sleepless night

I don’t want to go to bed. I fear the bed. The cold, lonely bed that has been standing in my room for some time now. Only other thing in it is my teddybear (yes, I am twenty and I sleep with my teddy, but he’s really special, so shush).

The nightmares come rapidly. Last night I dreamt of a pervert. And not in a good way. I ran. I fucking ran my little legs off. I can’t cope with those nightmares anymore. I think my medication is responsible for them. But I can’t not take the pills. I might collapse if I don’t take them. I want to dream about good things. Positive things that make me happy. But instead I dream about… horrible things.

 I found this beautiful picture on Google and I wanted to share it with you guys.

I have a thing with water. I feel free when I’m in water. Making love underwater is one of my fantasies. I want to be a mermaid (see, inside, I’m a child).

I want to get some sleep. Must be off now.

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oh my dear lord

Boy, did I just cum. Sweating, legs shaking, dehydrated, sweating my face cream off. I’m glowing now. Shit, man, that’s good.

And strangely, I’m hungry. My stomach is preparing itself for what’s to come. What exactly is to come? Liquid food. In preparation for The Big Op (currently coming at ya on April 28th) I am going on a doctor-approved diet. Of liquid. And no, they don’t mean coca fucking cola. Shakes. Not proper frothy, delicious milkshakes. Diet shakes. And some watery shit that they dare to call soup.

People, you are going to have to keep me from going off my flaming rocker by the time the actual Op Day comes around. One thing I can look forward to is Jason’s new movie The Mechanic coming out next month. Shit thing about it: I can’t eat at the cinema. Other shit thing: his other new movie The Killer Elite has been pushed back to motherfucking September. Wait. It may come out earlier in London. I might be in London (we’re going in August, so). The premier might be on Leicester Square. Do I need to continue or have you put two and two together yet? You have? Oh great.

I’m going to pounce on him like a motherbitch. Watch out Stath. I’m coming to get you.

Who can resist this?

I’m ending this post with a warning. Please think of the kitties. Not the pussies.


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Today, we celebrate the one month anniversary of this very site! Can’t believe it, one month and I’ve already passed the 1000 mark.

I started this site in the middle of a very dark period. I was fired from my internship and left school because of the aftermath. It is now a month later and, amazingly, I feel better. I will never forget the events of those two days, those very dark days. I could have made better choices. But that’s all in the past. And now, I look to today. I finally had the courage to write a little piece. I feel quite happy. I’m on the verge of changing my life completely.

And I hope you continue to join me on my journey. My journey of weight loss, sexual discovery and inane ramblings. Of loving a man I can’t have and searching for someone I can have.

Won’t you join me? In the meanwhile: ogle this cake.

and have a piece of this man (Raoul Bova- Italian actor and professional stud muffin)

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double attack fail

I realise that I forgot to tell you about my latest additions to the Self Love Sessions.

Sunday night was pretty great. I don’t know what happened, but it felt pretty amazing. The way I usually masturbate (if this seems odd to you, feel free to suggest a new way- I’m just a novice) is with my lovely bowling pin inside me and my fingers working away at my clit. I don’t know why exactly, but it feels pretty good. And as I was going at it, I felt my orgasm build. Which was cool. The tingling sensation in my stomach grew and grew till I came, and boy I came hard. Amazing.

Not so amazing last night. As you may remember, I’m still trying to do the squirting thing. I am now so desperate for it, that I actually took the batteries out of my remote control and put them in my pink vibe. I tried, but failed. Then an idea came to me. What if I use two vibes at once? Well, in my house, that’s setting yourself up for failure. Bowling pin on the clit, pink vibe inside me, no no no no no. I was in pain. Serious pain. And I didn’t come. Which sucked.

What doesn’t suck is that Transporter 3 is premiering on cable this Saturday! I saw the preview. And as per usual, Jason Statham is kicking ass, taking names and looking SMOKING HOT. And The Voice is in action too. And there is even some hot loving going on. All that bound into one neatly shaped package. I’m sorry, my mind just went the whole nine yards with the word package. Yes, I am twelve.

