Sunday, 31 May 2009

How honest are You?

Yee Gods! I feel like I haven’t written on here for yonks! (‘Yonks’ – love that word.)
That’s either because I don’t usually have a life out side of writing my blog, or the past 2 days has dragged. Well, it’s not the latter because I’ve spent the weekend with Dee in his palatial residence rolling around in mutual adoration, in a beautiful leafy area of London.

We had a beautiful weekend with glorious sunshine beaming onto the bedroom balcony where we spent most of yesterday – myself, in a cotton pink and white gingham thong, him, in blue shorts. We had bickers x2.

Yesterday was bicker numero 1. Today, number 2 - but strangely for me I don't feel compelled to write about our tiffs. They don’t feel important enough. Something has changed in me the past 2/3 weeks with regards Dee and me. In fact, I’ve changed somehow with regards many things. I have cooled down my excessive peering into the future and trying to predict it. As a result my stress levels have dropped dramatically. ( For now.) I am not one to make dramatic statements about myself 'changing' unless I really, really feel it. I am all too aware how change take time for anyone. But I've had a year.

It’s taken me a year to trust that this man will not leave me. He has jumped through many, many tough hoops and he has remained resilient and consistent with his love for me. Done deal. He’s got everything I want in a man. Everything. He has the qualities that make me want to give him all my good.

Just one thing... his attitude to money needs to alter – but that no doubt will come. He’s used to being self sufficient and not having a girlfriend – especially an irresponsible one like me.
He’s not mean, not at all. He’s just not generous like other men I’ve known. He doesn’t spoil me to death buying me stuff, (which is probably good for me. It encourages my own independence rather than relying on a man which i’ve always done) but he absolutely treats me like a princess. I feel cherished by him. The guy loves me, that’s clear. He tells me all the time, he’s incredibly complimentary. He pampers me, and heaps me with affection constantly.

Anyway, that said, I left him today and there was a little grey cloud hovering above our otherwise perfect weekend. I started thinking... (because of the bickers) because I am not going to mention our disputes – does that make me somehow ‘dishonest’ by saying that the weekend was ‘ perfect?’ The thing is I am so used to living like an open book I question the meaning of honesty sometimes. I have been trained through therapy and rehabilitation programs to be ferociously honest – but do people really live like that?

For example there are a few things I could tell you here, but I don’t because I fear that the person involved may read this and I don’t want them to know what I’m thinking ... So does that mean I am not being honest with you?
This isn’t a big deal, I’m just thinking aloud... What does honesty mean to you?
I started thinking about just how honest people are when they communicate with each other.
In this case, me to you. I tell you facts ( usually) about a lot of events. But it’s impossible to say everything that goes on in life, isn’t it?

When someone ask you how you are – invariably we say ‘ fine,’ ‘good,’ ‘great,’ cos if we spoke our truth which at times is ‘ shoddy,’ ‘down,’ ‘worried,’ people would run, wouldn’t they? You know what I mean... When you go to your friend’s house to eat and she asks : ‘ How’s the food?’ You say ‘lovely’ when actually you may be thinking it’s bloody bland and needs spicing up..... Is this a lie? Are you being dishonest? Or just tactful?
Do you tell your work colleague that you cant stand their new top when they ask you your thoughts? We are all raised to believe that honesty is essential, right? But somewhere along the line people learn to become social liars, because it is necessary, no? People often don’t tell the truth – Maybe we must all lie a little most days...

So my question is - at what point do those 'social lies' cross the line and become unacceptable dishonesty?

Wednesday, 27 May 2009

You're no one without a Stalker

I’m bloody tired. I have been most of the day.
Yesterday evening was an emotional strain after my visit to the tattooist. Jesus - that hurt, but it’s looking damn good! So subtle, yet noticeable if my hair is up – which it’s had to be today in order not to pull the colour off my new appendage.

Anyway, I’m running a bath right now and in a minute I’m going to get in it, before going to bed.
I need an early night. I’ve had a few nights of 5/6 hours sleep the past couple of days. HOOKED (the book... if you don’t know by now...tut..tut..) is taking me hostage once again, and I have some small details that need looking at before sending it back to the agent this coming Friday.

Hey ho... I do love the solitude of writing. It suits me a lot, but I see how easy it is to also become a recluse during the process. I have to make an effort to enjoy myself in other ways besides pinning myself to the laptop. But as I’m sure I’ve said a 1000 times before – and I’m about to make that 1001 – I am on a mission. Not world domination. Just to get this thing published, as soon as I can.

Let me tell you this thing that happened today... I was walking down a busy street and this large black, blacked-out beast of a BMW stopped in traffic and some bloke asked me if I wanted him to give me a lift... ”Ooh, go on then Mr Nutter, I’ll get in your car and you can drive me to the nearest derelict building and rape me before leaving me for dead, if you like... Yes, please let me in to your shiny new car.” I mean, come on... does that shit ever work? I’ve never once taken someone up on the offer of dinner, coffee, drinks , their number or lifts from off the street.
Not even back THEN. You know when... when I was a .... you know what.
So, this guy it has to be said asked politely so I half turned my head and half raised my lips and said ‘No thanks’ into the air. No eye contact.
I carried on walking and didn’t think anything more about it. I was just glad that I had a long top on knowing that he’d be checking my ass.
Next thing I turned down a road and the same flaming car speeded up besides me and stopped about 20 feet in front of where I was walking.
The guy got out of the car. All 6’5 of him. He must have been about 3 feet wide. Solid. Not wobble.
Oh fuck, I thought to myself.
“Hi. ... blah, blah, blah, I’d like to take you for a coffee blah, blah, blah....” – Coffee?? What the fuck? Does he know I don’t drink?

Then I realised - he doesn’t drink either, hence the suggestion of coffee. He was Muslim which was clear by his long beard and Arabian looks.
Anyway, I carried on walking after declining his offer of a lift, coffee, his number and dinner... and he walked along side me and beckoned his side-kick to fucking drive along side us.
Oh fuck. They’re going to bundle me into the bloody car, here, I was thinking.
I carried on walking – he carried on talking – offering me one of his cars, telling me that he feels like he knows me somehow and that he must have seen me in his dream – and get this: He said that he has ‘lots of women’ around him . I can believe it – he was a handsome chap . And he very kindly offered to ‘get rid of every one of them’ if he could be with me.

