Of Drama, Conventions and Splitting Headaches

Before I say anything else, am I the only person not watching the rugby or something?

I will get the drama out of the way now, since that is probably what has given me this bloody headache. It is not even my drama, but it seems that sleeping with me makes people assume that they are entitled to free emotional support and comfort.

Okay, they may have a point, but it still annoys me. Callous I know but I have my own worries to deal with.

Sweetie is not completely happy with her home life. I do not want to go into too much detail in case she ever finds this, but basically something dramatic happened. This then meant that I had to provide comfort and support, which I do not have a real problem with.

What was a problem was thinking, throughout this conversation that she was going to ask to move in with me. Let me explain a little, I have lived with quite a few people. It has never worked out well. I am not comfortable with people prying into my life that much. I do not like sharing my space, and at the moment it really is my space. Fortunately she did not ask, and she is still coming over tomorrow to cheer herself up.

As to the convention in the title, I am off to play with an anime convention up in London before Sweetie gets here tomorrow. I was not given much choice in this matter, though I managed to talk my way out of a uniform, and it will at least be nice to get out of the house on someone else's cash for once.

Enjoy the rugby kiddies, and spare a thought for those of us who cannot go out to enjoy it due to splitting headaches keeping us in bed.

Everyone Has Problems

So we can quite happily say that everyone has problems, either their own fault other people's, and a multitude of them. At the moment most of mine are fairly basic, and are ones I am trying to fix. There is the fact that I am currently ill, which is improving anyway. There is the fact that I hate my job and do not get paid nearly enough, but I have a lot of application forms and CVs floating around out there to apply to new ones.

Most of the others are not as easily solved. Baby is currently slightly ill, and so screams even more than usual. This is a little annoying to say the least. Very little sleep because of that, although at least I can talk to people while I am waiting for the little brat to actually get to sleep. So thanks to people who talk back to me, you are helping to keep my sanity intact.

Next problem is Stalker again. I actually had to speak with her today, on the phone, for about half an hour. This was after five phone calls which my sister answered and simply hung up on, before she finally got fed up and brought the phone to me. I told Stalker in no uncertain terms to stop phoning before I had to call the police. Her reply was that if I did not speak to her then she would be turning up on my doorstep.

If it was my own place I was living in, on my own, I would not mind this. Unfortunately she is not mentally stable, quite obviously, and I do not feel comfortable with her being within fifty miles of my nephew. So I spoke to her. Or rather I listened while she unloaded all of her little insecurities, whines, confessions of undying love and so on at me. After listening to her rather poor attempts at emotional blackmail for a half-hour, I finally gave up and simply hung up the phone.

Another is that I have decided I am stunningly bad at relationships, due to being an uncontrollable flirt. I honestly cannot help it. If I find someone attractive, for whatever reason, I flirt with them. I will not flirt with anyone I do not like, so at least there are limits, but other than that I can and will flirt with absolutely everyone. This causes a mixture of things, firstly serious insecurity for anyone I happen to try and have an actual relationship with. Secondly it can really cause people the wrong idea if all I am interested in is flirting, though I do not believe that has ever actually ended up as a problem. Thirdly I have had a lot of trouble with friends develop because of it, until they get to know me. Once people know me I can get away with anything. Before people realise that I am actually quite harmless, problems can happen.

And last is my problem with being judged. I often say that I do not care about being judged. That is not quite true. I refuse to feel bad when people judge me in some way, but what I have discovered, or realised, does happen is that I will deliberately go out of my way to offend people who judge me in some way. If they tell me that something I could do is wrong I will set out actively to do it. It does not matter what it is, how dangerous it might be, how much I may dislike the idea, I will almost always try to spoil people's opinions of me even more than they were beforehand.

I suppose there is an advantage though. I really can get away with almost anything once people know me. It seems that friends just accept anything I say, people who would snarl at anyone who so much as winked at their girlfriend do not object when I start spanking them in the middle of the pub, nor do they object when it is done to them. I have no idea what I would have to do to actually offend any of the people who know me well.

Writing, Talking and Kinks

First of all someone has suggested I can not write a clean story. I have decided to take this as a challenge, and have started putting up some of my old work and some of my new writings on another blog. I have not decided whether I will do this on a weekly basis, monthly, or just at random, but I have a large stockpile of stories to put up there and I am still writing more.

