the same with regards to getting eaten? There are few things I love more than having a cock in my mouth, it’s the first thing I want to do. And if you have any skill with dominance if you’re able to deny me this for even a few seconds it will heighten my pleasure. So needless to say it is something that is incorporated into sex, pretty much every single time I have it. I would consider blow jobs to be central to having sex and to my enjoyment of that sex. But what of my partner? Is he seeing my eagerness to get his dick in my mouth as me giving him loads of blow jobs? Or is he just thinking that I’m not giving him many?


How Often Does It Finish in My Mouth?

So I started looking back at when I might have been giving ‘just a blow job’ – and how many times was it that, and only that. It was hard to tell for two reasons.  1. Blow jobs often lead to sex (shocking). And 2. If I suck him until he comes, that can sometimes be the end of the action for a while (just as shocking).

And pausing the action (until he recovers) might not be what either of us wants. So unless I am very determined to make my partner lie back and enjoy it, or he has specifically asked for a blow job – giving head until completion can sometimes get lost in all the other great things that we can be doing. And one of them can be that we’re just eager to give as much pleasure as we receive.



So what are we saying here?

Giving head can be very one sided, it’s why some people don’t like it. But if you do, then it can be something so gloriously indulgent, just to lie back and receive. But still, I think we can agree that one person is getting the majority of the pleasure. As much as I get turned on when I give head, it’s also a tease. It gets me worked up and sometimes I am so aroused by the result I am disappointed that I can’t be fucked right then. (that is a very tiny detail) So I’m aroused but I haven’t gotten off.  But in contrast, as soon as a guy makes me come with his mouth, he can fuck me straight away. Which is usually what happens.

Now, how would I feel if a guy was going down on me all the time (as I do with guys) but it was so infrequently leading to orgasm? Would I feel like I was getting head? Satisfactorily?


Without a Climax Would I Feel Like I Wasn’t Getting Any?

I had a good think about this and the answer is no. Mostly when I’m having sex I’d finish him with my mouth if he wanted to. But it’s a choice and if he chooses to move to sex, when staying with the blow job is an option I’ve offered, then that’s what happens. I mean of course sometimes it’s not an option I will want sex and will say so. The point is, that it’s up to a person to ask for what they want. To let their partner know what they like and when. You can’t claim you never get something if you don’t ask for it. Or more specifically in this case, you can’t say you don’t ever get it when in fact you do!

If someone was going down on me every time we had sex, then there’s no legitimacy to the claim that I wasn’t getting head. If it never manifested itself in the culmination of an orgasm? While disappointing it would then be up to me to ask for that. It’s up to me to say, please make me come, please don’t stop. But ultimately the onus is on me to communicate that. And really, as long as he’s getting me off one way or the other, I mostly don’t really care how I finish.

So to anyone at all, who wants to claim that it only counts if you finish? I refute that as a totally ridiculous stance and in conclusion I give LOADS of head. And I can now cross that off my list of things to retrospectively worry about this week.


Abbi x

Waxing Turns Me On

‘When are we having sex again?’

‘Next week  ..?’

‘No, when exactly? I want to be waxed. And I will want … specific things.’

‘Specific things! Tell me.’


I love getting waxed. I don’t think it hurts that much, and I like that little bit of pain, I enjoy it. And it makes my lips tender and slightly swollen; neither of which are bad things. But getting waxed is synonymous with having sex for me the two are linked even if I’m not about to have sex. Getting waxed turns me on. It used to be afterwards but now even the feel of the warm wax on my skin starts it.

But when I am waxing for someone or an occasion – then there are things I hope for. Sometimes if I’m really lucky I can tell the person what it is and ask them to do it. Ask them to treat it.