Oh god. I didn’t know what to do – so I told him I was going into a shop that we were approaching.
“I’ll wait here for you then.” he said.

“Please don’t. You’re freaking me out” I chirped. He was. Quite badly at this stage.

“Well let me have your number then”


“Let me have your number”

“No” Then me, being me, I decided that he was probably going to stab me cos I hadn’t given him my number... I live in London, OK, just cos he was dressed head to toe in Gucci, and God gave him good looks does not mean he’s not a nutter.

And that was proven when he insisted on giving me his number , Oh, and his email address which started with the word ‘Mad’. You see.

Now, he happens to be reading this , I just want to say to you Mr bearded bloke – ‘I’m only joking, I thought you were very charming and a very nice fellow, and maybe if you hadn’t hollered me in the street then followed me, only to tell me that you’ll ‘wait’ for me to leave the shop – then maybe, just maybe we could have had that coffee. But not in this life. Not now. Sorry.’

Tuesday, 26 May 2009

A tattoo is not just a fuckin scratch. OK
I did it.
It’s pretty and I like it – but I really don’t think I would scrape through the pain of having a tattoo ever again. To put it in the most polite way possible – it fucking hurt like hell.

I will never understand why people get ‘addicted’ to getting them done. I will never get that now I’ve put myself through the ordeal.
I can only imagine that similar to women forgetting the pain of childbirth (only to repeat the same experience later) – people forget the ferocity of part-taking in an ancient tradition of branding oneself.

I mean, they compare a drug relapse to childbirth, 'They' being NA & AA , and they say if you remembered the pain would you put yourself through it again?
(that's why people are advised to go to meetings to be reminded of the pain (of addiction) they came from)

I will never let it be said again, in my presence that a tattoo‘ it’s like a scratch’ – IT IS NOT LIKE GETTING FUCKING SCRATCHED– unless one is being scratched by one of those implements we all used at school to draw perfect circles. ( Cant remember it's name).. That, or a sharpened barbecue skewer, that has been sitting in the coals for an hour.
I kid you not.

You know something though – I am rather disappointed with myself.
I think of myself as a tough woman , I really do. So, the fact that I freaked out like I did seems out of character... Actually the freaking out wasn’t so unusual – but the reason was.
I was ‘la-la-la-la-hum-hum-hum-ah-ah-ah’ out loud. Singing mumbo jumbo despite being unable to actually sing a note when my body is not being massacred.
The tattooist kept saying ’ You’re doing well. You are woman’... Err, well I’m certainly ‘woman’ but I was definitely not ‘doing well’.
As he was referring to me as ‘woman’, the insinuation was that therefore I must show strength and momentarily represent female kind. That put me under no pressure whatsoever, of course, so I was left with no other choice but to do what any other other ‘woman’ would - and grit my teeth even more.

This I did whenever he resumed after I yelled ‘ I can’t do this. I can’t get through it.’
So, now for the good news amigos: I have to go back in two weeks to get more colour done .

I can’t friggin’ wait.

I couldn’t stand being there another fucking moment longer. Not today. I needed to get the hell outta dodge and get my ass home.
Jesus Christ - let me tell ya - from this day forth I will view repetitive tattooing as being a form of self-mutilation. I mean, what the fuck? Why? Why? Why do people do it?

And as for childbirth – PLEASE remind me that there is such a thing as an elective cesarean. When I’m bleating on about being an ‘earth mother’ and feeling the magnificent pain of bringing God-given life into this world, someone PLEASE tell me to shut up and call me a wuss.

I have one last thing to say on the matter: These pretty flowers do look very, very nice indeed and perhaps when I go back in two weeks I will, maybe, just maybe, there’s a very tiny possibility that I may have just one more flower added to my cute little cluster...

HOOKED: No.1 blog in London ( Networked blogs)

I want to send you all a huge thank you for getting Hooked up to the number one most popular blog in London, on (facebook's) Networked blogs platform. Yaaay! I'm chuffed!
I know it means nothing - but I must admit it gives me a quiet glow.

You guys are amazing and the love and the support you have shown me is immense...
I'd like to thank God, You, L, K, my agent, Dee, my goldfish, my neighbours dead cat, and anyone else I may have missed out for your unwavering support and enthusiasm for my work...

Without you all I wouldn't be holding this award in my hand right now.
Without you all I'd be nothing, a failure, a vagabond... My life would be worthless as is an edible bikini.

OK, enough amigos! You get the message, huh?!

I'm really chuffed and really grateful for all your support....Thanks a lot!
Please keep it coming.


Hooked is way behind getting even a sniff in the rankings of the Networked blogs World top 50. But one foot infront of the other andliterally anything is possible.

People are everything. So, people mixed with determination and positive thought and anything can be created...Anything. Nothing or very little is achieved alone.

And it's YOU people I want to send love and huge kisses to!


Monday, 25 May 2009

Tattoo & Insecurity

I’ve been staying at Dee’s new place this weekend. It’s cute. It’s pretty, and I’m pleased for him. It’s good for him. Probably good for us – although I am really trying my best not to get too involved in the ‘us’ factor.
I’m trying just to ‘ be,’ without the excess analysis which I find crippling that I all too often subject myself and any other past unfortunates that I have been involved with. It’s torture living in my head at times.
This analysing disease I suffer is more painful for me, than the recipient. Although the recipient, in this case Dee often gets it in the neck, I know that and I hate myself for it.

My problem is only with men and more specifically, men I am emotionally involved with.

I wish Dee could say something to me or anyone when I'm around, without my head bursting into suspicious life and tormenting me with negative possibilities.
The things I over analyze are silly, petty and nondescript. To hear me go on at him at times anyone would think that I believe I am ‘persecuted’.
Well, I’m not and if I am, it’s only by myself.

It’s bullshit living like this and I spend far too much time obsessing about utter bollocks. It’s nothing but deep insecurity which unfortunately could easily be viewed as childish and controlling behaviour– which I it comes across as being, and at times it's probably exactly that, but at it's root is insecurity in its purest form.

*im such a drama queen!*

The thing is- It’s only ever when I am emotionally involved with a guy that my thinking becomes erratic and burdensome. I am not like this with female friends, ever. It’s odd.

Unfortunately, all too often I don’t trust men. It’s sad but true and especially considering that I’ve been loved by some truly wonderful examples of the male human.
But as L and K point out - I do treat them differently to women. I’m aware that I certainly treat men that I am emotionally involved with differently. My insecurities seep out in all directions. But day to day I don’t think I treat males differently to females – maybe I’m a little harder with them, that's all... Oh, I's not important.