Recent conversations have made me think about the power words can have over people, not all people but some. For example I have discovered that Sweetie can be reduced to near-incoherent moans through application of the right words over the phone, and can be aroused simply by the right text message.

Apparently the best time to do this is not when she is on lunch break from work. I may pay for that this weekend.

This is only a moderate form of the effect that words can have. It used to be thought that women were much more affected by writing, whereas men preferred visual imagery. This has turned out to be more culturally induced than anything else. In fact both men and women can be equally affected by visual or mental stimulation, and the extremes vary between finding it completely uninteresting, to being almost obscenely affected.

From what I have discovered though most women like at least some form of dirty talking, whether its having someone whisper in their ear 'I want to fuck you', or sweet, romantic nothings.

Yes I can do romantic. I just do not do it often.

I apologise for the amount of rambling. I feel a little drunk, I think its this flu.

Rejoining the Literati

Between blogging again and having had the last few days off work, and a few e-mails I have received I have ended up writing again. I have even sent off a few entries to various writing competitions, though I do not know if I stand any chance of winning them or not. Unfortunately I am hitting my normal problem with any stories I try to do over a certain length, and hitting a block.

But I have discovered a new trick!

What I can do is get as far as I can in a story, then set up a picture that represents that scene to me. Suddenly I seem to be able to write again.

This did mean I had to set up a Scrabble board this morning, with a couple of wine glasses, an empty bottle of wine, and an ex's underwear. You can probably imagine what sort of story that was, but there are others I have been writing as well, more innocent ones.

Anyway Sweetie is coming over this Sunday, and staying until Monday, so I probably will not be posting from Sunday evening until Monday's, then I will spill whichever details I choose to.

I will probably be posting again later today, due mainly to boredom. I need things to do again.

So How Did I End Up Rampant?

This is not an attempt at self-justification, I do not count any of these as reasons, or excuses, simply things that have led me to be the way I am. To be honest I do not even see any reason that I should justify myself, I do not feel I am doing anything wrong. Anyway moving on...

So this little story accounts the tragedy that was my marriage. Obviously it was my first marriage, and I do not know whether I am divorced now or not. That is another story which I have mentioned before.

I met the Ex-Wife while she was in England on a study exchange program from America, going to a University in London. We got together, and she lost her virginity to me shortly after I saved her life. That may take some explaining. The place she was living was a rented room in a house. The owners of the house at one point went on holiday, and their son decided to break into their house. I happened to be visiting at the time so when he came down with a carving knife to chase her out of the house, since it was 'his house' according to his drug-addled brain I managed to get in the way and take it away from him.

While I spent about ten minutes talking him down, keeping him pinned, she packed her stuff and loaded it into my car. After that she moved in.

Everything was fine for about nine months after that, and at Christmas I proposed. Three months later she had to go back to America for a year in order to finish her course, and we agreed that the wedding would be after she had finished her course, and that we would consider ourselves free agents until then. Yes, I know that is quite obviously a stupid idea, but at the time I did not realise.

During that year there were all sorts of indications that perhaps marriage was not for me, but my family and friends constantly told me how happy they were for me. Admittedly they did not know that during that year I paid my rent at university by being essentially a house-pet for the five student nurses my accomodation was shared with. Nor the other events that happened. The last indication I really should have picked up on was that on the flight over to America for my wedding, I ended up having sex with another passenger.

Unfortunately by this point everything had gathered a large momentum, and despite expressing a few doubts I could not get things post-poned, let alone cancelled, without just saying no. I did speak to her father about this, as I was staying with them, but he made it quite clear that I was going to marry his daughter. Or get shot. He even showed me the gun as he explained. You can imagine the sort of impression that had on me.

After the marriage, and a short honeymoon, we returned back to England. Since I was still a student and she was unemployed my parents had converted part of the house into a flat for the two of us. The idea was that she would be looking for a job, while I continued my studies.

Six months later I left University, in order to try and find a job since she had supposedly had no luck. She had also revealed that she was somewhat abusive, and I still have some scars from times when I would come home, see her on the computer, and suggest that maybe she should do the cooking for once, or maybe tidy up a little, or make a little more effort to look for a job.

Two months later I kicked her out after finding that about 200 application forms I had picked up for her over the last eight months had not been filled in, but had in fact been hidden under the bed. I found out a few weeks later that she had also been cheating on me, with at least two different people.

