Monthly Archives: September 2007

I’ve Got That Friday Feeling

I have one question to put to you all.  Does anyone do any work of Friday’s?  🙂  Most of mine was spent catching up with the girls after having no vehicle all week and their various boyfriend updates with a little smut and naughtiness.  You know me, always find an opportunity for a laugh and some sexual innuendo.

One of the girls is single at the moment and the other one is making up for it by going out with two guys at the same time.  Bloody greedy she is.  😉  One has a reputation, if you know what I mean and the other is tall dark and handsome, with a heart of gold but has taken a knock or two lately.

Neither know about the other and she is playing it very carefully up to now but it just takes one slip.  I once had the pleasure of going out with 4 guys at the same time.  Never a dull moment and never a night in.  The problem I had was not calling them by another’s name and remembering who I had done what with.  Hey!  We’ll have less those naughty comments from the back.

One of the guys I was seeing liked the odd spliff or two and introduced me to the joys of being stoned.  I was in my teens and exploring life.  We got so stoned one night that we went to bed without putting the rollup paraphernalia away and the next day when I ran the Hoover around the room in his flat I sucked up the remainder of the marijuana unknowingly.

I was explaining this to my colleagues and they were talking to me about their encounters with the weed.  The girl with the rather ample chest who I have got my eyes on, said that she had only eaten it and had some very strange memories.  She wouldn’t elaborate, perhaps in time when she feels comfortable revealing her experiences I can find out.

The other girl, the one without a fella at the moment said that she would never forget the time when she took some of that stuff which speeds you up…

…the sort you can buy in tablet form from the Chemist’s.  “I’ll never take it again”, she added.  Me and busty looked puzzled at each other as we tried to understand what she was talking about.

“The name escapes me”, she said with a thoughtful look on her face.

“I know, I know what it was!”, she exclaimed…

“Pro Plus!”.

Well, we both howled with laughter as we were both expecting her to say she had tried some Speed or something.  🙂

To explain to anyone who hasn’t heard of Pro Plus it is a stimulant based on caffeine which can be legally purchased over the counter at a chemist shop.

Tags: Office Gossip, Fridays


There are consequences to everything that we do. The magnitude of the consequence often totally out of proportion to the act itself.

The latest major event for us has been Suze’s car failing MOT and requiring a replacement. We’re now properly skint, but this is not the consequence I’m thinking about.

The mechanics of getting a new vehicle, giving the dealership enough time to prepare, test and service it for us and get it insured meant that we arranged to pick it up today, four days after choosing the car. The dealership held up their end and had the car ready, the finances were in place and Suze paid for the insurance on Monday.

The insurance cover note should have arrived on Tuesday, that’s first class post right?

It didn’t.

It wasn’t her yesterday either … so I gave may dad a spare key and asked him to pop in and check for post at lunch, then drive it the eight miles to the dealership so they could pay the road fund licence and get the tax disc for the car.

It was only last night, in bed that Suze had a nasty thought.



“You know when your dad comes round to check for the insurance …”


“Well what if the posty has been with THE PACKAGE?”

(The package being our latest batch of toys, which will be quite a bundle)

“There’ll be a card through, so?”

“Well what if he goes to collect it for us from the sorting office. What I he gets suspicious about the contents.” She had a point he’s very helpful and more than capable of popping in to pick it up for us.

Or even worse…the parcel has to be signed for being recorded delivery and my father doesn’t sign for anything without checking the contents first.  🙁

“It’s all nice and anonymously wrapped so it’ll be fine.” And that’s absolutely true, the packaging from Bedtime Heaven is very anonymous, and they’ve always arrived intact.

Although that wasn’t a problem, if he’d asked I’d have said “Books” or “Stuff I bought online”, it got me thinking. He’s hardly likely to go rummaging around, but what if he popped upstairs to take a leak and caught sight of the bookshelf in the study with something, erm, exotic on it. Of maybe an “artistic” DVD left lying around …

… so this morning, not for the first time when visitors are expected, we did a thorough porn sweep before leaving for work.