Do you remember a while back I mentioned that I want to get a tattoo? I want to do this as a constant reminder to simply take things as they are.

“It is what it is,” that’s what it’ll be.

Dee loves me – I know that. I am a pain in the ass – I know that too... and this over sensitivity is a pattern of behaviour that has haunted me throughout my adult life and I want to try something new to see if it can help.

In the scheme of things having a tattoo may seem drastic or unnecessary. I am getting it partially because I’ve been toying with the idea for a long, long time – but it is mainly an attempt to help myself focus, help me remember that things do not always need to be analyzed. They can be what they are with no hidden meanings.

“It is what it is.”

I’m doing it! I’m doing it! This week, I hope. Any ideas where I can go in London?

The struggles I go through in life will not evaporate, with or without a tattoo, I know that. My head will continue to fuck with me tomorrow, next week, next month, next year... but I will continue to fight it, and I reckon a constant reminder could help me slow down.

I’ve tried to help myself in the past - drugs, alcohol, men, money - and it all got too much. I couldn’t cope with any of it.

Now, I’m gonna try this.
Hey, you never know I may end up with post-it style words of encouragement etched all over my body!

Whatever it takes to get by my friends ... whatever it takes...
By the way: I'm fully aware that a blinkin' scrawling will not be a miraculous ‘cure’ to my emotional struggles - but since I’ve been looking to have one anyway – I'm doing it now.

And at the same time I’m going to have tiny brightly coloured flowers, creeping behind my ear coming down part of my neck.... nice huh!?

Yaay! I can’t wait!

these feet are not made for walking

Thursday, 21 May 2009

birthday commiserations!

Right then. It’s my birthday.

Boohoo! Boohoo!
Thank you so much for my birthday greetings Mon Cehries. You’re all so giving and kind.

Look, amigos I need a husband, I need to get my book onto Borders’ shelves, I need to make money, I need a house in the countryside. I need a car to pop three children into so I can drive them to and from wherever… (if only I could drive.)
Bollocks. I want everything and I want it now. Yes, now. I am now officially an adult, apparently; a woman of child bearing age who needs to get a bloody move on.

Talking of bloody… the period I’ve been waiting for the past two months for, finally arrived today, and I’m telling ya, it’s making it’s presence known! I feel so over emotional. I was crying last night. Tears have welled in my eyes again, now.

When I say I want everything Now. That’s exactly what I mean in case you didn’t believe me. Now, as in this year.
Am I desperate? Not in the socially demeaning manner of the word, no. Eager, yes. Will I search all over town for it? No. No need.

If I met someone who I could get through 6 months with without us wanting to kill each other then I’d marry him… Why do I need to wait 2 or 3 years? Let’s face it from first meeting someone, to even get to second date status with that person, never mind passed that – he must have accrued many positive points. He must be interesting, charming, clever, handsome, intriguing, sophisticated, well mannered, patient, balanced…… want me to go on…? OK then, as well as the above he must be adventurous, quick witted, with a sweet ass. Now, that makes for a number of options in the relationship stakes for him does it not?

But don’t forget when dealing with a woman that has the same attributes - you can multiply their opportunities by at least 10, no?
Women always get more opportunities, don’t they?
So, considering I’ve met more men than I wish to remember – the questions remain:



Dee is all the aforementioned – but as for a sniff of marriage with him anytime in the next two/three years I can forget that. But the kids! What about the kids?
I will give it a few months now and hopefully we will continue on this new found wave of stability, then see how I’m feeling about my future then, mainly about the babies front That’s my biggest concern.

Like I said to him last night - this is my life – not our life. I have to plan for my individual life as he has to plan for the things he wants for himself. I plan. I have to. I make things happen. I always have. And I plan to make sure that I am in a financially stable position before spring of next year, so I can approach a consenting friend to consider fathering my babies. That is if I am not in a reliable and stable relationship. (IVF all the way) I don’t fuck friends.
No, I do. Some. I call most people I’ve had sex with a ’friend’ tho, and I’m in contact with a few of them. The only people I don’t call friends are ‘people I know’ AKA ‘acquaintences.’ Having sex with someone can be a good way to kinda break the ice, no? That’s what myself and my friends (some friends) think…. It’s much better than a handshake, don’t you agree?

But after saying all this – after today, once I’ve eased off this flood of blood flowing from my womb, and once the emphasis is no longer of this turning of age thing– If someone mentions kids, I’ll probably say:

“What kids?” I’m too young for kids.

By ‘eck (as Auntie Flo would say)- I wish I still could say that but let’s face it I can’t.

Tuesday, 19 May 2009

Moral Test

This is absolutely brilliant.
I can think of nothing more to add!

This test only has one question, but it's a very important one.

Please don't answer it without giving it some serious thought. By
giving an honest answer you will discover where you stand morally. The
test features an unlikely, completely fictional situation, in which
you will have to make a decision. Remember that your answer needs to be
honest, yet spontaneous.

Please scroll down SLOWLY and consider each line.
Thoughtfulness is important for this evaluation to be meaningful...


You're in Florida...In Miami, to be exact... There is chaos
around you, caused by a hurricane and severe floods. This is a flood of biblical
proportions. You are a photojournalist working for a major
newspaper caught in the middle of this great disaster.
The situation is nearly hopeless.

You're trying to shoot career-making photos. There are houses
and people swirling around you, some disappearing under the water. Nature
is showing all its destructive fury. You see a man in the water;
he is fighting for his life, trying not to be taken away with the water and debris.

You move closer. Somehow the man looks familiar.
Suddenly, you know who it is... it's George W. Bush!
At the same time you notice that the raging waters are about
to take him under, forever. You have two options. You can save
him or you can take the most dramatic photos of your life. So,
you can save the life of George W. Bush, or you can shoot a Pulitzer
Prize winning photo, documenting the death of one of the world's
most powerful men.

Now, here's the question (below)

(please give an honest answer):

Would you select colour film, or rather go with the classic
simplicity of black and white?

Monday, 18 May 2009


I’ve mentioned before about how things seem to happen in my life. I’m so aware of even the smallest things and my observations make me realise that there is a power far greater than any human being alive and well ruling our universe.