And I’m eating choccy. Not chewing on it, but sucking it. I’m sucking a piece of choccy. And it’s bliss.

Have a sexy picture, courtesy of Transporter 3 and Frank Martin’s oozing sexiness. (Frank is Jason’s character. Just so ya know)

He hates clothes as much as he hates bad guys.

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oh the pain

This is  not going to be one of my big posts. I am recovering from an endoscopy, which was performed this morning. For those of you who don’t know what an endoscopy is, it involves numbing the throat with something that tastes vaguely of rotten bananas, after which they shove (yes, shove) a tube down your throat down to your colon. My throat is terribly sore and I can hardly swallow any food. I am tired, but happy, because I actually managed without any further anesthetics. Yes, I was fully aware of the motherfucker of a tube down my throat.

I went to the bookfair in the city yesterday. The sheer volume of the stock was unfreakingbelieveable. I scored a box full of books. Where I’m going to put them? Let that remain a mystery.

Since I feel bad for not being able to be my usual kinky self: a little blowjob for you.

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my mind is a bitch

Remember last night? Remember me posting about Jason not having The Six Pack anymore? Having a little more meat on his bones? That was fun, wasn’t it?

Now, I’d still do him in a heartbeat. I don’t mind if there’s a little more of him. Not at all. More for me to love.

But my mind. Oh, my mind. My stupid mind has been keeping me up all frigging night with repeated choruses of “He’s faaaaaaaaaat, he’s faaaaaaaaat!”

He’s NOT fat. Judge for yourself.

By the way, those trunks: awesome.

I’m sad, can you tell? But I would never want another man. Never. I can’t even pretend to like men like Adrien Brody. (Although, I did go through a MASSIVE A-Brody phase, which I will never mention ever again, because yes, it was that embarrassing).

I like him like this. And he can always get his abs back. For a new part or something. I’ll learn to love this.

Guess what I have standing in the oven right now? That’s right bitches, fresh croissants! Well, not entirely fresh. Bought at Lidl. Ready made. Only need to pop that in the oven.

Ok, I am going out of my tiny little mind here, with boredom and my thoughts playing tricksies on me. No matter. I am (as they say in teen wanking fest Twilight) unconditionally in love with him. And he still has those wonderful hips which turn me on in a man. Can’t quite say how that fetish came to be. Everything about that man is a fetish. Right up to The Voice. I want him to read audiobooks. Like, erotica. I’d be wet in a second…

Speaking about audiobooks… as long as we’re there. I had an amusing “incident” a while ago. I downloaded ‘Henry and June’ by Anaïs Nin. It was read by an actress I like (Cherie Lunghi, who did a stint on Strictly a few years back), and it’s a good book apparently, so why not? Except it is not read by Cherie Lunghi. It’s read by a man. Which I only noticed after I downloaded it to my I Pod.

The croissants are ready

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Dirty talk on a Saturday night

Dirty Saturday

Another week almost over. It’s, what you would call, the little hours of Saturday and we’re both still up.

“Did you see him dancing in the corner with that hot guy?” I say, giggling hysterically for no reason whatsoever.

“I can’t believe he pulled tonight. And, just between you and me and said as a guy… that was a fucking stud!” he says. We’re both slightly inebriated, by the way. He’s been fondling me for the last half hour. He kisses one of my breasts, can’t quite register which one.

“I mean, if he were straight, would you have gone for him?” he asks me.

“Definitely. Without a doubt. Fuckin’ aye, he was gorgeous. But…”

“But what?” he asks , while tickling my belly.

I try to say something, but fail miserably.

“What? What are you thinking about?”

I get my act together and say: ” You’re much fitter than all of the guys in the bar tonight.”

“I’m flattered. Honestly. Now, can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask, babe.” I say, leaning towards him. He kisses me, and it’s clear that he wants me. I can feel his erection pressing urgently against my stomach.

He wants to whisper something in my ear, but he slurs a bit, which makes him giggle. He’s a wuss when it comes to alcohol. Finally, he manages to form a sentence.

“Do you feel me?”

I nod. I mean, he’s touching me. Of course I feel him.

“No, no. Do you feel me? Do you feel what you’re doing to me? God, you get me so hard, I can’t… I just can’t resist you.”

