Coitus Double Interruptus

So, as you may have gathered, ILB has the week off. Which I for one can only applaud. So far, we’ve mostly been doing nothing. And nothing appears to suit us, so hey.

But this morning, we were in the process of having a lie-in. Picture the scene, two happy love birds, lying about in the nuddy. They’re holding each other and being generally blissed out.

His cock is twitchy, which I point out to him and which leads to a devastatingly good bout of kissing. His hand slides between my legs, fondling with my pussy lips and other bits. I squirm under the touch. And not before long, he flips on top of me and enters me.

We’re fucking. Making love on a cold Tuesday morning (AGAIN, IN SPRING) when the heat of each other’s bodies is enough to warm us up.

“Now do you see why I wanted to stay in bed a little longer?” he says before round two commences. I give a hearty “Uh huh” before I get lost in the movement and joy of this unexpected bout of sexy times.

And just as round three is about to commence…..

The phone rings.

It’s my mum.

Has her care package arrived yet? No, I answer. Can you let us go “back to sleep” now? Yes, she answers and bids good day.

After a while of lying there, holding, he slips his hand between my legs and between my warm and wet folds. It doesn’t take him long to exclaim “Fuck it, we’re having sex again.”

He’s inside me in seconds and just as if the phone never happened, sex does happen.

And then the doorbell rings.

It is said care package.

He pulls out in the middle of sex and goes to answer the door. After he comes back with the enormous cardboard box, we decide that we need to get dressed.

Yep, that’s how you do coitus interruptus. Twice. In the space of fifteen minutes.


Good Morning, Eejit

This morning (or rather, an hour ago) I woke up feeling quite playful. Tired, but in the mood for a fiddle, with something extra. The “something extra” in this case was an entirely new toy for me. At the LFF, I got my hands on a little Wartenberg Wheel. It`s plastic, black and I am oddly fascinated by it.

I think I quite like sensation play. The pinwheel was oddly arousing. So arousing, in fact, that I immediately made a bolt for my Ladyfinger vibrator. It was going to be an excellent orgasm.

Until I fucked it up.

I have NO idea how I did it, but I suddenly felt a sharp sting in my finger. It wasn`t wank cramp. It wasn`t a spasm. I had, effectively, sliced my finger open with the pinwheel.

It is not a good way to start your day.

Believe me, I tried to soldier on. I tried to forget about the little hue of crimson appearing in the cut, as I let Ladyfinger buzz away on my clit, but fuck me if it didn`t hurt like fucking fuck.

I got dressed, decent and flew into the kitchen, plastering up the gash.

Good morning, eejit, indeed.

Still, I`m having a wonderful morning so far.

The Phase

I’m going through a phase.

I know what you’re thinking. Everybody goes through phases. Fuck, I’ve gone through so many phases in my life that I’m starting to wonder if my life isn’t just one big stinking phase.

I just got out of one, for fuck’s sake. Can the phases not spare me for… say, the rest of the year?

This phase is an annoying one. But also quite liberating. Those of you under stress of some kind might even know it. It’s the incredibly ridiculous “Too Damn Tired to Wank” phase.

This phase reared its ugly head soon after my father got the Alzheimer diagnosis. You know what it’s like. Staying up till late. Going to bed, mentally but not physically horny. Not able to get wet or hard, but still reaching for your choice toy, mentally bigging yourself up.

“It’s going to be alright. You’re going to have a smashing orgasm and fall to a peaceful sleep soon after.”

Like fuck you do.

You start your frigging, and try as many possibilities just to get yourself off. Eventually, your hand will get tired. Buzzy from the vibrations of your toy, limp from the thrusting, tingly from whatever your fingers are up to….

And you give up.

Or even worse, you don’t even start at all. You go to bed, brain overloading with thoughts of the most illicit sex in the world. If ever there is a time to think about shagging a man in a bunny costume, it’s this moment.

That’s where I am right now. Inexplicably tense. My friend told me that he prescribes orgasms to counteract this tensity. I hesitate to tell him that I just can’t be bothered. There are other things more important.

I hope this really is just a niggle. I quite like orgasms, you know. The really good ones, the ones that make you go all wobbly for several minutes, till hours after.