The other day I was walking down Regent’s Street with daddy and his wife and we bumped into my cousin; my first cousin who I haven’t seen since I was 12 years old.

My father, however, has seen Paul, my cousin in recent years since he (my dad) re-established contact with his brother – my cousin’s dad after they’d stopped talking for years.
It’s weird to have just randomly bumped into Paul like that, eh?
He and his girlfriend were just passing us when they spotted my dad and hollered at us.
We all stopped, hugged, kissed and chatted for a while and that was that. I felt no connection to him, although he seemed nice enough. My first thought were that he is good looking and really image conscious– but hearing him talk and watching him laugh I realised that he doesn’t have much of an ego which is good.
He obviously likes clothes and fashion, as a result of working most of his life as a model. Although based in the north – he has lived on and off in London, although he has been living permanently in Yorkshire for the last 2 years.

So, after that bizarre encounter we continued mooching and went up to Covent Garden where I spotted a guy that I went to school with, again, a Yorkshire bloke.

Anyway, so, the plot thickens - right now I’m at work. I’ve just been down stairs to a shop and there a man stopped me.

“Were you in Sardinia last week?” he asked me.
“Yes, I was” I replied.
“I was sitting right next to you on the flight back” He laughed.
“Oh god! Was that you?” I was pretty shocked. He breath stank. I noticed this as he snored with his mouth open.
“Did you recognise me when we were on the flight?” I asked him, wondering why the hell he hadn’t spoken to me during the few hours we risked our lives together, floating around in mid air.

“Well, I thought it was you, but I wasn’t certain.”

Bloody ‘ell ! Coincidences! He works in the same building as I do.
Can you believe it? These type of things happen to me so frequently that I almost forget the relevance of their oddity.

Another example… I told you all that I ran off to an island off the coast of Africa a number of years ago to try and escape London, escorting, bars and cocaine? Well, while I was there I met numerous people, naturally.

About four years after I returned to London (after rehab) – I was walking down Regent’s Street, again, and I walked into a guy, Mass, that I knew from the Island.

How weird is that? What is the likely hood of that happening I wonder? I mean, statistically, what are the chances? It’d be interesting to get a % guesstimate for the probability.
Mass, the guy, had never been to England before. He’d arrived a couple of months earlier. We exchanged numbers, but I didn’t keep in contact with him because that transcended the rules of my relationship with Sexless.
Anyway nearly a year later,(this time I was on Oxford Street )and I bumped into him again.

All these things simply make me smile and my heart glows. They make me grateful to be alive and they make me thank the Power of The Universe for brining them to my attention. When I was drinking, drugging and fucking for money – my life was not full of coincidences - unless it was, but the darkness prevented me from noticing.

Remember I also told you I met CG while I was bumbling along a small Lane off Bond Street? Curiouser and curiouser…

I sometimes wonder if I wrote down everything that happens in my life, would I find a pattern?
I wonder if that would then mean I could predict my future.
And then the question would be - would I want to?

Do bears shit on toilets made from solid gold and get their asses wiped by scantily clad beach babes who waft palm leaves over their heads?

Hell, no! Of course not.

Sunday, 17 May 2009

change the record! please!

It’s happened again. On a smaller scale, and in fact this time it was my step mum who over reacted to nothing. I’m bored of it, them, gutted and angry that my folks are so fucking odd.

I can’t be bothered to go into detail except to say, like last night they drank two bottles of red wine this evening, between them, and just a few minutes ago my step mum brought up the subject of my mother. As far as I could see she was shit stirring. She knows dad and i have polar different views on my feelings towards my mother from when I was small.I will explain more tomorrow when I’m more clear headed and less pissed off.

Anyway, Daddy went to the loo and I said to Step-Mama that I thought she’s brought up the subject
( which I’d immediately told them i didn’t want to talk about) out of ‘buggerment’.
After that comment S.M denied my statement and immediately decided that she was going to bed - and that was that. Dad then came through into the lounge and wished me a good night.

Ce ca. Finito.

So fucking stroppy. Why do that? Nothing bad was said, We're adult. They've now cast an uncomfortable air over things and now the whole weekend could possibly be seen as a 'failure' because of their fucking bull bollocks.


( 'Bull bollocks' - new word.... we like? or not? )

God, my father and his wife can be tedious. I will not bite to their crap. I’m sober, and emotionally intelligent. They are drunk and emotionally peculiar. Even when sober; which was only highlighted by Daddy Gee blabbing on about how he has ‘ no feelings whatsoever’ about one of his sons.
This same son decided that he wanted nothing to do with dad – after our dad re-appeared in his ( the son’s) life 18months ago, after 40 years of absence. I get the son’s point, although I hate that it hurt my dad at the time.
Now,instead of admitting hurt – he expresses complete nonchalance which was backed up by daddy's wife saying to me about her husband, in front of her husband:

“ He’s like that you know... He can just cut his feelings off. He can just cut people off...” ( daddy didn't dispute that)

“I know “ I said. ( what's that a fucking threat? Nah - im just being paranoid.)

“Be careful” My dad warned me.

Whatever Pops.

He no longer intimidates me. I don’t fear him. He won't bully me into his bullshit bollocks. I am a grown women with my own thoughts. My only rule is that I am never rude to them.

Honest , yes. Rude of abusive - why would I be rude and/ or abusive to an elderly man?
God, I’m pissed off and I’m looking forward to getting the flat back to myself tomorrow.
We’ve had a really lovely couple of days until about 30minutes ago...
Now, it’s my job to not let that break my heart and to be as up beat as possible in what will be an awkward situation tomorrow. I will be alright with them. They will try to be alright too – but these people I don’t trust. They’re like wolves in sheep's clothing. It’s awful feeling like that towards your parent (s).

It’s fucking shit if the truth be known.

But still, what can I do? I can’t control their responses to things; only mine.
Pity, that.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Thursday, 14 May 2009

Polite Notice

OK, I’m going to say what I have to say and I’m going to try not to upset, piss anyone off, or have you think I’m a twat. But I have to say something:

Right. As I’m sure you know I can be very direct. I talk about my reality in a brutally honest and direct manner. It’s called a style, my friends, I’m sure youi’re all aware of that.
It amuses me. I enjoy writing like that.
I want to share my story with you and I want to say it in a way that I enjoy, and that some people find titivating. It’s fun, funny – it's a giggle.