Rarely is enough time spent down there, sure most tongues are quick enough to go in and stay, but I want time elsewhere. I want time spent licking and kissing and sucking everywhere that has had the hair ripped out of it. All that beautiful, inviting, tender skin; so close to where you can taste the best of me that you can smell it. The mound above my clit, the sides down close to where the thighs join but not quite the inner lips. It’s so tender there, all over that area and when it’s covered in hair I’m not so keen for anyone to spend too much time there as it makes me worry about hairs in their mouth and I can’t relax.

But when I am hairless, I can finally ask for it. I can finally feel the cunt aching tease of someone’s mouth and tongue all over it. Not going for the main event, waiting it out, teasing me. Licking, kissing, rubbing the perfect soft skin and making me wetter and more desperate.

Not only that, I want it to be controlled and measured. I want him to do it so that he can see his control over me. I don’t want him to lose himself in the task. I want him to know that he is torturing me and to get off on that. To tell me not to make a noise, to tell be to behave as I writhe underneath him. I want him to lick the inside of the lips just enough for him to get the taste of me, enough to let me think that the torture is over, only to stop and kiss me on the mouth so I can taste me own need.

This is what I want. I want him to kiss it like he would kiss my mouth, just barely catching the edge of my cunt. Going a little further in every time. Slipping his tongue into me, then back out and kissing the edges like he is sucking juice out of me. Licking from the bottom to the top, pausing to watch the pain on my face, before doing it again. Squeezing my nipples as he goes back to just kissing the mound again. I will be whimpering and bucking and close to tears.

I want to be told to be quiet and be given fingers to lick that will gently part my aching lips, and then dip into my soaking cunt. This will feel great but again, it’s torture because all I want is for my cunt to be eaten.

And then it starts, a controlled devouring of my sex. Until I come on his tongue and beg to be pulled to my kneed and fucked.


That, is what getting waxed makes me think of.

When Are You Coming To Suck My Cock?

Do Not Fuck up My Makeup

You’ll be on the clock too, I won’t have much time.

That’s ok, I like the excitement, been a long time since I did anything in work during business hours.

And you can’t mess up my face so no deep throat I’m afraid

Maybe just a little

Nope. Them’s the terms, take em or leave em.

Take em


He works not far from my office and I put on my coat and skip the 5 minute walk to his workplace. He’s down stairs when I get there so I don’t have to ask for him – but I look out of place here anyway, I’m certain I was noticed.

He nods to the stairs and says that’s where we’re going. Up one flight, then another and then a third? Christ I’m out of breath when we get there. There are floor to ceiling windows with gaps that look out on to the street. They don’t bother me, we’ll be mostly hidden by big advertising boards. I look around, trying to catch my breath, wondering where to place him.

I am here to give him head. I can’t remember why he deserves a mid afternoon, delivered to his office, blow job but here I am nonetheless. I see the low table and the chair next to it and point. There, over there is perfect for you. And I smile  – I will be at a really great angle to suck his cock while he sits in the chair; no problems with sore knees or having to stop half way through.

Just a blow job, then back to work

He sits with his legs spread, and I hitch up my skirt, and sit on the little table in front of him. I’m between his open legs with my own legs open. I lean back on the table a bit, delighted with this fortuitous furniture placement. A lascivious smile crosses my face as he gets an eye full of my underwear. He has his hard cock out and is working it with his hand.

I lean forward and down and just before I lick the pre cum off the tip, I glance up at him and smile. And then I kiss it like I was putting my lips around the top of an ice pop. A quick sucking little kiss before I slide my hot mouth down over the rest of his fat cock.

He leans back and makes a low noise, just as I do; I fucking love this cock in my mouth. I work it with my hand and mouth for a while, then stop to kiss him. I stand up and pull my skirt up higher as I straddle him and let him taste himself off my lips. I sit back down on the little table and grin at him again before I go back down his shaft, I lean over and go as far down as I can. I lied about not giving him any deep throat, even though I know it’s going to make my eyes water and see my makeup run.