And he hasn’t said anything.

Maybe he’s saving it up to embarrass me at Christmas LOL

Billie De Jour

Billie Piper flew straight under my radar during her brief career as a pop star. Just like so many other acts she was plucked from obscurity to perform for us and disappeared pretty quickly. In the process I believe she earned the distinction of being the youngest solo artist to chart a UK Number one.

I was highly sceptical when she reappeared on Dr Who as his street-wise companion “Rose”, but quickly warmed to her performance. I’m a Dr Who companion snob so from me that’s praise indeed. Later incarnations of the Dr have had some pretty weak company in the Tardis. She also appeared in the Miller’s Tale, part of the BBC’s excellent modern adaptation of the Canterbury Tales, proving she definitely she wasn’t a little girl any more.

Tonight I watched Billie in The ITV2 adaptation of “Belle De Jour, The Diary of a London Callgirl”.

Oh dear.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Well I should have known better I suppose. To expect anything other than the bloody car crash of a programme that I just witnessed shows what an optimist I am.

The other “Name” in the first episode was Cheri Lungi. Cheri is someone I fell in love with when watching John Boorman’s Excalibur. She was the sexiest Guenevere you could possibly imagine, directed by a man who sees the world ever so slightly differently from everyone else. I could wax lyrical about what I believe is a real classic of a movie but I’m not going to because it’s tonight’s disaster that I’m actually writing about. Suffice to say that Cheri still has it, IMHO anyway.

Back to Billie. As Suze put it, she’s grown up and played the part impeccably. She managed to breath life into a script that already had rigor mortis, bravo girl. Billie carried the whole 22 minutes of desperate TV dross like a trooper. Larry Olivier would have been proud.

Billie appears to have developed the ability to maintain here former cheeky innocence and yet smoulder like a discarded cigarette butt in a pile of waste paper. You know she’s going to flare up and consume someone.

The scenes were staged to titillate. Billie, sorry Belle, in the bath, Belle giving a blowjob, Belle having sex (with her knickers still on, not even pulled to the side), Belle giving a BJ again. Belle getting kinky with a saddle and bridle.


The script alluded to exploitative “agent” (Lungi) taking her percentage, being a hard cow, but I wasn’t convinced. The scene with Piper, Lungi and several other escorts around a table in an expensive restaurant looked like something out of Sex In The City. Sarah Jessica Parker may have whored herself into the perfume market but I don’t remember her standing on a New York street corner “dipping” to look into car windows.

Safe sex was alluded to (a plus point here as most TV sex avoids the subject of barrier protection altogether), but condoms are never seen out of the packets, certainly not on an erect penis (because of UK broadcasting regulations). There are no awkward fumblings, no “Oh, shit it just ripped” moments. New condom technology, apparently, means the prophylactic leaps from pack to prick without human intervention.

The whole thing is “filmed” (OK I know this is done in post-production) in what can be best described as distant-blur-o-vision, with the colour saturation turned up. The style of shooting and in-scene narration by “Belle” alludes towards the style of Hotel Babylon. Sorry it’s been done and executed by professionals in the Hotel B series. I assume the producers were aiming for the same cheesy not-quite-real effect that Babylon carries off so well.

Then there’s “Belle” getting “feelings” for one client, but not wanting it to happen because she doesn’t want to reveal the real Belle – Hannah. Based on tonight’s showing I don’t have any faith that the programme will explore that theme in anything but the most primitive way. That particular series of clichéd vignettes softly lit, cigarette smoke-wreath Billie rolling on a bed was sooo clumsy.

The programme will, I’m sure, be repeated to hell and form a cheap alternative to paying for subscription satellite TV channels (which in the UK can only carry softcore porn).

The biggest sin committed by the commissioning editors at ITV and the producers of this dross is that it could make the profession of Escort seem appealing to young women (and men maybe) if it doesn’t buck its ideas up and show the down sides of the profession.