I am not how I write.
I am the content of my scrawlings and more, but I am not the style. The way I express myself in writing is exactly that - a writing style.

You must know that due to my past I am relatively sassy, confident and fun –and when I write crudely about things such as ‘ getting fucked relentlessly’ – yes, it’s true. But I say it with a grin – my tongue is in my cheek. The content is truth, my expression is just humour. I write in a filthy manner at times, because I like it. But was I brought up to speak like that? Of course not. Would I accept my children to speak like that? Come on now! Why do I do it? Well, why do you read it? It’s fun, right?

Just because I express myself in that way does not mean that I am not an angel. I am an angel. I’m lovely, warm, snugly…. And yes, for your information I can fuck like a chimp. Why can’t I be tender, sweet, genuine and rampant with a filthy mind?
Course I can be.

Why do some people get upset or feel let down when I am fluffy, then, brutal immediately afterwards? Women can be both, surely? In fact all people surely have different dimensions to their characters. I call it spice.

Also while I’m here I need to make another statement: Please don’t forget that I cannot respond to the scores of messages that come into my inbox daily. I just can’t do it. I have a life outside of Facebook and outside of my Blog and outside of my Notes. I am not an ex-coke whore who can fuck like a demon and express myself like I do, to everyone that meets me. Well, I am. But they don’t know it.
The Notes are part of a wider picture. Like everything in life – it takes many parts to make a whole.

Imagine if I was constantly reply to every message that is sent to me ?I would be involved in a full time job doing this – and who is going to pay me, huh?

I try and reply. I really do, but I simply can’t do it every day, and if ever you feel let down, then all I can say is that I mean no harm. It’s not personal.

You may have noticed that it’s more direct and quicker for me to reply to a comment on Facebook than to go and open each and every email I get, I mean, when would I ever get a chance to have my hair pulled while I’m being taken from behind, while getting called a dirty bitch, hey? Really.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Wednesday, 13 May 2009

Preparing for the upcoming Inspection

I.Hate.Cleaning.And.Tidying Up. What? I’ve said that before? Well, here I am saying it again – and the annoying thing is - I have to do it. I am not a scruff pot, certianly not. Nothing is 'unclean', just untidy. I'm simply not anal about this stuff.

The reason I'm panicking about this now is - Daddy and Step Momma are coming to stay. *Trumpets playing*
Indeed, the King will be here friday and his Queen will be casting a subtle eye over each inch of my residence with her OCD cleaning eye.
I remember the two of them coming to stay (when I was living with the sexless relationship, 2/3years ago.) and I’d spent a couple of days at least (I’m trying not to exaggerate there. I actually wanted to say ‘I spent a few days’) cleaning and organsing and making things perfect.
As we approached the flat, I said to them just to cover my ass ‘ You’ll have to excuse the mess’.
I then giggled, cos I knew the place was spotless. I felt confident, proud even, as they walked through the door.
You won’t believe this - the first thing my step mum said to me once we were inside, was: ‘Don’t worry about your place - I’ll help you tidy up before we leave’.

Oh god.

I was shocked. I couldn’t believe it... But her comment had myself and my then fella in hysterics. I’m laughing now thinking about it.
The flat was modern. Wood floor etc. Minimal furniture, just like the one I’m in now. I mean, come on ! How much mess can one make with minimal belongings along side sparse furnishings?
Not much I reckon... But still, I have to get this show on the road. I’m actually feeling anxious about it. Being lazy with these sorts of things, by nature - this does not a happy Bunny make.... Poo!

I must crack on.

So why didn’t I start this cleaning malarky last night? Because I was getting banged senseless - no sensual, body caressing, sweet whispers. Just a hard, intensive fuck. Just what I needed after a sexless holiday week.
So why don’t I just leave the flat organisation until tomorrow?
Well, because I’m be getting banged senseless. My snatch will be eaten out, my ass whacked and if last night is anything to go by – my body will be trembling.

Hey ho..... it’s off to work I must go.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Tuesday, 12 May 2009

blah, blah, blah...

Oh dear, oh dear….
The job agency I’m working through are perusing my references. Damn. I thought the smile had been enough. At least it’s taken them a number of weeks for them to get down to reality. I’d have been more concerned if the recruitment guy had questioned my referees sooner.
Whatever, anyway, I’ll cope. I’m just uncertain which version of my CV the agency was given… One of my ‘previous employers’ AKA ex-boyfriend ( sex-less relationship) has told the job agency that he’s away at the moment, to stall them, until I give him the info.

Thank fully he has got a good title attached to his current job so he will pass me off as a plausible past employee.
I didn’t directly ask him to lie on my behalf. God, no. I’d never do that. It’s not my style…. Well, maybe occasionally. But I prefer people to either offer their service or to come to the correct conclusion alone – OK they may need an undercover nudge, but nothing too tactless – although sometimes things just trip off the tongue, don’t you find?
Personally, my biggest area of untruths (as my dad calls them) is exaggeration.

I tend to think that it is completely socially acceptable and even encouraged for us to exaggerate. Or if not exaggerate - play something down; the opposite but the same in reverse if you know my meaning…I reckon this is more of a male trait which women probably only use when describing a negative experience.
I have a tendency to express myself with vigour. If I’m happy, sad, angry – It’s all pretty animated… Urrgh! When I hear myself I some times think I come across as I bit of a nightmare - but this makes me laugh. I’m not in yer face, I’m forth right and confident. At least in appearance I am. How I feel inside is often different to that.

Take last night, I was putting photos up on here of my semi naked torso, bold as brass without a care in the world. But probably less than an hour before that I’d been wailing down the phone to Dee complaining of my some times debilitating anxiety.

I get very anxious for no clear reason some times. Bi-polar Alert! I mean, I’d felt weird all yesterday evening. I had been suffering dizziness which I usually associate with when I miss a day’s medication.

Bloody’ell ! it’s sounding worse and worse….

Anyway, I haven’t missed a dose of my anti depressant, I was simply emotional, tired and feeling a tad alone; feeling a tad down; feeling a tad like I want to be with someone. Not to talk to - just to know that they’re there.
Do you know what I mean by that?

I think it means I want to feel secure; which I do want – more than anything in life. And you know something…? Despite Daddy Gee and his wife coming this weekend to stay with me. Their presence won’t make me feel more ‘safe’ or attached.