A little after that I found out that I owed £20 000 on credit cards that she had applied for in my name. I still do not really know what she spent the money on, though I did find some receipts that at least some of it was spent on her having very expensive meals out with another person.

I went a little loopy for a while after that. Went somewhat goth.

What Would You Do for Money?

This post by chitty of the very good Riding The Slipstream is the inspiration for this post. Basically the actual list was something that was being discussed around a pub table a few months ago, and I was the only one who was actually honest about realistic prices, but there you go. Of course these are all circumstantial, depending on all sorts of things, including the person involved. Travel expenses are extra, obviously, and prices can and would vary hugely. This is just what came out of that pub discussion.

• Erotic writing: £1 (per 250 words)
• Kiss: £2.50 (price of a pint or shot)
• Dirty talking: £5 (per thirty minutes I guess, plus price of call, variable)
• 'Making out': £5 (again, per thirty minutes or so, though I don't plan to use a stopwatch)
  
• Manual sex: £10 (for a woman, probably double for a male)
• Plain escort: £20 (so long as I'm not paying expenses)
• Oral sex: £20 (for women, no idea for a male, I'd have to decide at the time)
• Cook for a meal: £25 (plus ingredients of course)
  
• Counselling: £30 (per hour most likely)
• Massage: £40 (that's for a full, proper massage)
• 'Modelling': £50
  
• Penetrative sex: £50 (again, women only, male would have to be decided at the time)
• 'Deflowering': £100 (simply because paying for that seems so strange, so whoever's doing it probably comes with problems)
  
• Fight: £100 (depending on situation, obviously)
• Organise and run a cocktail party: £200 (plus costs)
• Butlering/waitering/similar: £250 (per day, but that includes dinner jacket rental)
  
• Stripping: £500 (I'm crap at it, and find dancing in public hideously embarssing, just walking around naked at a party or something would be infinitely easier, so cheaper for fewer people, or if I'm not expected to dance)
• Duel: £5 000 (more if actually to the death, and dependent on weapon)

Well, I think that covers everything that I can think of at the moment. Maybe I should get business cards printed up.

Though I will point out that this is not, nor is it meant to appear to be in any way, my profession. I doubt I could make enough money off it if it was. Its just an estimate, in the same sort of feel as the 'what would you do for £1 000 000?' question.

That Morning After Feeling

I have just got out of a steaming hot shower, hot enough to be borderline scalding, with every single water jet out of the eight switched on and all set to high pressure. I love this house. I needed the shower, having walked Sweetie back to the station this morning, through the pouring rain. She looks good in white, especially when its wet, better when its dishevelled having just slipped into a garden en route to the station, in the rain. She'll probably get some odd looks on her way home That girl has a very enthusiastic tongue, soaked and with a few grass stains, but I refuse to accept the blame.

I love this feeling, I could almost say it is what I live for, though that would be an exaggeration. It is certainly better than any drug I have ever tried. Its that feeling you get after lots of good sex, where your bones ache in that gentle, humming way, the handful of bruises and scratches throb slightly, not painfully, just a faint tingle over the general ache. That lovely fog settles into your mind for a while and you can drift away into a little word of smugness and satisfaction. And yes, smugness, there's no better food for the confidence or ego than seeing the effect that the things you can do have on someone.

Knowing that they simply cannot have enough, that they will continue touching you, tasting you, feeling you, whispering at you, until they honestly cannot any more. Knowing that the reason that person is lying there, nearly biting through her sleeve, in a stranger's garden outside their deserted house, their body rising and falling madly as they scream into the rain, is because you have learned their body well enough that you know exactly how they will react when you put your mouth just there, and your tongue just there, and move it just right.

Obviously I have called in sick to work today, despite a certain someone's attempts to distract me while I was on the phone. She does have a very enthusiastic tongue. I am just hoping that my boss does not have any suspicions, because he is the sort who would ask.

The bruises might be difficult to explain as well. I may have to wear my hair down tomorrow, although that brings its own set of problems. Either that or I need to buy some concealer, and I would not even know where to start.


On a similar topic I have to say I have always been incredibly bad at keeping secrets when strangers ask me. I am the type who will tell people what they are getting for Christmas if they ask, though if I am not asked then usually I am fine. Unfortunately angel has asked me what it is that Sweetie does to leave me shivering, and one thing I have really never been able to resist is a pretty woman, as you may have guessed.