Finally, and this will give me nightmares, it’s a series so there’s more to come.

Personal Services based on the life of Cynthia Paine might be a more grounded alternative to this unfortunate episode in TV history.

Tags: Belle De Jour, Billie Piper, Rose Tyler, Dr Who, ITV, ITV2, Cheri Lungi, John Boorman, Excalibur, Sex In The City, Sarah Jessica Parker, Hotel Babylon, dipping, Cynthia Paine, Personal Services, Canterbury Tales, The Miller’s Tale

My First Multiple Clitoral Orgasm

I have the most knee trembling orgasms when I cum on my clit.  They are much more intense than the penetrative kind, which are gripping and pleasurable.  It must be due to the nerve ending stimulation which clit masturbation brings about.

Well today because I have no vehicle I was unable to get in to work so what does a naughty girl do?  I took myself off to the bedroom with one of my favourite DVD’s to accompany my afternoon fun.

I turned on the player and placed the DVD in the drive, removed all my clothes and climbed under the sheets.  The DVD started up and I fast forward to the scene with the young blonde taking it up the ass whilst deep throating the other.

I leaned over and withdrew my clit vibe from my drawer.  It’s so handy having it in my bedside drawer, for such an emergency.  😉  Laying back against the bed I ran my fingers between my pussy lips, no need for lube I was more than ready. 

The vibe needed a little lube so I licked the rubber cup ensuring that plenty of saliva went inside.  Shuffling to get more comfortable I opened my legs and placed the cup over my clit, pushing my swollen pussy lips apart for docking on to my eager clit.

With a press of the button my vibe started to vibrate sending electronic ripples through my pink nub and in to my pubic bone.  Setting one was good, then setting two but three had just the intensity I needed.  I moved the cup from side to side massaging my button, keeping contact with my flesh, feeling those vibrations work their way through the tip of my bud, up into my pubis.

I crossed my ankles and pushed my right foot in to the top of my left as my body started to react to the stimulation.  My eyes were fixed on the girl being taken anally whilst the other guy fucked her moth, mascara running down cheeks as she gagged for effect.

My hips began to buck and I tightened my buttocks, as my nerve endings started send small electric impulses around my lower back and pubis.  I moved the vibe faster across my clit, waggling the swollen flesh beneath the cup.  I was now bucking against my hand, almost holding my breath as my orgasm took me over.

“Aghhhh!”, I cried out.  Fortunately there was nobody in next door.  As the orgasm started to subside I thought I would continue to masturbate and see if I could make myself come again.  I’ve never been able to do this, usually my clit is so sensitive after orgasm that it makes it almost impossible to rub it any more.

Today it was different, I decided to try for another.  I relaxed back against the mattress again and began to move the vibe around my clit.  At first it didn’t arouse me and I was about to give in, knowing that I usually get to come once this way.  But I had a gut feeling that this was going to be a good session.

From nowhere another orgasm built and I cried out once more as my orgasm enraptured every fibre of my being.  I didn’t prolong the orgasm, so as to try once more.  I succeeded in coming four times.  This is a first for me and for some strange reason I feel quite proud of myself.  I had come so much that it had run between my butt cheeks and wet the sheet underneath me.  😉

After the final orgasm had subsided I watched the rest of the MFM scene, somehow it is always more enjoyable to watch porn when you have come yourself.  I think I may have been smiling…

Tags: masturbation, orgasm, multiple orgasm, clitoral orgasm

Adolescent Passes And Missed Chances

I got chatting on Friday to my work colleague about various subjects including, sex change operations, penis enlargements, hand/feet size in relation to penis size, clit piercing and other work related topics.  Not!  🙂

The boss was out and so was the other girl I work with, which left me with the busty blonde whom I would like to get intimate with sometime.  😉  She is pretty, shapely, fun, witty and last but not least intelligent too.