Yes, I have guests staying with me and I’m looking forward to it. I love entertaining, taking care of people and ensuring they have a great time…And my folks are, to me, the same as entertaining someone else’s parents. Altho pleasant, they won’t quite fill the longing.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Monday, 11 May 2009

asses with heads inside them...

First I want to thank you good people that have signed up for the blog. I really appreciate that, thank you! It makes me feel people are interested, which is clearly very nice for all involved in the process of needing encouragement i.e Moi.

Well I'm back.
I had a lovely time in the sun. Neither L or myself had the desire or inclination to do much while we were away. It was enough to lie in the sun - scratch my ass and flick through the same magazines 50 times over. Of course we drank loadsa water which was very exciting and due to my seemingly being born part cat - I was able to sleep a lot. Now, I sleep a lot anyway... well, I do if I'm not temping. But for sure during weekends if I don't snooze during the day I feel cheated.
"Sleep is the closest thing to death" - that's OK with me. I'll still do it. Loads. You know I like to dice with my life.
"Overly sleeping causes early dementia" Dee told me two weeks ago. So? I'm still doing it. Fear of losing my sanity is not something I have dwelt on too much. Correction - should I say, in the past I didn't. But now, I do actually. I prize my form of sanity very much.

Anyway, I'm lying on the sofa with some white shorts on and nothing else. I'm showing off my tan to myself. Yep, it's looking pretty fine - even tho I say it myself.
I enjoy my natural base tan ( being mixed race) but when the sun caresses my often pastyish skin, I develop a golden hue.

OK, right I've just taken my head from outta my ass and I'm about to get into the bath. I will then cream my body in a bid to keep this sun-kissed colour longer...
What did I just say about heads and asses? Head out of your ass Gee, for crying out loud! I'm teasing...........

I'm then going to Waitrose or perhaps it should be Tescos since I'm utterly broke. Buy some food and pass by HMV to see if there's a cheapskate DVD I can watch this evening.

I'm never one for films but after a holiday with L who is a film connoisseur, I've kinda got into them.
The one we watched which I liked most was 'Boys don't cry.' Have you seen it?
Tragic, touching and sexy.

I'll write again later.
I want to get out before the sun goes in.

By the way: I'm very, very happy with the agent I've got. She's utterly fantastico! I told her that I've been telling my friends: "I couldn't have designed an agent better myself."

OK - so my head's out of my own ass...Shall I take it out of hers now?
Nah, not yet.Credit where credit's due, I say!

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Saturday, 9 May 2009

tits out for the boys (and girls)

Tonight is the last night of the holiday.

Won’t be long here – must get back to L who is patiently waiting for me, bless her. She’s cute.
Today has been about blitzing ourselves in the sun; wearing nothing but a smile, oh and bikini bottoms. Kept our tits out tho… must give something back to the local community while we’re here, no? So, we thought beautiful round, firm surgically assisted tits would do the job satisfactorily. And just to cater for all tastes, we had the lovely L with her firm, bee stung , natural variety which come with a pretty pink nipple. Unlike mine which are mocha.

We talk a lot me and L. She’s very open like me, but different. She’s open with me and no doubt some others – but to the outside world I think she may be regarded as guarded. She is in a way. But like the rest of us, she’s just trying to find her way through life.

She decided today that I care less than her about what people think of me. That surprised me considering I think I am consumed with what people think of me. I’m awfully self obsessed. Not in an ego way – quite the opposite.

Anyway, I have made a decision today and I thought I would share it with yous first.
I am going to get a tattoo. On the inside of my wrist.
It will say:

‘ Life is what it is. It isn’t what it isn’t ‘

Make of that what you will my dear friends.
For me – that resonates loudly and clearly and I reckon being reminded of that constantly will help me a lot through my journey.
Like I said – we’re all just trying to get by.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Thursday, 7 May 2009

the contenders

I feel my girl power credentials slipping away along with the dullness of my colour which is due to the lack of English sun.

I’m here with L. She’s in our apartment watching a DVD, and I gotta admit however unsexy this may sound –I am missing Dee.
Yep, missing him.

This is slight bollocks after everything. But although my spine is made of steal my heart is not. So there you go. Natural I guess. I keep telling myself as did a ‘friend’* (of the ex-sex variety) ‘It’s like you’re weaning yourself off a drug. You just got used to him (Dee). Now it’ll take some time to feel detached.’
Very philosophical for this Thursday evening.There’s too much happening in my life for me to sit back. I’ve always had opportunities and have been very lucky – so why the hell would I sit back and start darning socks for Christs’s sake? wishing I’d gone out and embraced all that life offers.

I’m very hopeful about my immediate future. I can’t wait to get cracking with my book again next week.The agent has given me some very exciting feedback from a critic and she seems very buoyant. It’s an invigorating time. I’m enjoying my temp work. My flat is gorgeous, I’m on holiday becoming golden, so everything’s good.
Just one thing lacking: sex. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. I don’t think a relationship is what I need right now… too much hassle. I’m rubbish at them. I’ve decided that the quicker I get back onto the horse when I get home – the better I’ll feel.
I ain’t got time to waste. I want Dee to come and claim me as his, for things to change; and then I wake up to reality. I’ve got three potential pokes lined up. In fact make that 4, who in an instant I could drown my sorrows with, on – however you look at it.

Mr F
: 51 year old sexpert. Please ignore the remark above about ‘poking’. I don’t think of you in that way. Really. I wouldn’t be drowning my sorrows with you, of course. You’re just hot in bed and you know the things you say to me to me have me purring like an over weight, very satisfied cat.

: err, we have unfinished business. You know it and I know it. And like I said on Sunday. If you don’t come of your own accord, I will have to come and take you. I am confident that you will come. And that we’ll continue where we left off.

S: We really shouldn’t. That girl you’re not seeing but kinda, whenever she’s in town – she’s too young to have her heart hurt. Really, no, we shouldn’t. Yeah, it’s always been good – but ya know…

The above philosophizer*: You are beautiful. Well endowed, sensual but we never used to talk. I want interaction, no just sex. Altho saying that recently it’s been nice - our new-fangled chat, I mean.

I really don’t know. But one thing for sure: I can’t be arsed to go through this crap again.
I’d rather remain single, always, than ever feel missing for someone.

I’m on holiday. 'Get a grip Gee, you're boring!'
well, holiday or not, life goes on, right?

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Wednesday, 6 May 2009

muff dive or not? that is the question

Hey amigos/as!Holla! Holla!

