Barely Legal

Last night (or this morning depending how you look at it), whilst I was waiting for may mates in the takeaway, a boy came upto me and said 'You helped make my teenage years great.'
Looking at him blankly, scrutinising his face, I replied 'Did I teach you?' I thought this would be pretty unlikely due to the fact that during my brief stint as an English teacher I was pretty mediocre and certainly don't think I had a Robin Williams, Dead Poets type of influence on any of my poor students.
'No, I went back with you after the Fire Rock and Roll Club about 6 years ago.'

Then it dawned on me, he was my most perfect one night stands ever. The one that I look back on fondly and sigh with happy memories. At the time he was 19, or so he told me, last night I found out he was only 17 at the time. I remember seeing him in the club and thinking he was cute. Later he approached me and told me that he'd been saying to his mate how he'd really like to get into the girl in the pink Converse. He was really cute and so enthusiatic about everything. one of the reasons I pull so many younger men is because of their enthusiasm, they are totally unjaded by life and its a contagious feeling. This attraction to boys in their late teens all started with my brother's mate who I ended up shagging when I was 23 and he was 18. That got me in a lot of trouble but that's another story. Since then I've always had a bit of a thing for younger men.

Unsurprisingly this lad ended up at mine. I had a friend through from Boro who was absolutely wasted and ended up crashing in my bed. Since I lived in a shared house at the time, it meant shagging him had to take place in the living room, which also was the route through to the bathroom, so I shoved the coffee table up against the door, which in reality wouldn't offer any time to jump of each other mid shag and look innocuous, but I was pissed and horny so it seemed like a foolproof idea at the time. Fortunately we didn't get disturbed, I figure my flatmates probably guessed what was happening, so gave us a wide berth (I am not a great flatmate).
The sex was great, considering he was so young, he knew exactly what he was doing. We shagged pretty much non stop and all over the room, in loads of posistions. In between fucking we talked about trivial dumb shit, that seemed really amazing at the time. Its the stupid conversations that make me like a guy.

When my mate left the next day we moved it the bedroom and shagged some more before I had to go to my lecture. I'd already sent a text to my friend on the PGCE telling her to sign me in to my lecture cos I'd pulled. He left, he lived away, he was cute, that was that. Just a perfect one night stand that wasn't to be tainted by the complications that can occasionally arise from seeing the person around the clubs all the time. I never saw him again, until last night. He didn't look quite as endearing now his face had become more manly but he was still quite attractive, just not the same as in my memory. I think I'd prefer to remember him as he is etched in my mind.I also think that he has become the object of another friend's affections recently, which spoils things a little. Still it was a very flattering comment to recieve at 3.30 am in the morning.

Last night I got off with another 19 year old. I'm starting to wonder if, now I am in my 30's, this seduction of barely legal boys should stop? Am I Michael Winner or Joan Collins? Pervy or Fabulous? I'd prefer to believe the latter.

Textual frustration

On Bank Holiday Monday I was awoken by my phone vibrating loudly on my bedside table to indicate that I had recieved a text. I was half asleep as I read

"Morning you filthy bitch i have awoken with a huge bulge, which I'd love to shove in every hole you have. I want to then come in yr knickers and then ust leave you with them on."

Charming. I wasn't offended by the text, nor was I turned on, just bored by it more than anything. The sender, someone who I was involved with ages ago but these days is more of a casual friend (casual as in the friendship seems to rear it's head when it suits him), anyhow he now seems to have taken offence that I never returned the text.

I don't mind sex texting in the right context and from the right person but all too often what boys seem to think will turn me on, is more likely to make me reach for an extra pair of knickers rather than my clit. The text on Monday morning was a classic example of this. Someone I no longer have sexual feelings for and displayed on a mobile's screen, his text seemed crude and ill thought out (bulge? really?).

Over the last few years I've recieved (and sent) many dirty texts, from one liner booty calls to full on hour long exchanges that left me uncomfortably turned on. Most of them though tend to be pretty base.