We started to reminisce about our days at school and she told me about an encounter she had with a pupil at her school.  Apparently this girl had been making eyes at her for some time and she had never noticed.  In one of the classes they had to draw around something and she held the object flat to the paper whilst the other girl drew around it.

She told me that the girl worked her way around the shape and made her way under my work mate’s arm.  As she did so she glided her hand across her ample bosom.  Still my colleague did not realise this girl was after more than friendship, despite her other friends noting this and informing her that the glance across her nipple was more than an accident.

Then she went on to reveal that later in the day she was in the small drying room, placing her newly created painting in the drawer to dry when the door opened behind her.  She then became aware of warm breath upon her neck and hands taking hold of her hips.  At this point I was bracing myself for a hot and lusty scene.  *pant*

I found myself feeling quite aroused at the thought of my lovely work mate succumbing to the attentions of a nubile teenager, mouths locked in a hungry kiss as nervous hands reached inside each other’s school shirts….

For a moment I found myself daydreaming.  It could have only been for moments that I rant those wonderful moments through my mind, when she said.  Suze, I didn’t want it and I turned and fled out of that room as fast as I could.

My heart sank, not only was I disappointed that she wasn’t interested in the other girls attentions but that also possibly symbolised my rejection.  🙁  Would she be interested in me?  I really don’t know now, up until that point I was getting some good vibes from her.  Or was I just hopeful, thinking that she could be bi like me?

Tags: sexual discovery, sexual awakening, lesbian, bisexual

A Necessary Evil

Yes, the title of this post expresses exactly the way I feel today.  I’ll fill you in.  Today we returned to the garage to take another look at the car we spotted yesterday.  Most of last night was spent milling over the possibility of winning the lottery or having to take out finance forever on a new vehicle.

After deliberating about it until the wee small hours over several glasses of red wine, more than I should have had, we decided to take the plunge.  I need a car which is reliable to be able to get to work and need to go to work to pay for the bloody thing.  Ironic, eh!  Is that a catch 22 situation?  Or something else…anyway…

We got a very good deal, if that is possible in the car sales arena.  The car is not a performance vehicle but will get me from a to b, not very fast but fast enough.  Lol

I should be happy that I am getting a new car having driven an old banger since mine was written off a while back.

But I’m not for two reasons, the first obviously being the financial commitment each month till the end of time.  And the later is the more hard hitting.

Regular readers will recall that we were supposed to be getting hitched this year.  New readers can catch up by reading this post.  We had both been saving a little each month with the intention of having a small civil service and a holiday, which we both need.

The money we had both saved over this year has now been used as a deposit for my car and that is why I am so unhappy, no I’m not…I’m totally pissed off!  It seems that Alex and I are doomed to never tie the knot.  *sigh*

Subliminal Sexism Or Tradition?

We had a bit of a shock today. Suze took her car in for MOT and the bloody thing failed. Badly. The cost of the repairs required now and within the next six months are about twice what the vehicle is worth, so we went out looking for a new car.

Finances are stretched already. However Suze and I need a car each to get into work due to the differences in our working hours, place of work and total lack of effective public transport. So the decision was made. I’ll not bore you with the details, but we think we’ve found a car and negotiated a price with the salesman. Nice guy, about mid twenties, no bullshit, no fancy deals just straight. The way we like business to be conducted. However he made one faux pas, both when he presented his final deal to us, and when we departed to think about the purchase before committing he addressed me, not Suze. I corrected him when he pushed the quote across the desk to me, but a few minutes later he still handed me his business card.

The guy wasn’t a sexist at all, but I think he’d been conditioned into thinking that a car purchase is controlled by the male half of a couple. True, that is probably the case in the vast majority of instances, but I quite plainly said “I’m not buying the car, Suze is”. It’s her car, her repayments, her choice. Like I said the guy wasn’t being deliberately sexist and was listening to Suze, discussing the purchase with her and addressing both of us when he responded.