It’s been a while... well, not really – but for an addictive personality like mine, when I’m so used to spending far too many hours than is good for my - and then suddenly not to be online (hate that expression online) everyday seems an age! (any expressions I don’t hate??)

Anyway, listen to me grumbling when I’m in southern Europe sunning myself with my best friend, L, talking crap and checking out men’s packets while drinking juice, water and fantasizing out being licked out by one of the waitresses. Yep, you read that correctly. Gee the Prude is wondering if I should investigate muff diving?

L. my best friend and I are historically heterosexual, but relatively open minded to trying new things. L and I have been talking the past days or so about how it would be to be with a woman. It’s funny how one person admits something and other follow, right? OK, so I decided to tell L. that after having an email exchange about 2 weeks ago with a girl who managed to stir my loins, I’m wondering if a dabble with a woman may be something I want to investigate. I know a woman can be for life and not just Christmas, but it is a crime to check something out that has always filtered through into my masturbation jaunts, but never in my reality.
I’m not into the idea of using someone or hurting someone’s feelings - none of that, no. At the moment my thoughts are in the embryonic phase. Well, maybe past the first scan stage…

I’ve always (since my teens) been attracted to women; and I’ve actively fancied more than a couple, but I have never done anything about it. This may seem strange considering my past. But I reckon I’ve always been true to myself in my life and have rarely (past the age of 14) done anything just to prove my liberalness or simply because someone expects it of me. One thing about me is I’ve never been afraid to stand alone; be separate from the herd.
And if needs must, go hunting alone, quietly without the approval of others or even their knowledge. I‘m very good at keeping things to myself. Maybe it comes from having no family. I have the ability to be frugal and I have a powerful survival instinct. But today, I don’t need to do anything for any other purpose other than just wanting to…. And I reckon, I might ‘just want’ to get it on with a woman.

What says you?

I must get back to my holiday. L and I are watching a dvd tonight…. We’re just wild like that.
Will write again tomorrow. xx

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Saturday, 2 May 2009

Adieu but not Farewell

So, tomorrow morning I will be sitting on a flight jetting too Sardinia . I’m really excited. It’s going to be fun. My friend and I are both broke, so there’s no pressure to run around the island like we got ants in our pants, taking helicopter rides and eating Beluga caviar just to convince ourselves that we’re really participating in our vacation.
To hell with that. We’ll be keeping a low profile, lounging around and laughing manically no doubt.
As I’ve said before L. Is a regal beauty who is smart, funny and clever and more emotionally mature than I am – despite being a little younger than me. Just as it was when we went to Egypt, we had minimal contact with other people, and just stuck to entertaining each other.

And no, that did not involve cunnilingus. But than you for considering that it may have done.

I’m sitting here doing something that I know is ruining my hair; attempting to colour it a couple of shades lighter – just so when I have a tan, I’m going to look fucking hot!

I’ll eat healthily and drink too much water while away – then come back next sunday and you know what I’m going to do then?

I’m going to begin a torrid affair with Mr F - My 51 year old sexpert. I text him today to check he’s single. And he is. Lucky him. Lucky me.
He seems excited about our upcoming fling – and hell, so am I. You know when someone on some level seems to just real you in? They seems to chemically smell just right for you at a very instinctive level? That’s him with me. Not only is he one of those cool, rich looking, sexily dressed,tanned, artistic, and educated men – he also has a penis which as well as being above average size – inside me it feels perfect.

If I wasn’t going away early morning and if he wasn’t spending today with pals – I’d probably be riding him tonight. He said that – I hadn’t thought of it. But of course, he’s far too classy to say it in those words.
It is roughly a year ago when we had our thing – before I got with Dee, and just before I had the liaison with CG... Yes, yes it was a busy year.
The weather was slightly warmer and equally as sunny as it was today. And as I went about my business of buying a couple of pretty bikini’s for the beach, I started thinking about how I used to lay in his gigantic bed which was on the top floor of a converted warehouse building, which he lived in the whole of. Two of the walls were acres of patio glass and the bed was in the middle of the large room.

So you wonder why I don’t just lay off men for a bit? Three reasons:

1. I’m searching for a man to be with and to father my children. ( OK, it’s not going to be Mr F – but still...we both know where we stand with that. And i can continue my search while we entertain eachother. I think that's how it works, anyway...)
2. I don’t really like to admit this, but I am needy when it comes to feeling love. And since I don’t have family or anyone to anchor myself to, I try and find it with men.
3. I don’t want to lay off them. I love sex, kissing, touching, hanging out with and all that comes with having a bloke.

Sorry if that sounds shit and I should be wavering the independence banner – that’s too bad.

I’m not like that. I maybe do not need a man to actually live and breathe – but I do want one. So what? I don’t need to have someone to sleep with every night. No. I enjoy sleeping alone.
But I want to love and be loved. And I want to be with someone who is emotionally mature enough to take allow me my tedious insecurities.

But before that happens – Daddy Gee and his Missus are coming to stay with me, the weekend after I get back! Yaaay! Can’t wait.
But for now – it’s holiday time amigos.

I need to go and wash this colour outta my hair now, and see what the heck i’ve done to it this time.... poor hair.

I will try and write a couple of posts while I’m away. I don’t want y’all to forget me.
I told you ... I’m needy.
Sue me.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Dee & Kieran go fuck yourselves! (and PLS read this)

Isn’t swearing the most supreme yet simplistic form of communication? Sounds like a contradiction, right?
Well, just in case you didn’t realise - I love it.

Now, if it wasn’t for the introduction of profanities into the English language life would be far more dull... take this post for example.
If I told you that last night ‘Wasn’t particularly great and I hope to not bump into a certain person again’; you wouldn't even bother shrugging your shoulders - never mind raise any desire to get the details.

But if I told you that last night was ‘One hellova a fucking disaster, and if I ever see that fucking cunt again I will spit on him.’

You get that I’m annoyed, right?

Not only do you understand that I’m annoyed, you also have a very good inkling to the degree that I am annoyed.
You know instantly that I was more annoyed than if the Jubliee Line stops for no obvious reason more than twice on a 5 stops journey.

In fact the cause of my disgruntlement is with one of Dee’s apparent ‘friends’ who he tells me is a ‘sleaze bag when it comes to women’. The guy can’t drink more than a couple of Brandy and Cokes
(coca-cola. Cocaine doesn’t mix well with liquid) without lurching at anything with a pair of tits and trying to talk to her.