"You need a good fucking" tended to be a bog standard opener sent by a silver fox like fellow who lived in Manchester. Not only were his texts unoriginal, they were sent at 3am on a weeknight when I had to be up for work at 6. The last time he woke me up like this I sent him a text as I was getting ready for work "I think you'll find I need a good night's sleep rather than a good fucking, which you are in no position to deliver anyway, seeing as you are on the other side of the country."

Picture messaging is a whole other world. Personally I don't find it particularly arousing to be sent a picture of a man's erect cock. When your are in the middle of a fumble with someone, then yes I can't wait to get my hands on it, but via text I think some things are best left to the imagination.

My favourite bad sex text of recent months is by far the following, sent during a two hour period in which the sender had been trying to work his way into my boudoir. Having decided that although the sex with this particular person was really filthy, I was bored by him.

"Look mate, I've just come back after being away for 3 months. Why don't I just pop round and wank on your face?"

How can a girl possibly refuse?

Don't let him waste your time.

Ah the morning after the end of a mini relationship. So last night the curtain fell on a month long, what shall I call it? Fling? Romance? Whatever it was it was all a little weird. I have a feeling now that I was doing what I consider to be one of the greatest of crimes for the sake of a bit of attention, affection and excitement, I was settling. I think I suspected that my heart wasn't into it quite early on, but, because I was so sick of the meaningless shags and wanted a change from being single, I went along with it, allowing myself to focus on all the positives. I concentrated on the fact that someone thought I was fabulous, wanted to take me out and not just fuck me. This allowed me to overlook the following danger signs that would normally make me walk away instantly. Oh, and the fact that I had known him for quite a long time prob clouded my judgement.

Alarm bell number 1- The boy was the best friend of my best friend's ex.

Alarm Bell Number 2- I wasn't too fond of his kissing technique.

Alarm bell Number 3 - He took me to his friends' barbecue, got pilled up whilst I remained relatively sober not knowing anyone there. It's worth noting at this point that I don't do drugs, never have and never felt the need to. He knew this.

Alarm Bell number 4 - After 2 weeks he tells me he is falling in love with me. The next day I acknowledged that it was the drugs talking and wasn't going to take it seriously. This was his chance to do some back peddling and save his skin, but no he told me that he had known exactly what he was saying. This caused me to freak out quite a bit.

Alarm Bell number 5- following the declaration of love I shagged someone else.

Alarm Bell number 6- Having not seen him for a week he had agreed to pop round so we could go for a walk. I hung around waiting for him for two hours before receiving a text telling me that he was in the pub with his mate (my best friend's ex). My response? I went out with another boy.

So you would expect after all that it would be over. No, for some reason, despite everything pointing to a massive, fluorescent sign flashing that this wasn't going anywhere, not least because of my inability to not fuck other men, for some reason I persevered, intent on trying to make this work. I don't know why or what I was trying to prove, to myself let alone anyone else, but on Monday, having been stood up the previous day, I allowed him to come round and have a chat. I told him why I was pissed off and that I had met up and had sex with another guy. I was completely honest. We agreed to be mates but this didn't feel right and before long he was stroking my leg and we were kissing. So by the end of the afternoon we were back to "seeing what happens."

When I went to meet him last night I had a moment of clarity. As soon as I saw him in the pub it all clicked into place. I didn't want this. I didn't want him. I was settling for someone who although on occasions was really sweet and lovely, treated me well and lavished me with attention, at other times had shown himself to be inconsiderate, inconsistent and unreliable. It made for the most awkward and briefest date I have experienced. It didn't end particularly pleasantly either and the scope for us to continue to be 'mates' -something he suddenly seems keen to insist is all we have been all along- well, it doesn't look too good from where I'm standing.