We don’t make large purchases lightly, even when we really need something so we spent the rest of the day touring car showrooms to look at alternatives.

As we drove around I noticed something. Certain businesses are male and some are female. One local skip company I’ve seen is “Mr Skip” (inventive huh). Then there’s “Mr Exhaust” the national exhaust fitting chain. But when you come to sandwich shops they tend to be “Mrs J’s” or “Mrs B’s”, I looked up domestic cleaning companies on and found six different “Mrs Mop” domestic cleaners.

The gender may be part of the advertising/image maker’s shorthand for the business concerned but why do all cleaners and sandwich shop proprietors have to be female, and are there no female motor engineers?

Strangely there is a female building contractor based about four miles from where we live. But she hides her gender by naming the firm using her initials as the name of the firm. I.E. “JS Contractors”, not “Mrs Joan Smith The Builder”

It really did start me thinking, would I be less likely to buy a car from a dealership with an identifiably female name?

Insurers have picked up on the gender of a firm. For example “Sheila’s Wheels” is actually a trading name of HBOS, specifically aimed at female drivers (With, I might add the most appallingly stereotyped advertising campaign with kangaroos in spangly pink frocks).

For those of you who aren’t Simpson’s fans, Homer once started a business called “Mr Plough”, when he bought and hired out a snowplough. Hence  the image 🙂

Late edit: It looks like the good people at YouTube have been forced to remove the “Mr Plough” episode from their service, a small matter of copyright I suspect, however this German version is still available “Mr SneepFlug“, Gutten Aben meine freundin.

Tags: sexism, marketing, gender, gender stereotypes

There Are Some Things I Just Won’t Put Up There!

You all should know me well enough by now to know that I don’t say “no” to a good fuck very often.  Come to think of it I can’t remember when I last did.  Lol  I’m an any time any place (as long as we can’t get arrested) kind of girl.

I suppose I could be referred to as a nympho, at the risk of sounding cliché or a cock slut, whore, skank.  But I know when I am on to something good and up until now I must have had sixth sense when it comes to picking my cock because it has always measured up to the job.

Until recently I didn’t really have much experience of using sex toys but having tested some real beauties over the past couple of years I’m now addicted to them too.  So does that make me a vibromaniac?  Lol  I only seem to be happy when there is something in there, on there or around there.  😉

There are some really frighteningly large and lengthy dongs and dildos on the market which even I would have problems accommodating and I like mine to fill me.  But none quite so scary as this one that I came across the other day…

…somehow I just can’t see myself inserting that inside my pussy.  I think it looks like an aliens cock and I could not allow myself to be penetrated by it even if I was desperate.  😀

Tags: sex toy, ugly sex toy, ugly dong, weird sex toy, weird dildo

Here Pussy Pussy Pussy

I heard a news story today. I would have laughed at it for two reasons. Firstly it was very funny and secondly I wrote about Mrs Slocombe the other day. Read the post if you don’t quite get the connection.

I say would have laughed at it but I was unable to do so. I had my mouth full and a young lady was bent over me. No I wasn’t having a “special” massage, I was having one of my molars refilled. The dental nurse and my dentists both laughed out loud while all I could do was chortle in a gurgling sort of way and wonder when I’d get to an Internet connection to check the story out.

This is what I heard on the Radio “The Sun newspaper has reported that Blue Peter are in trouble again over rigging phone votes. This time they chose not to use the top-voted name when they asked the viewers to phone in and choose the name of the new Blue Peter cat. They chose the name socks, but the real winner was Pussy … programme makers felt the winning name inappropriate.”

Not having been a viewer of Blue Peter for many years I can’t say I’ve kept track of the animals that have come and gone recently. But I could see why the BBC would not want the Blue Peter cat to be called “Pussy”, I mean imagine the cheap jokes.

However when I was watching the BBC News 24 coverage of the incident later I was surprised to hear that the winning name of the cat was “Cookie”, not “Pussy”. “Odd”, I thought as all three present at my dental work had heard the same story. It wasn’t just me needing my ears cleaning out.