And I really hope I can get the urge back. For now, I hope that a deep tissue massage will do. The tensity has struck my neck. I’ve never wished for a Hitachi more than I have at this very moment.

General Life Update Post

Yesterday, the family Barthez went to the beach. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?

We didn’t see the sea.

I puked in a corner of the market square.

People watched me puke.

We came back early.

The fun never stops in Barthez land.

Virgin Appeal

Yeah, I have to confess. I have no idea how to flirt. No experience, never tried it. So, now I’m in a bit of a pickle. There’s this guy. And I quite like him. I want to engage in some mild flirtation, but I have no idea how to get his attention.

Apparently, he’s a dynamite in bed and he seems like a really good guy, so you can imagine why I’d want to go for him.

But I see no reason why he would want to go for me.

I’m still quite a large girl (I’m not saying fat) (And I’m still losing weight so…), I’m quite inexperienced and, on top of all, I’m still a ruddy virgin! The only way I’m going to get any before the year is out is if I find another virgin who wants to… yeah, go for it, I suppose.

I’m not doing the dating-site thing anymore. That was traumatic shit. Imagine the pure horror when you find out a 54 year old guy has been looking with a certain interest at your profile. I didn’t get any creepy messages, but then again, I wasn’t able to read my messages on the site so…

I’m a bit tired of being a virgin. Not that I’m dead keen on losing my virginity to anyone who offers, but I’d like to have some kind of sexual experience this year.

So, tell me how to flirt. Tell me what I need to do. Oh, and if you’re the guy who I’m after and you read this, I’m sorry. I know you’re probably not interested, but it can’t harm to be curious…


I’m watching Ghost Whisperer, and it inspired me to talk about a few of my ghosts. I’m going to list them in bullet points, since I don’t quite feel like going into any of them right now, but if you want to ask me a question about one of them, I’ll gladly answer them.

  • I was in love with my gay best friend. I didn’t know he was gay. And it was so painful for me when I found out, I ditched him. We bonded again later, and I never could forgive myself for ditching him. Especially because…
  • I ditched him to look cool in front of another guy. I was the biggest fool and bitch in the universe. All because I loved someone who would never love me back.
  • The new girl in my class started a relationship with that very guy and I was jealous. And it bloody well hurt. I remember collapsing on the floor of our bathroom, in tears..
  • After our class trip to Barcelona. Where I found out. Miles from home, I needed my mum more than ever. Because I was heartbroken.
  • And it was never worth it. I ditched the best friend I ever had, all because I wanted to be cool.

I didn’t like being the bitch. I still hate myself for it. I live with this every day. I can never quite shake it. B, if you ever read this, I’m so fucking sorry. Because I absolutely love you. You are my voice of reason. And I would be very hurt if you didn’t want to see me anymore, because, like I said before, I love you too much.

Good news is, I grew up. I was so confused back then. I’m not that same girl anymore. And I hope you don’t think of me as a bitch because of this. I love gay people. And I went against my own principles there and then. Hate myself for it.

Glad to get that off my chest. Expect a lighter post in a few minutes, because, yay, MasterChef!


I’m on fire today. Working on my novel and watching a documentary about a girl with Mermaid syndrome. And typing like I’ve taken pills.

Last night, amazing. Will I ever get that sensation back again? One thing I know is that I have to get that gspot vibe soon, because I want to do that AGAIN.

Daylight savings time fucked me over yesterday. I was up when the hour changed and suddenly, without my knowledge, it was three ‘o clock. Eventually, I got to bed at FOUR. Which sucked because I was dead tired today. As if that wasn’t enough, the GOFs came today (for those of you who don’t know what or who the GOFs are, they are my Grandparents of Fail). Grandma actually brought a thermos flask with fresh coffee for my dad. And about half the supermarket. And a peeled apple. As if he can’t peel his goddamn apple himself. I went back to bed and didn’t get up till four. And I slept again till just about an hour ago. I need an early night.


Anyone got an instant cure for a terrible cold? And a throat ache to match?