I lean back and pull my knickers to one side, and dip a finger in, he has the perfect view of this, and tell him how wet I am. Then I quickly lick it and go back to sucking him as he gasps, I can’t be sure if it’s the information, the view or return of my wet mouth to his dick.

But I’ve gone too far, sliding my finger into my cunt undid me and almost involuntarily I stand up to straddle him again. This time though I pull my knickers to the side and rub his glistening head off my swollen lips. Maybe I was trying to tease him, who knows but I didn’t last long I held onto his cock as I shoved the tip in, but I slid further and further down it until I let go with my hand and just sat on him.

This fucking chair, these ankle boots I’m wearing everything is at the perfect height to be able squat down on him perfectly. I can just grind with my arse or I can bounce a little or I can lift myself almost all the way off – I need to own this chair I think.

I start to lose myself and make a noise, he puts his hand over my mouth, I stop moving trying to calm myself, thinking I’m going to climb off him and go back to sucking his cock. But I don’t. 5 seconds it takes me to regain the run of myself and I start to grind back on him and I feel myself getting close.

I could fuck him like this all day, but he says he’s about to come so I quickly get off him and get him back in my mouth so I can catch his come. A few seconds of sucking the taste of myself off him and he shoots his load down my throat.

I am out of breath and heaving when I finally release him from my mouth and he leans in to get his fingers on my clit, circling it and getting me back to where I was. I tell him he doesn’t need to, as this afternoon was just about him, but he ignores me and pushes deeper.

Sitting on the table, with my legs spread, leaning back on my arms, he stands over me and works his fingers in and out of me until I come. It takes me a few minutes, and it looks like he was almost hard again from watching me.


My makeup is smudged and there’s sweat trickling down my back in rivulets; I point at the chair and tell him that I’m going to need that in my house.

Baby Breakup

This is a quote from Alain de Botton… well a recent tweet which is the same thing:


An Epidemic of loneliness created

by the misguided idea that the only

cure is a romantic relationship


I think I’ve written about this before, I’ve certainly mentioned my absolute and abject love for her. My best friend. I ache with it. I feel it as keenly as any romantic love and I know this through the worst way. We had a falling out a few years back (no answers on a postcard please, we don’t need to take guesses). So we broke up for a while in which time I had something pretty close to a breakdown, if breakdowns were milk let’s say I had UHT.

And I had this certified by a professional because I needed counselling. (To be fair I probably needed it before then but this was the catalyst)


So did she by the way, this is not unrequited. We broke each other.


But the point is not to shine a spotlight on the past but rather to understand the magnitude of emotion here. It’s visceral and tangible and life changing. And for a very long time I have struggled with the way this love is not championed or acknowledged or coveted. At least not on any comparative scale to how romantic love is. To the point where I can’t talk and will not be allowed grieve when she leaves Dublin.

Ok, I will be allowed talk about it, but I won’t be indulged or afforded the sympathy commensurate with what we would afford the loss of a lover.


She is leaving to start a family with her partner. And I am so delighted for her to embark on this new era – she has wanted it for as long as I know her without it being a driving factor in her life. She’s waited til it was the right time.

But new eras herald change, and this change will see our relationship as we know it – end.


Her life will be on the other side of the country and it will be far less about the banalities of the stuff we used to fill our days with. To say that things won’t be different is naïve and actually insulting. Which is of course what everyone is doing. Looking at me like I am crazy to be this upset, completely negating my pain.


I’m so in love with this woman and soon she will have a greater love, an exclusive one that will side line me just as it should. She will need to embrace her new life and grow her unit – just her, her partner and their child. And while I know this is right it doesn’t stop me from being sad about it. It’s a perfect storm of juxtaposed feelings.


But sad doesn’t even cover it. I’m heartbroken ever so slightly. Not like before, admittedly, but for a while she won’t be available to me, we won’t connect on the same level. She will be hundreds of kilometres away and will have an entirely new focus and direction. A direction I can’t share in as I’m not part of it for one. But also because I feel no driving desire myself to procreate and am unconvinced of the value of it. I won’t ever be able to relate to that particular desire. This in itself is a seismic shift in our experiences, we’ve never been so far on the other side of a fence from each other.