Anyway angel, in case you want to add this to your repertoire I cannot tell you if it will work on other people. It is actually very easy. When I am relaxed, all it takes to turn me into a quivering, moaning mass is such things as very light, stroking touches on almost any part of my body, arms, legs, face, chest, back, anywhere. All that is needed, is for the touches to be very, very light. After a few minutes I am literally helpless, barely able to move and certainly unable to think.

Another trick she has picked up about me is biting various places. Not light little nips, real, solid bites. She caught me by suprise with one of these during our first shower this morning, and I nearly knocked myself unconscious when my knees gave way as she did it and I ended up curled up on the shower floor for about a minute before I could stagger back to my feet. Actually this is something of an open secret, a lot of my friends know about it, and some of them take great delight, when they are bored, in grabbing my arms and biting the forearms to watch my eyes roll back in my head as I either fall over, or slowly slither off my chair.

That is all I am going to say for now, and it is more than I intended to say. Anything else is going to have to wait until I start to babble again, cannot think of another topic for a post, or get asked again.

Now That Was a Fun Evening

Not amazingly energetic I must admit, but fun all the same. I spent the evening with Sweetie. Dinner and it was supposed to be a film afterwards, but we got a little distracted. I will say this for her, she makes the most delicious noises during sex, not to mention that she is somewhat insatiable. Three hour-long sessions in six hours, with the first hour taken up by food and the breaks filled in with post-play and vague watchings of Family Guy. She is still here now, fast asleep and curled up warm and snug next to me.

As much as I love kinkier forms of sex, every now and then a little vanilla is wonderful. Plus she has this wonderful fascination with rendering me into a shuddering, moaning mass on the bed between full sex. I should mention that I am rather hypersensitive, and she quickly learned exactly what can render me helpless and quivering.

I am actually tempted to call in sick to work tomorrow, I am looking for a new job anyway so I do not see why I should show them any loyalty. It is not as if they have ever shown me any, and wolf-whistles are starting to get on my nerves. I will explain that in a second.

Something scary did happen tonight though. I opened my laptop and saw that Stalker had left me an offline message. Well, about twelve offline messages. Here is one of them reproduced:

"want u 2 tie me 2 the bed 4 a day, and come in and fuck me whenever u want while anyone who wants watches us on camera"

This is after I have sent her yet another message today saying that I want nothing to do with her. Literally that. For fuck's sake, this is getting ridiculous.

Anyway having Sweetie lying naked next to me like this has made me feel frisky again, so I think I will wake her up for some more entertainment.

The Last One for now

There's one more girl who deserves to be in the cast, though I should point out now that just because the cast of sexual interests is complete I will still be gradually adding my family and friends as they justify it. I also have plans which should be announced in this post as well.

The last girl who has earned her place in the cast is yet another ex-girlfriend. Yes, I know I have too many. I have got a count of them, and I think the number demonstrates my incapability to stay in or keep a relationship. Moving on from that though, I am not quite sure what nickname to ascribe to this girl as she is another version of the Tart. In fact she is another version of the Tart in very many ways. I believe that the term BedBuddy will do, until I can think of something else.

Anyway the BedBuddy got in touch recently, in essence to assure me that she was indeed interested in intimate, but unemotional, activities with myself. Since then she has been trying to get me to ask her to move in with me, since she has no job, no house, and a severe nicotine habit to feed. My refusal has so far not gone down well with her, but she seems to have accepted it for the time being.

Incidentally other nickname suggestions for this one would be appreciated, I was thinking Leech, but I might have to save that one for when a true Leech comes along.

Now we can introduce a member of the cast who is not a potential bedroom partner in any way whatsoever. I just want to clarify that first, you will understand why shortly.

This new member is the Baby. Due to various circumstances I currently share a habitation with the majority of my family, hence the fact that I am looking for a new job. Sadly this does also mean that I am sharing my abode with my sister, her yuppie boyfriend, and their new baby.

Their new, loud baby.

Their new, loud baby who likes to be fed at night.

Their new, loud baby who communicates this fact by screaming at the top of his lungs until the whole house are awake.

I am introducing him because he really is a complication. I love the little parasite to pieces, I really do, but I do not react in the same entranced manner as every one else in this madhouse. Instead of being fascinated by the fact that he has just filled his nappy with human excrement I am repelled. I nearly had to break up a fight yesterday between my sister and my mother over who was going to change the nappy, they both wanted to do it.

