Apparently, the whole place is pitch black with no lights and you spend the whole night dancing up close and personal with people you can't see. Anyone ever heard of it? Anna seems very enthused about it but I can’t decide whether or not it sounds incredibly sexy or a little too much like speed dating gone clubbing.
Maybe by the time we find out what it is and where to find it everything will become clear (or dark?) and maybe, just maybe, this bastard cold will have cleared up as well.
If only I had been born a man, I could have a week off college and say I had come down with 'man-flu'.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
So I visited my secret stash and tested and assessed each and every one of my toys and decided which I was going to throw out. I’d actually forgotten about some that were in there. I can’t believe how many don’t even work anymore.
On the ‘to go’ pile is a pink rabbit, a purple dildo, a small ‘life-like’ cock vibe plus a clit kit. Don’t forget the silver anal probey thing and the red finger vibe. Those I just don’t use much anymore.
I have left one blue rabbit, one green nymph vibe, a sliver jelly dildo, a purple ribbed vibe, a blue multi-pulsing vibe (divine) and a knicker critter (so far unused). This is without ‘additions’ that I wouldn’t use on my own.
Now I’m faced with a problem. I have made these two lists. But how does one dispose of sex toys? I’ve never done it and I’m a little worried about just dumping them in the rubbish. What if the bag opens just as the bag is chucked in the rubbish van at the same time some little old lady and a group of school kids are walking past? Also, are they recyclable? Nope, not a good idea.
Then I’m thinking to myself that I don’t even want to get rid of them. They hold memories. One of them is my first ever sex toy. Another is the first The Bloke Indoors ever used on me. Then there are the two of them that were used at the same time while I sucked him. No, I don’t think I even want to get rid of them.
Maybe I should just buy a safe for the lot and put it in my wardrobe so that only I can get to them?
Friday, October 27, 2006
The other verdict coming in is that I think I’m succumbing to this ‘orrible cold that everyone seems to be getting at the moment. I’m not happy about it. The Bloke Indoors is away for the rest of the week so I suppose that gives me time to dose up on oranges and other fruity goodness to try and get rid of it but it’s just not the point. I’m stuck indoors for the rest of the weekend with a box of tissues and fruit (oh and my coffee). I would really like to go one year - just one sodding year - without getting a cold. But I suppose I only have myself to blame, I do seem to only go out on days when it’s about to pour with rain.
And I’m not wearing a suitable jacket.
And I haven’t got an umbrella.
Seriously did anyone else get caught in it on Wednesday? It wasn’t fun. I end up with a very soggy newspaper.
I blame the weatherman.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Or just go and try out the new spicy cinnamon coffee I bought today...mmm much better idea, then I'll think of something more interesting to do I think.
Bear with me now.
I’m not saying anal is replacing oral as a physical act, I mean as a discussion topic and even as a labelling act (unfortunately). It used to be that giving a man a blowjob was a disgusting thing that you would never ever do but if, for some reason, you ‘accidentally’ ended up doing it, you would definitely not admit it. To anyone.
Well that’s where anal has replaced oral.
Nowadays (oh God I’m turning into that 80 year old again aren’t I?), getting your lips around a throbbing cock is acceptable. You don’t brag about it (well you might if Katy or me are your mates), but it’s perfectly OK to say that you may have, once or twice, allowed someone to place his penis in your mouth. For fucks sake you can swallow as much as you like too! The thing you must never even mention, unless you are slagging someone else off of course, is having, or even dreaming about having anal sex.
Then you’re a whore. No, not just a whore. Oh no. You’re a skanky, nasty, dirty little slutty whore who takes it up the arse in back alleys to anyone who offers it to you. Oh yes, all that, and more if you know particularly articulate girls.
Ready for the twist? It’s just like it was with oral. Everyone is doing it. No one will admit to it.
Case in point. I was in Harmony the other day talking to one of the assistants about a rather scary looking spiky cock ring (…thing) and we got onto the subject of anal. It was kind of like:
Her: Have you noticed that it seems all men are obsessed with anal? (said with a disgusted look on her face)
Me: Yes! It seems like all they want to do it! Do they not realise the actual purpose of the vagina? (Add equally disgusted look)
Her: I know! Honestly we should shove one of these (picks up large dildo) up their arses and see what they say!