Fifth date procrastination and the Tall Boy

So tonight I'm going on my fifth (fifth!) date with a guy. This is a pretty monumental landmark in my love life as I've not been out on so many dates with the same person since early 2007. On this previous occasion it was a boy I had met in a nightclub in Sunderland. As soon as I caught sight of his ridiculously (and all the more wonderful for it) tall frame rolling around on the dance floor, I said to my friend "He looks like a car wreck, I want him." Some two hours later I found myself dancing near him and without even speaking to each other, we ended up copping off as soon as 'Do you remember the first time' blared out through the speakers. In my head this was fate, perfection. Pulp are one of my favouritest bands and what more perfect song title (not the actual song) to kick off a relationship than 'Do you remember the first time?' Of course these thoughts were in my head during the following few days, I was too busy kissing the Tall Boy for the next hour or so to be capable of thinking about anything else.

A few days later we went on a date. Conversation flowed easily but physically things were burning very slowly which was a complete contrast to how things had played out on the previous Saturday night. We eventually ended up in a club, sitting in a corner with our tongues down each other's throats. Although he had arranged for somewhere to stay that night (he lived out of town) I ended up taking him home with me. I'd love to be able to write that we had amazing sex going on well into the next afternoon, stopping only to take recovery naps, but unfortunately things just didn't seem to happen. I put it down to his heavy consumption of alcohol and left it at that.

The next morning I was sick due to my heavy consumption of alcohol. Thinking that I might want some kissing off the boy I vigorously brushed my teeth then headed back to the boudoir. he was now awake so I leaned in for a kiss at which point he turned away and said "You've just been sick, I can't." Undeterred I insisted that I had just brushed my teeth but to little avail. I was not impressed with the lad's lack of passion, but he was younger (20 to my 28), so I put it down to inexperience and we arranged a second date.

The second date was nowhere near as successful as the first. I think I had been a bit deterred by the lack of sex and morning action, and was not feeling optimistic for the events that lay ahead. Still I turned up to meet the Tall Boy. We went to a couple of pubs and although conversation was easy to come by, any attempts I made for the slightest bit of physical contact were brushed away. This left me frustrated and upset. Like any other person, I do not take rejection well and it left me wondering why he had even bothered to come all the way through from Sunderland to meet me. At the end of the evening I went to kiss him goodbye and he turned away. This and his response to the question of what his favourite animal was, "Oh I dunno, a dog", caused my temper to flare.
It is always one of the first questions I ask any potentials, what their favourite animal is. The wrong response will leave me searching for the door, the right response usually leaves my heart a little bit tangled and in trouble, but sometimes there are responses that I can't quite figure out. It's all about the rationale behind their favourite choice. This will reveal a lot about the person and how they think about the world. So anyway back to Tall Boy's rejection of my advances...
My confidence was severely dented and so I retaliated in the most shameful way by snapping "Oh for fuck's sake this is ridiculous, I shagged someone else on Saturday anyhow!" before leaving the pub we were sat in and walking to the nearest taxi rank and leaving him alone. Immediately the guilt snuck in. I had shagged someone on the Saturday but it was just a casual fuck which I barely remembered, I did actually like this tall boy and had wanted the possibility of something more. A string of apologetic texts were passed from myself to him and then from him to me. He explained that he did find me attractive but that he had some issues with impotence which left him very embarrassed. This made me feel like utter shit and I became all the more apologetic and guilt ridden. I suppose I should've just left it there but no, I decided that we should go on another date. Amazingly he agreed.

The third date was to the Casino, the previous meeting was not mentioned and we had a really good time together and he came back to mine. I was drunk and horny but also resolute that I was not going to try to coerce him into any attempts at sex, so we made do with kissing and fumbling and all was well with the world.

Fourth date was meeting for drinks and once again was a wholly pleasurable evening involving a lot of kissing and touching and not all of it instigated by me. He had to get the last metro home as he was working the next day but as I walked with him to the station we made arrangements to meet later in the week. I was feeling optimistic and intent on taking things slowly, despite my high and at times inconvenient sex drive. I liked this boy, I decided, I wanted to see if we could make a go of it. And when a a hot lad tried it on with me on the Friday night I walked away, despite my drunkeness, priding myself on my restraint.