Kieran - Yes, that’s his real name, cos I don’t give a flying toss about his anonymity. If he wanted to sue my ass for defamation of character he wouldn’t have a fucking leg to stand on.
Well, he would, but the bell-bottom-jeans-wearing-5-foot-nothing-tosser wouldn’t get very far.
OK – I don’t know Kieran. Not really. I’ve just heard the rumours via my faithful boyfriend, who recently has taken to hanging out with a creep. What was that?
‘People are as good as the people they’re friends with...’ – yes, my thinking exactly. So, I’ve been harbouring this resentment towards this short ass twat for ages, and last night all my anger towards him and Dee and my feelings of exclusion with their two person party, came gushing out.

I told Kieran that if he ever encourages Dee to chat up women when he, Kieran knows that me and Dee are together – I’ll break his, Kieran’s balls. Now I know Dee has a mind of his own. But I also wonder why the fuck he hangs around with some dickhead who’s literally desperate to find a woman. Dee’s words, not mine.
So, while I was towering over Kieran, telling him his fortune - Dee stepped in, gallantly to save the short ass and shouted at me ‘never speak to his friend like that again’.
Friend, now, is it? Kieran was a fellow that Dee told me he could barely communicate with, until recently, when seemingly they’ve been joined at the fucking hip.
Anyway – I then did something shameful. As Dee was shouting and trying to intimidate me, in the middle of the bar - I walked off with my friend K, whose night I ruined. We left. Dee text me: ‘It’s over. I will never speak to you again’.

I’m relieved.

Especially after just yesterday morning I found 2 condoms in his wallet.

Me and he use condoms. I’m not on the pill – but I’ve asked him before not to carry them in his wallet. He told me that he wouldn’t . Now, I respect the fact that we broke up and so he had every right, in fact it’s sensible that a guy about town should carry protection with him....... you just never know.

But when the guy in question went on to tell me that he ‘couldn’t remember putting them in there and when he did it....’ I told him he should bloody remember since we only broke up (first time) about 4 weeks ago. It’s too recent to have forgotten already, surely.
Dee and Kieran can both go to hell hand in hand, and on their way down – they can kiss my brown ass.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.

Friday, 1 May 2009

CG & Me continued...

OK – back to CG.
I cannot express to you the intensity of my feelings aged 19 when I met him and the impact that never being allowed to even touch one another left me with. We could do nothing while in treatment no kisses, no touch, lick, suck… and fuck?? Pah. That was a crime punishable by instant dismissal.

So CG and I both completed our stint in treatment on the same day - and he went back from where he came, as did I, but we talked, a lot. On the phone, every day. For hours – literally hours.
Eventually, after many dreams and few promises, lots of bewilderment and fantasy of a future – we both relapsed.
That was it, done deal. Over. Finito. Our lives were more important than our lust.

He did his thing over the years, and as y’all know – I did mine. In fact I spent the next few years honing my technique.

So, fast forward 12 years – and I swear it happened like this: I was walking down a very quiet small road off Bond Street and CG was walking up towards me on the same side of the road.
I said his name. He stopped. I stopped. We stared at each other, hugged, went for coffee, swapped numbers, but didn’t keep in contact.

It was not allowed to keep in contact with men that I found attractive despite never having had so much as a smooch with him, within the remit of my then relationship.

You may ask how the hell sexless relationship-guy knew about CG?
I’d probably mentioned him along the way. But really, I knew if I was to spend time with CG, me and he would have sex. All I wanted at that time was to bounce off his cock and get a flavour of what I’d been robbed of tasting through out the years.

Instead I had a Starbucks mixed with a sprinkling of sulk – cos I couldn’t do what I wanted… Well, I could have. Course I could, The Man from Delmonte was hardly going to say ‘No’… but my blinkin’ conscience wouldn’t allow it. Naively perhaps – I value fidelity.

But like the saying goes – every dog has it’s day. I had to wait. Patiently.(God, I sound like a predatory male) and eventually it happened.

So as I was saying last night CG was already in my flat when I got in on the bathing night.
We kissed, I sucked, he rubbed - but we didn’t fuck until later that evening.

Don’t forget this is a guy who I’d fantasised about for years. How was the sex?? Do you want me to tell you that it was awful? A big let down?
Do you want to hear that I’d blown him, and it, out of proportion?

Well, I can’t say that, ‘cos it wasn’t like that. I’m no sycophant, I’ve said that before, but CG and I seemed to click and everything worked blissfully well together. We laughed about what a let down it would have been had the sex been shit. Fuck – can you imagine??
It’s interesting how he is the only guy that I have ever slept with who know that I was once a hooker. Did I feel differentl towards him? No. Did I feel that he judged me? Absolutely not.
Did I feel as tho he treated me as a hooker? You’ve got to be joking. We had a great time – and surprisingly it didn’t feel overly loaded with expectation or forward thinking.
I can honestly say that for that 7 days I was living every minute in the moment. Enjoying the glances, the smirks, stroking under his chin and him rubbing my thumb, caressing my hands.
These are the things I class as intimate – not sex. I can bang anyone.
But let me tell you – I cannot sit comfortably close to someone, especially a man whom I’m not connected to without feeling awkward. And as for him touching me or me him – forget that.

I think the bath for me was as memorable as it was because I felt that there, in candle light, sitting opposite each other silently, our bodies touching under the steaming water.
In that few minutes there was no other people on the planet - Just me and him looking at each other. It was still. It was peaceful.
In that moment I was entirely happy. No worries. No thoughts and no other experience of anything in the universe, only him.

For me, this was the all encompassing expression of intimacy. This is probably the very thing that I’d really craved from him over the years.

Yes, after that extended moment we did fuck; in the water, my leg on the side of the bat. I was bent over, holding onto the taps for dear life.
I crouched over his cock and did my thing, our bodies slided against each other, and it was delicious.
We deserved the week that we had. We’d waited a long time.

And shall I let you into secret……….? I invited him to recreate that week with me in Sardinia (when Dee and I decided we weren’t going together.)
And you want to know what he said?

He’s seeing someone.

For my feelings on that – please refer to the past post called ‘ONE NIGHT STAND'.
That’ll tell you all you need to know.

Check out my Facebook page if you fancy a more personal chat. I'm under the name Missy Gee.