Dad’s home. I’m not in a good mood. Can only do short sentances. Both in writing as in speaking. Still getting used to my new glasses. Masturbation might kill me now. Dang it. Haven’t started the liquid diet yet. Only get to drink shakes and soup. As much soup as I want. Yippie.

This might cure me.

Oh Dr. Skaaaaarsgaaaaaaard?

dirty glasses

As I stared at my own reflection in the mirror, I noticed it. My tear-stained new glasses, and behind them, my eyes, at that point quite possibly the saddest eyes in the world staring back at me. I did it again. I cried. Over him.

Hysterical sobbing in the bathroom, because of the realisation that he loves his girlfriend. Silly, because I know this fact. I know that he is head over heels in love with her and that he’ll never be in love with me. The unreachable Expendable. His name forever on my lips and in my heart. Sad echoes in my head over a love that will never be.

I just turned twenty, but deep down inside, I’m a silly little girl. Silly little girl in love. Some days I can switch it off. I can look at his many pictures on my wall and say: “Now there’s a man I wanna fuck.” or something like that. Most of the time I look at him and sigh. Fall in love again.

It’s wrong. It is so wrong. But I’m so high on this guy. I look at him and I’m in seventh heaven. And then I realise I can never have him. That which is a perfect romance in my head can never exist.

Sorry for this poetic burst of nonsense, but I needed to vent about last night. My dad had a car accident. Had I or my mum or both been in the car, I wouldn’t be posting this today. Or any other day. I had a hard time recovering from the shock of this. He’s gone to the hospital now, to have scans of his knee taken.

Something else now: if you have any questions for me, I do have a link for my up in the sidebar, so go ahead. Ask me anything.

my bad mood, let me show it to you


This to no one in particular. This calls for Town Called Malice by The Jam. I’d love some jam, kthx. Sorry, but hearing Jason enthuse about his girl (which by the way, I’m usually fine as felix with) has pushed me over the fucking edge. Where the hell are all those amazing guys, like Jason? And why aren’t they shagging ME?

I have to go on a LIQUID diet starting tomorrow. Do you realise how shite that is? And the gym, the fucking GYM (sorry for the caps, but… AAAAAAAAAAAARGH) I’ve turned to Pokerface by GaGa to clear my head. Seriously, I’m going to beat the shit out of someone. And I just put on Take That. Without Robbie. Shine always reminds me of Richard Hammond’s commercial for Morrison’s supermarket, which I actually taped on my cellphone during the early days of a major Hamster crush. And, yes, I’m slightly embarrassed about that crush. Now that he has long hair. And wears floor length leather jackets. Bit of a weenie now.

Ah, this reflects my mood perfectly. Should I stay or Should I Go by The Clash. I wish I could do ice skating. I’m rubbish at ice skating. Might relieve my frustrations. When masturbation doesn’t help, sports might.

Fencing, also something I want to do. Ballroomdancing. Rollerskating.

Anything to get my mind off the incredible longing to punch a skinny tart in the face. Us “fat” girls want to be loved too! Us girls want fit guys just like our skinnier companions. We deserve to be as admired as all those Rosie Huntington Whitleys out there (once again, I don’t hate you Rosie) and all those models and singers and actresses that are supposed to be great role models for us younger girls. Body confidence is an issue close to my heart and I would love to see changes made. I would love to see girls being proud of themselves. Not stuffing themselves because they are unhappy like me. I don’t want other people going through the misery that I am going through right now. This operation is my last hope. Otherwise, I might actually die before I get old. I can’t walk up the stairs without being out of breath, I can’t shop for clothes without going straight through to the Maxi section. I feel so unhealthy. I hate my life. And I hate it so much that I can’t bear to face reality. Jason is happy with his girl. I am not happy with anyone. If that’s the way it was meant to be, well then fine. I’ll have to take action. So this goes out to all of you who ever felt disgusting, fat, unhappy, unloved. I hope that someday you can see how fabulous you are. And that no one but yourself must control the reigns.

End transmission. Once again, sorry if I have offended anyone, especially Ms Huntington Whitley. However, I am not sorry for loving your boyfriend with a passion. I’m not sorry for having his picture on my wall. I am not sorry for fantasizing about him. Cos I can. It is my right.