Then when I met Tall boy for the fifth date he irritated me on sight. I can't explain why but I had just suddenly lost interest. Everything he said was dull, every mannerism grated on me. Fortunately we had gone to the cinema and so interaction could be kept at a minimum. We went for a pint after the film but conversation was stilted to say the least. I was aware I was being a mardy cow but I had also become suddenly aware of the fact that there was no real sexual attraction there. I think we both liked the idea of each other and probably wanted to fancy each other but it just wasn't happening.

It ended like many things end these days, via text. I was travelling home on the bus after saying goodbye to him and thanked him for a nice time but I think it was obvious that it wasn't going to go anywhere. He was all too quick to concur.

So in that instant the fifth date was actually our last, which seems a like an ominous sign for tonight, especially as we are headed to the cinema. However, thus far things seem generally to be a little bit more promising with tonight's date, which to be honest is all the more terrifying.

What am I doing here in Cyberspace?

As my first blog entry I'm not quite sure how to start. Do I begin with introductions? Explain my motivations for sharing my thoughts and feelings online with strangers? Or do I just get on with it?

Well as for my first query, see the C'est Moi passage elsewhere on the page. I don't wish to say too much about who I am due to the nature of my employment. I want to remain as anonymous as possible and hopefully a good deal of my personality will come out in what I write.

Motivations? There are a couple of reasons for me doing this but primarily I enjoy writing. I find that writing is therapeutic and noting things down does help to make sense of a lot of the squished up thoughts and feelings, that feel a bit trapped inside my brain. It doesn't always make them go away but it does act as an outlet for things that I may not feel comfortable sharing with my friends, or, more likely, have bored them with numerous times already.

So I guess that leaves getting on with it.

I mentioned the squishy up thoughts in my head. Well there seems to be quite a few of them bad boys flying around at the minute. I think I'm going through one of them transitional times. Bit of a cliche really what with the whole turning 30 thing, but they do say a cliche is only a cliche because it stems from the truth.

Turning 30 wasn't the trauma I was anticipating. Given that I spend nearly every birthday as an emotional wreck, tears are guaranteed at some point during the course of the day either first thing in the morning or in the corner of the dancefloor after mixing far too many drinks, I did expect my 30th to be more hideous than usual. As were my friends. Instead it passed in a flurry of home made cocktails, an abundance of quiche, Dr Who masks, model hippos, dancing on stools, taking a shower in my clothes whilst copping off with some former shag and drinking Cherry Lambrini until 11am. All in all my birthday celebrations were what I would classify as a success.
The reflection and self analysis seems to have come afterwards, and with this reflection my sex life seems to have gone on a retreat to make room.

Up until recently I would consider myself as highly sexed. I enjoy one night stands and casual arrangements and rarely become involved in relationships. This is because I'm terribly fussy, terribly busy and terribly scared. Oh and I'm also not willing to waste my time and effort negotiating what little free time I have, on someone who I deem to be only mediocre, when I'd rather be with my friends or possibly a stranger. Mind, when I go, and by go I mean fall in love, I go big style. Anyhow, since the end of March my sex life has consisted of a few sloppy, drunken kisses in a club, a fumble with a 22 year old and offers of casual sex from several guys, including one, who I know from previous encounters, is a fantastically filthy shag. Even in my most drunken states I've had no interest in entertaining any of these booty calls or taking anyone home.

I've been telling myself that I've had enough of casual sex and drunken encounters that I can barely remember. That its time I had some more respect for myself and consider looking for a relationship, replacing infrequent, but exciting sex, for readily available action with the added bonus of me actually liking the person I'm with and not being anxious to see them out of the front door the following morning. However, as I mentioned before, I am incredibly hesitant to get into anything that even slightly edges towards commitment and so I am finding this terribly confusing. My promiscuous nature and high sex drive forge part of my identity (to be fair my sex drive hasn't gone anywhere I'm just having to deal with it in different ways), without this need to pull randoms and being able to regale my friends with tales of my misadventures, I'm feeling just a little bit lost.