So I did a bit of research. The Guardian says here:

It is understood that Mr Marson [Producer at the time of the alleged misconduct] was sent home on Monday after it emerged that the name that topped a Blue Peter poll was not given to the show’s cat.

The name that came top is thought to have been deemed inappropriate for a children’s show and the cat was eventually called Socks

While not explicitly saying “Pussy”, they say the top name was inappropriate. So far, so good. However here on the Guardian website, they quote the name as “Cookie

So I checked out Sky News here, and according to them:

Some people apparently use the term [cookie] as a swear word.”

So I see four possibilities:

1) The Sun have made up a story, based on the current embarrassing situation at the BBC
2) The Sun reporter miss-heard or was fed with bad information about the cat’s name
3) The radio station (sorry I don’t know which one it was) made the cock-up
4) There’s a cover-up being staged to ensure that the true winning name “Pussy” is never mentioned again

Does anyone know what really happened?

And should you believe anything in the media any more?

Tags: Blue Peter, Blue Peter cat, Blue Peter cat name, Blue Peter pets, Blue Peter scandal, The Sun, The guardian, pussy, cookie, BBC


Here are a few notable firsts from my life.

First Kiss

My first kiss was at the age of six. I’m not talking about pecks on the cheek or lips, stolen during games in the playground, they happened much earlier. No, a real kiss. Not passionate, what six year old understands about passion? But exploratory and with someone I cared about.

She was called Vicky and lived opposite my house. One summer we found ourselves playing together in her room. Don’t ask me why I just can’t remember. It was innocent, sweet and is tinged with the golden orange glow that envelopes all of my pleasant childhood memories.

First Wank

Early teens. Parents out at work. I was at home on school holidays. I locked all the doors, checked them, checked them again.

I remember a mail order catalogue and a frantic manipulation of my penis. When I came it was a revelation. Why hadn’t I been doing this for years? I did it twice more before my parents came home.

Note for the women reading this. Teenage boys are able to remove and replace underwear catalogues from their mother’s wardrobes without a trace. Even if the catalogue is buried under shoes and suitcases.

This is then applied to their father’s porn cache, when they find it.

First Passionate Kiss

School Christmas disco, early teens, her name was Debbie. We’d been good friends for nearly two years and it just happened. Unfortunately didn’t go any further as her boyfriends mate threatened to punch my lights out when he spotted us.

C’est la vie.

First (Proper) Grope

See first passionate kiss. There was no fingers in the gusset, nipple tweaking action. But we both spent time exploring each others lumps and bumps through our clothing.

First Porn Magazine

You never own your first porn mag. It’s always borrowed from a mate or secretly from your dad’s stash.

The first one (well two) I actually bought was from a shop in Soho. I’d managed until the age of 19 with borrowed porn and the saucy sections from various novels.

Me and a mate went to London to see a mutual friend working at a bank in the suburbs. We met at his digs, then spent a night of debauchery in Soho. No we weren’t daft enough to enter one of those decidedly dodgy bars where your first drink is free, then the rest cost £75 a pop. The ones where your tab is presented to you at the end of the night by a pair of blokes who look like Vinny Jones wannabees and will not take “I haven’t got £450 cash on me” for an answer.

What we did do is wander drunkenly into an all-night newsagents after the pubs had chucked us out and bought a handful of jazz mags to read on the train home. I’ve still got them, now dog-eared and looking very dated.

First Porn Video

You never own your first porn video either. You borrow it from a mate, or more likely a mate’s father’s stash.

The next one you copy from a borrowed video, by the time you watch it it’s a sixth generation copy. It could be polar bears humping because of all the snow, and the sound is so bad you have to turn the volume up to max to hear the muffled, badly dubbed, grunts.

Then you buy one by mail-order and find what you get back is so softcore you may as well be watching an episode of Emmerdale.