Me: (laughing) We really should.
The disgusted look did not make it to the eyes, we both knew what the other was saying: Anal, bless it, is fantastic. We just can’t admit it and that later on that night we would be begging our respective others to fuck us up the arse. Hard.
And the stupid thing? We were in a shop devoted to sex, half of the toys were bloody well designed for anal! I wonder if she was making a real suggestion with the dildo? I know The Bloke Indoors is pretty open for experimentation but I think 9” is a bit much even for him!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Now I have a love/hate relationship with this place. It’s fantastic. The little side streets branching off in all directions that The Bloke and I can get lost in, the great shops (both quirky and mainstream), the market, the opera singer, the restaurants and best of all the street entertainers!
They’re fantastic! For about £7 (if you want to cough up the cash of course!) you can watch an entire afternoon of shows, get your arse slapped by a jolly green monster man and get blessed by a fairy! If they’re out the day you go of course, it might be someone new other times, but there are always magicians, dancers, fire-eaters and those statue people standing all over the place…I love it!
Now why do I hate it? People that have been there think about it. Think carefully. Any ideas? Picture it in your mind…now look at the floor.
Covent Garden is hell for anyone not wearing trainers or completely flat shoes i.e. Me.
I toddle around it in my heels looking like a complete fool trying simultaneously not to slip on the cobbles, not to get my heel stuck in the gap between the cobbles, to pay attention to the change in texture of different floor surfaces and to simply not trip on uneven surfaces.
Add to this fact yesterday (Saturdays are always madhouses anyway), brainiac here decided to meet The Bloke Indoors wearing these, I had a little bit of difficulty.
Still I got a nice photo frame off of one of the stalls from the market.
Like I said at the start, it’s totally love/hate.
I came so hard I got cramp in my feet.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Is anyone watching us? I wonder suddenly.
Of course they’re not, they’re getting on with their own business, couples, friends and strangers alike. All breathing deep and steamy breaths, pushing themselves closer to one another in simultaneous movements.
My partner was getting restless, pushing me up against the wall wasn’t enough anymore, he wanted to move, to move me with him - he had to we were so delicately entwined now.
Turning together, without even parting, we end up facing the same way, my backside quite expertly placed in front of his groin.
The time is getting closer; soon we will do something even more surprising than turn around. Not just us though, many are getting restless.
The train stops at the very last stop, the doors slide open and we all slide off, finally splitting from our partners, probably never to see them again.
Oh the joy of rush hour.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Of course I felt turned on by the smell of certain boys and not others, its friggin biology. All those pheromones telling me which male would be the best to mate with to produce good offspring and all that.
I told you I was feeling bastard broody didn’t I?
I suppose the strangeness is that I was noticing the smell more than I would have thought I would – is it time for me to make my babies?
Like good ol’ gub gub said – practice is always good and I don’t need those smelly boys for that!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
I was sitting in the library at college reading what has turned out to be a fantastic book. I was sitting in a seat that was being passed by a constant stream of people as they left the library for their lessons or just because they’d just had enough of whatever they were doing. Then it struck me.
Everyone that passed me had an unmistakable odour about them and it really wasn’t perfume. I don’t know what it was about me today but my nose was feeling unusually sensitive and I could definitely smell every single person that walked past me. Distinctly.
But this wasn’t the problem. The problem was (perhaps still is) that with a select few, this smell was bothering me in the slightest. It wasn’t causing me to try and breathe through my mouth or even wrinkle my nose in the slightest (not that I would but for perspective you see). Nope, on the contrary – the smelly bastards were turning me on.
I’m usually an aftershave girl. Or a once-I-get-to-know-your-body scent girl. Random body odours don’t do it for me. Except of course for today. Certain male bodies at my college had a scent about them that we definitely making me squirm in my seat and causing me to let my mind wander off of my not-so-squirmy novel. While others…well lets just say they didn’t. And it was definitely just the males too.
It’s strange and it may require some more investigation.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
I've known the entire dance and every word to the soundtrack of Dirty Dancing since I was 13. It was just on channel 5...Where's my CD?