But that’s more about the metaphorical distance than the literal one. But it all adds to my feeling of separation and sense of disconnection. I feel left behind by her and by  …. well by virtue of the fact that I don’t see myself making that journey.





Now I know I’m not the only one who feels this, this is not novel or the preserve of me alone. In all relationships that the addition of another will threaten or upset the incumbent; siblings, colleagues, new partners, additional in laws. All of these upset us and make us feel our place in the pecking order is challenged. We don’t like to be usurped and we don’t like change. We want the feeling that we are still important and necessary and still  – loved. So some of my feelings are just that, but most of them are that I am losing her to something bigger.


And of course I know this and am aware of how god awfully churlish I sound. But I’m not trying to be more important than her child, or even her partner. I don’t want her to make any special effort to assuage my loss. I want to be able to acknowledge that her leaving is a big deal, that things will be fundamentally different and that in itself is valid enough for me to be very fucking sad.

I feel lost and without a partner. She was someone who I was allowed rely on, allowed turn to. I’m sure I still can but I feel like that isn’t appropriate any longer.



And I am likely to punch anyone who wants to tell me ‘It’s not that bad’.



I have relinquished the other half of our two person gang. And it is as big a deal as if I lost a romantic one and it makes me so much more keenly aware that I am by myself. Which is fine, and also not fucking fine at all.


Yes of course it’s ok to be single, but the honest unattractive truth is that I really don’t want to be. I want to rely on someone, I want to share things with someone who is contractually obliged to feign interest in at least some of the shit I like (I will of course return the sentiment, probably).



An Epidemic of loneliness created by the misguided idea that the only cure is a romantic relationship


It’s not the only cure, but when romantic relationships are the ones that people give precedence to then it’s very hard not to want that. It takes a better person than me to be able to shake off that yoke. And what’s more, platonic relationships can leave you lonely too.

Sometimes you can’t win.

You Me & Another

Here ‘s  a conversation I had about adding another person to the mix in a way I hadn’t been aware of. Stick with the whatsapp convo. It’s going somewhere sexy.


That is a literal text conversation I had with someone. If I was at all arty and shit I’d be able to make that look like text boxes but I’m not all arty so getting it formatted like that was about as much as I could do. You get the gist, I want to do something so I asked him.


Anyway. I’d never really thought about erotic massage before, either doing it or what it actually entailed. It’s billed as something that can put the spark back into your sex life but if you already have loads of spark I think it could serve more purposes; adding a third person without the social awkwardness of doing it with a friend or trying to find someone randomly. Not to mention learning new things. As said in the texts above – I want to know how to do a proper prostate massage, ideally I’d like to be able to make him come just from that. And I think I might need help in getting there. So this idea really turned me on. I also like the idea of watching him with another girl (if I’m honest, I’d love the idea of watching him with another man too) but this would definitely suffice.


Am I intimidated? Yeah, I am a tiny bit. All the masseuses seem totally fucking gorgeous, and I’m just me. But that’s my insecurity, that will always be there. If I think about who I’m doing this with I won’t feel that as I know our sexual connection will outweigh it. I know he will get off on me getting off more than any of it. Well maybe not more than having his ass played with!

And knowing I am getting to give him pleasure will thrill me.

I may live to regret suggesting this to him, he might not rest until we do it.


If you’re thinking of doing this, for whatever reasons then I would suggest you give it a bit of thought and do a bit of research. You want to be sure that you’re getting your needs met and that it is with someone who has experience with couples. As much as I love the enthusiasm from my fav partner in crime, I wasn’t too convinced by the links he sent me. Find a reputable outfit and check for references. I can’t really give any advice on this as I haven’t done it yet. But these are the things that I would consider.