I swear this place is insane.

Anyone looking for a live-in servant/sex-toy? I can cook, clean, scrub and so on. Just get me out of here.

And finally to the plans. At the end of November I will be absconding to a far, foreign country (okay, Ireland), in order to indulge myself in a week of illegal excess, indulgence and depravity with Slave. All I need now is to actually buy the tickets for the flight and get myself over there.

The One Who Scares Me

Just over a year ago I became involved with someone, for about two weeks. During that time they somehow developed the impression that I was the only person in their life who cared about them, was the perfect man, and would be with them forever.

Now admittedly I cannot argue with the perfect man aspect of that particular belief, purely because my simulated ego would fail instantly were I to do so. However being with them forever was definitely not on the cards at the time. I was quite blunt about the fact that the whole affair was just a fling, I even told her that I was only sleeping at her house because it was conveniently placed between the two habitations I was moving all of my belongings between, and it was a long trip from which I needed a break. At the time this all seemed acceptable to her, and then she uttered those terrifying words. 'I love you.'

I should point out now that I have no particular fear of commitment, other than the perfectly rational fear induced by my marriage. At least in general I have no fear of commitment. When its with someone that I know I have no real interest in continuing things with, my fear is legendary. Not only that but my view of love is very different and very much more flexible to the standard view.

Either way my response was sensible, reasonable and rational. I got out of bed, without a word, pulled on what clothes I could find, said 'I'll see you later' and left.

The plan was that she would understand this as the message for 'you crazy bitch, that was the wrong thing to say, leave me alone now'.

She did not understand this message.

I have had to sever contacts with friends, change my phone number, change my e-mail address, remove my profile from certain social sites, and yet she has still managed to find me. Now I have just given up. If I at least talk to her then maybe she will eventually get the message into her delusional little brain. That seems to be the only option until I can afford to change my address. Maybe I should look into moving abroad.

And thus, the Stalker has entered our scene.

Requirements to Join the Cast

Since someone has now asked I feel it is only reasonable to describe what the requirements to be a member of the cast are.

Essentially people who are mentioned are people who I care about, not necessarily people I have slept with, and who complicate my life by the simple matter of their very existence. Only the ones considered immediate problems are included, so there may at some point be friends included as well, but at the moment friends are not complicating things for me.

The only people who will not be added are family.

Anyway, just to add a touch of vague relevance to this, I heard today that my ex-wife has remarried.

The reason this amuses me is that we still have not had a divorce, so she is now committing bigamy. I love when I have the opportunity to make bad things happen to people I do not like.

Of the Tart and Perversity

This is not a family-friendly post!

Okay, now that's out of the way I want to get a few events out of the way first. To begin with last night was an okay night, despite arseholes trying to talk to me. The only other slight problem with it was the kidnap attempt. A hen party offered me a bottle of (very cheap) wine, and £50 to be their stripper. Needless to say as it was freezing cold and they wanted it done there and then, I refused. I'm not stripping in a pub garden for that small an offer. This was deemed rude, so I then ended up handcuffed to the bride for half an hour before I managed to pick the lock on the handcuffs and escape back to my much-amused bastard friends.

Also last night a potential fifth member was added to our little cast, and a possible sixth. Number five is not really in need of a name yet but I thought she should be mentioned. Number six will henceforth be known as the Affair. I should point out now that this is not because I am having, or have had an affair with her. She is an ex of mine, an absolutely, stunningly gorgeous, fantastic in bed, kinky, exhibitionistic ex. I still kick myself for having severed that particular relationship, even if I did have problems with her personality, I could always have trained her but there you go.

Moving on again we come to the main point of this post, the Tart has simplified things for me somewhat. All she is offering is sex, and her own humiliation, because she has needs to fill and I am the most 'depraved fucker', to use her own phrase, that she knows who she would feel safe with. I am not sure whether to be flattered or insulted, but either way it means that I have a submissive who will do pretty much anything I tell her, including taking photos and recording it for me, and who is shortly coming to my town in order to visit old friends. During this time the general plan, at least the one she is planning, is for lots of sex to happen in various different places, and for her to be temporarily enslaved and humiliated.

I can live with this. I also tried an experiment on her last night, and it has now given me some very interesting ideas involving pegs. There is something about watching a young, rather pretty girl thrashing about helplessly on her bed because she has been following your orders.