I’m Kit (I know you know, but all introductions begin with a name)
I’m 18. My parents can’t accept the fact I’m not a their little girl anymore, though I have to say, if being their little girl means getting my laundry done I’m all for it!
My favourite drink its orange and fizzy but doesn’t taste of orange. Can you guess what it is?
I live and breathe London; I can walk through it all day long and never get lost.
That’s a lie I get lost all the time, but I can always find my way home – just like a cat.
I cannot describe what The Bloke Indoors is to me. He simply is. I love him.
I’m getting broody and it won’t go away, it’s beginning to scare me.
I love chemistry - it’s my favourite subject.
I hate chemistry lessons – they never end.
I love it when The Bloke takes control – I will always be his slave, unless he tells me not to be (but isn’t that the same???)
The first time I felt a leather paddle on my arse I screamed and flew off the bed.
Then crawled back over for more.
I want to have sex in the kitchen. I don’t know why but I really, really do.
I’m a poor student with no job. I’m sorry. I’m trying to get one I promise.
I had killer leopard print shoes. I wore down the heels. I’m gutted.
I do not understand why some people do not like giving or receiving oral. Each to their own and all that. But I just don’t get it.
No, I do get it, that’s why I like it; I don’t understand why they don’t like it.
Next year I leave home for university. I can’t wait.
I’m terrified about leaving home for university next year.
(how obvious was that?)
I love reading, if that reading involves a little sexiness then that’s great. If there are pictures along with that sexiness then that’s not so great. I think it has something to do with me once finding something that looked a little too much like my brother for comfort.
I quite like it when people read over my shoulder on the train. I like to see their reactions.
I hate rush hour trains.
I have a favourite bus route.
I miss route masters.
I prefer to walk everywhere.
In 3inch+ heels.
I where flats when said 3inch+ heels have rendered me unable to walk in anything but flats.
If you need directions around London from me I will give them to you via coffee shops, you have been warned.
Mmm saying that I really would like to play under the table in a restaurant.
(Its strange the things I’ve done with The Bloke and the things I haven’t which would seem so simple).
I’m a little bit worried about a piece of CCTV footage that may or may not exist.
The Bloke Indoors was my sexual awakening.
My biggest fear is my mum finding my toys.
I’ve already found hers. It’s not a pleasant experience.
This has become a longer than I planned. Sorry about that.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Things that went wrong today:
1. I lost the butterfly clip for the back of my earring when I had exactly 3 minutes to leave in order to get to the station on time.
2. I didn’t get to the station on time.
3. The train I got (later than normal) broke down.
i. Mid way between stations.
ii. Decided to go backwards
iii. Made me drop my breakfast when it broke down (again) whilst going backwards
4. It decided to piss down with rain – the kind that bounces a foot off the floor even though the weatherman predicted ‘showers’. My light jacket was soon soaked to my freezing skin.
5. I also slipped and twisted my ankle rather publicly (as a consequence of the rain)
6. The battery on my iPod completely died, no Fratellis for me today.
7. I saw something I didn’t want to see in a public toilet.
8. I didn’t make it into the student lock in at Office… 20% off and a goody bag for first 50 students with valid NUS and I didn’t get in!!
Bugger it all and shove it in a toaster.
And don’t anyone dare say things can only get better.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Tate Modern Slide - weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!
Saturday, October 07, 2006
I've created a couple of websites from scratch before, nothing major, just little things that don't even exist anymore, but for some reason editing the bloody template for this thing is beyond me!
Is it actually hard? Or is it just too simple for me to work out? I just want to look a little original, is that so bad?
I can see how to do it, the where's and what now’s of it, but every time I try and do something I seem to delete something a little important and lose half of the page - now I'm pretty sure that isn't supposed to happen.
Grumble grumble. One of these days I'll sort it out I'm sure.
Or at least I hope.
Friday, October 06, 2006
The Bloke Indoors, Katy, Claire and Anna all think there is something slightly weird about me. Why? Because I wouldn’t sleep with a woman.
Now they don’t think that all women are full on bisexuals, but they do think that given the opportunity, pretty much any woman would jump at the chance for some girl-on-girl action. I really wouldn’t. I don’t know what it is but women just don’t turn me on. Is there something wrong with me? They seem to think there is, and I’m a little worried that they may try and test my claims.