This was inspired by Karma Tantric, a sensual massage agency in London, offering body to body massage, erotic massage and prostate massage for men, women and couples.



Who’s The Cunt Here?

Who’s the Cunt here? No one, that was a kinda rhetorical question.

It’s funny how two people can see something completely differently isn’t it? I mean, we all know this but it’s only when we have an acute experience of it again that we give it any thought; how can that person have taken my actions to mean what they think they mean… it wasn’t what I meant at all.

How can it all get so misconstrued and both parties come out thinking they were hard done by and the blameless victim?

Very easily actually.


I don’t think anyone’s the bad guy here. I certainly don’t think it’s me but I suppose I can see how my actions might have been misconstrued. We can never write these things objectively but I really am going to try to explain it from both our sides.


To make it easier (I mean harder for you) I’m not going to gender each side of the story so you can’t tell which one is me. So judge away……

Side One:

I like this person, but I’m busy. We’ve had a great time and we both know we like each other. Definitely like hanging out. The sex is spectacular and I enjoy X’s company, I’m pretty sure that X feels the same. I do feel a tiny but of guilt about us sleeping together though, as I know my feelings aren’t as strong, I feel less attached, I’m not convinced that this has any potential. But I’m happy with something casual.

I’ve left it to X to get in touch when we meet, if I’m available then I respond.

X has no filter – I think I like that, seems to be really comfortable telling me anything. We are very different but not in a jarring way. Not so far.

We haven’t seen each other in a while, I wouldn’t mind getting together again. I send off some cryptic messages but eventually we do meet up once or twice.

I’ve had a few messages from X since we last met up but I haven’t responded, they didn’t say anything specific and I was busy with work. I don’t want to get into the habit of banal message exchanges. Not with someone I’m not sure about.

It’s been a while, I haven’t heard from X. Granted I haven’t sent any messages – maybe I should have responded to the last few? I thought X might have stayed in touch..

I wouldn’t mind seeing X  – I think I’ll send a message, see if we can hook up. It’s been ages, but I’m sure it’s ok. It was the last time.


Side Two:

Damn I like this person. We’re kinda different but the sex is spectacular and we can talk about anything. I think I could tell Y anything and not be judged, that it wouldn’t faze Y. I think I am more into this though and I’ve said so. I think I’d like this to go somewhere, or at very least I want to see more of Y. See if there is the potential that I feel?

Or am I blinded by the mind-blowing sex? Do we really have that much in common?

Y hasn’t shown any interest in meeting up again – I think I should let this go.

We don’t see each other for ages and then Y texts out of the blue. I’m surprised but meet up anyway – I feel I’ve nothing to lose, I can deal with casual if that’s all it is.

We meet up again, twice, always with me instigating all contact. But after this time I have two, maybe 3 messages ignored. I decide that Y has no real interest in me, not even casually and it seems to be always on Ys terms so I stop messaging. I can take a hint.

And if I’m wrong, sure no harm, Y will just send me a message, let me know if there’s still any interest.


Weeks later, 6 or 7, and I get a message out of the blue.

What would you do?


Would you leave it 6 weeks to contact someone, would you respond if someone contacted you after that much time?

If you contacted someone after not seeing them for a short period would you expect a warm response? If someone got in touch after weeks of no contact would you be insulted or happy to hear from them?

Let’s say you don’t get a warm response – do you have the right to be insulted?

Let’s say you get contacted after being ignored – do you have the right to be insulted?


It depends on your point of view I suppose. It depends on your expectations. I think there was a lack of communication here and it led to both parties being disappointed by what they felt it was ok to expect from the other.

Expecting too much

Expecting too little

Expecting anything at all.


Dating continues to be very hard. And Jesus Christ, if someone could give me a fucking hand book, I’d really appreciate it.


(If anyone is interested, I will happily reveal which dickhead I was in the above scenario)