I blush. Good to know that I still turn him on. Even when we’re both slightly drunk. He grins devilishly and continues.

“And oh, what I’m going to do to you. First, I’m going to kiss you, hard, so fucking hard, you’ll be blown away. I’m going to kiss your breasts, soft, tender…”

His words are turning me on. Even though he’s slightly incoherent….

“And then I’m going to lick your body, every single spot, every spot that turns you on, cos I know what turns you on, babe. I’m going to lick my way down to your cunt, your wet, sweet cunt and then, crikey, I’m going to make you writhe. I’m going to make you moan, like never before. And then… then I’m going to fuck you. Oh, I can just imagine it. I’m deep inside you, deep in your warmth…”

I give him a kiss. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“Trust me, babe, I know. I know that I want you, I want you so bad, it hurts. I want to see your face when you come and I want you to… God, I want you to look at me. Look at me when I come. I want you to see what I’m feeling inside. You make me so horny, and I just want your hot little body against mine.”

I grin. Can’t help myself.

“Then do it. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.” I whisper. “Pound my pussy, get that gorgeous, hard cock deep inside me.”

He smiles. “See, it’s more fun when you do it too.” he says.

“What, talk dirty?”

“Yes. Oh god, yes. That Welsh lilt makes everything sound dirtier.” he growls. “You know what? I’m going to make you come so hard that no other man will be good enough for you.”

He turns me on my back and straddles me.

“Ride ’em cowboy.” I say, winking. It’s this thing we do. Our little quirks. No matter what they say, our Dirty Saturdays are the best…

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My version of porn

So, a while ago I discovered a fantastic television show. You might know it. It is HBO’s sex on legs fest Rome. I would like to present you to some of the main characters. Note that some of them (alright, maybe all of them) are smoking hot.

James Purefoy as Mark Anthony

Kevin McKidd as Lucius Vorenus

Ray Stevenson as Titus Pullo

Polly Walker as Atia of the Julii

If you want more, like naked Atia, or Atia asking her son (future emperor of Rome) if he has penetrated anyone yet, Pullo on Cleopatra action or some bloody murder, please check out this show. Or ask me for more pictures.

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a little bit of fail

I don’t understand. There seems to be a fresh batch of gay panic underway, and it’s delivered by none other than America’s favorite asshole Dr. Phil. Now, I was lead to believe that he was a sensible man, loving to everyone no matter what gender, race or sexuality. Apparently, I was dead wrong.

He is now giving advice to people on not letting your kids become gay. I can just hear him saying it in that annoying accent of his.

So what if your boy likes boys or your girl likes girls? This shouldn’t be a problem! I thought be were living in a free world, and loving all cultures. Apparently, I’m just that naive. Excuse me for that.

Everybody should be able to love in their own way. Are we born gay? Do we become gay? I don’t know. But I do know that being gay is not a bad thing. It’s a very good thing.

Close transmission. Sorry for this. Regular service will resume tonight or earlier.

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Ah, nothing like the sound of three people raping the shit out of Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon to make my day better. Yes, Idols is on again. And this week, no Crank to keep me company, no feverish dreams about Jason pounding my cunt in the middle of Chinatown.

Instead, I have the pleasure of off-key singing and charisma-lite people trying to wow us by standing completely still. There is only one guy that impresses me, and that’s because he is slightly hotter than the rest. Woe is the judges. Woe are the contestants. Woe is everything in this show.

Little note about the elimination round in MC Australia: Callum is still in. Yay! Philip is out. Boo.

I am now officially in love with Wee!Callum. He is too cute for his own good. I now know where he’s from. Nuriootpa, South Australia. In the Barossa Valley. If ever we go to Australia (and we might… stay tuned for more news on that) I’m hitting Nuriootpa.

I’m not supposed to shout it from the rooftops yet… but we may be going to the land down under at the end of the year… if we have the money and the money and the money… I might have to get off my arse and work. But that’s fine by me.

I had a surprise moment a few minutes ago. I encountered a little pic of Jason. Which made me happy. I get my hapiness from the little tings in life, you know.

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