I tried testing myself the other night (always experimenting!). Lying in bed, on my own, I was playing with my favourite toy and began a line of thought to see what led to the best kind of feelings and prompted me to change pace during play – quite a good experiment I think you’ll agree.
I began thinking of being on a massive bed, cool cotton sheets beneath me, completely naked and slightly snoozing on my own when I feel the weight of someone else on the bed, turning so that I’m on my side I see there is a woman. She’s tall, curvy and is just as naked as me. She has breasts larger than mine, but I’m not jealous, she moves close to me so that we’re just touching; our nipples gently pressing against each other’s. Her hair is tied back out of her face to reveal her face. She has a look that says she has a secret – following her gaze I see her hand drifting across the small triangle of pubic hair she has before sliding down in-between her now open thighs. My hand rests on her breast, I trace her nipple with my finger, watching it grow harder beneath my touch. I squeeze her nipple gently between my fingertips before letting my hand slide down her body. She moves in to kiss me, her soft lips opening mine to let her tongue explore my mouth. My hand replaces hers between her thighs, feeling her warmth and wetness along her inner lips I find her clit hidden beneath her tiny hood. Her hand slides into the same position on me and we find a rhythm together, while our legs interlock we kiss and use our fingers on each other, our breathing quickening with our movements…
In the real world now, not a lot is happening. I’m not exactly turned off I’ll admit that, but I’m certainly not getting any more pleasure from my undercover antics than I was before I started to think about my mystery woman.
So lets wave goodbye to her.
The door opens and in walks The Bloke Indoors. We freeze. He gives a coy smile; “She’s mine, off you pop” And, since it’s make-believe, she simply disappears. The Bloke is fully dressed in work clothes. I sit up and begin to unbutton his shirt, pressing my body up against his chest as his shirt falls open around him. I kiss him gently on his lips, he pulls me into a more passionate kiss and my hands move to his trousers, I can feel his hard on through his fly and quickly unzip him, desperate to feel him, my hand slides down his cock, pulling back his foreskin to reveal a glistening head.
Mmm why would I want a wet pussy when I could have this? We stay like this for a while, kneeling together, enjoying a kiss like long lost lovers, my hand stroking him slowly before it gets too much and I want him properly. I pull him back on the bed by his open shirt and make him lay on his back. Kneeling above him I suck him into my mouth as he lies back on the bed, his trousers still somewhere around his knees. As I begin to trace my tongue around him, tasting him, drinking him, devouring him, his hand rests on my bum, stroking me, sliding down between my legs.
Me: “Leave me I’m playing”
Him: “So am I. Keep sucking.”
I curl my finger and thumb around the bottom of him like a cock ring and follow the movements of my mouth with it, sucking him in long slow strokes, letting my tongue circle around the his swollen head as his foreskin rides up over the top. All the time his fingers are playing with me too, pushing deep inside me from behind, rubbing against my g-spot, making me shudder with pleasure.
Him: “Get on top. I want to feel you come on top of me”
In the real world? Well there is a bit more of a reaction than to the idea of the woman – ‘nuff said.
Conclusion: I’m strictly heterosexual in my mind. I suppose to really prove it takes physical proof but we’ll see about that another time.
Off out now. See you tomorrow!
Sunday, October 01, 2006
I'm 18 years old for crying out loud I don't want a baby. So why every time someone pushes a pram past me with a tiny, screwed-up-faced newborn do I start wishing it was mine?
I used to banish these thoughts simply by thinking of dirty nappies and sleepless nights but it doesn't work anymore. I want a sprog.
ARRRRGGGHHHH! NO I DON'T!!!!
I want to go to university and have some fun before 'lumbering myself', as my parents would put it, with a baby, and I know that I can't look after one right now. Bloody hell I only just started doing my own washing!!! But every time I see those gorgeous, chubby, snoozing, sobbing wonderful little bundles being carried down the street I just want one dammit.
Got to find a way to stop thinking like this!
Don't tell The Bloke Indoors whatever you do, he won't come near me with a barge pole.