Then you look old enough to enter licenced sex shops and R18 DVDs and things get a whole lot easier.

First Fondle/Suck On a Girl’s Breast

About fifteen. Until then all fumblings had been restricted by a layer or two of fabric between my inexperienced hands/mouth and the objects of my desire. Quite clichéd location too, a hay meadow, high summer, much like today. The girl, whose name to my great shame I cannot remember, and I lay in the long grass indulging in some tongue gymnastics.

I slowly increased the intimacy of my groping as we kissed. As my ardour and confidence built I risked slipping my hand under the light cotton of her T-shirt and into the cup of her cotton bra. She didn’t object so I inexpertly rubbed for a while. She pushed me away, making me think I’d blown it, but instead she removed her T-shirt and unclipped her bra exposing a lovely petite chest.

We lay down and I sucked at her pink nipples gently for about five minutes before she decided that I’d had my treat for the day.

First Condoms

You always buy your first condoms, “In case I get lucky”. Though in truth it’s often more about inquisitiveness and wanting to get one out of the packet and have a fiddle with one outside the confines of the school sex-ed class. I for one never used my first packet they were opened/lost/washed in trouser pockets and therefore rendered useless before use.

In common with most guys they were procured by repeated furtive trips to the pub toilet, loitering for as long as I dared. Waiting until the toilet was empty before putting my money in the slot. But not waiting too long so as to look like I was cottaging, hence the multiple trips.

Second Condoms

I bought these from a local chemist. Full of the confidence that I was on a promise that night and buoyed by the thought that I was about to become “a man”. I swaggered in, confidently selected a packet of “Featherlite” from the counter and presented them and a grubby tenner to the girl behind the counter. I probably looked like a real tosser, though she must have seen the act before.

To my credit I did not buy three bottles of aspirin, a shower cap and a toothbrush before summoning up the courage to purchase the prophylactics.

First Purchase of Sanitary Protection for Your Partner

I’m pretty much at home with bodily functions, but it’s amazing how many other people aren’t. The first time I had to buy sanitary protection for a partner was soon after I started living with Suze. She was busy, probably on course work for a change, and she asked me as I was leaving the house to pick up some tampons.

I though nothing of picking up the box in the supermarket and putting it onto the conveyor watched by any number of people. What amused and astounded me was the disdainful look I received from the woman behind the checkout as she scanned the “offensive” item. She could not have given me a more disapproving stare if I’d been purchasing “Donkey Buggerers Monthly”.

NB: If there is such a publication as “Donkey Buggerers Monthly” I’m sure it’s much appreciated in its target market and that all it’s readers are very nice people.

Tags: Condoms, masturbation, sexual discovery, porn, porn magazines, pornography, pornographic movie, pornographic video

Pogo Fucking Anyone?

I like a good hard rogering just as much as any girl.  Nothing quite like feeling him slamming against your ass as you assume the position on all fours.  Deep satisfying penetration and excellent g-spot stimulation all in one.

Bucking against his pubis as he drives into you increases the intensity and extent of entry.  Sometimes I can feel Alex bounce off my cervix as his hard cock pushes within my pink, moist sex.

I’m able to achieve multiple orgasms so for me sex is prolonged and can best be described as riding a wave, with the up’s and down’s of orgasmic pleasure.

Being animated in bed is essential for me, I’m not a lie back and think of England kind of girl.  I like to give as good as I take and take and…  You get the picture.  I bet you already worked out that I’m like that from reading me.  😉

When it comes to a little masturbatory pleasure I usually take out my favourite rabbit vibe and play with the controls until I find a setting that fits my mood.  But I don’t particularly fuck myself with it in terms of moving it in and out of my pussy, simulating the act.

I think the reason I don’t ram it in and out of my fanny is because it is an awkward movement to make and may result in RSI.  Lol.  Try explaining that one to your GP.  But today the problem was solved when I stumbled across this sex toy

The Fantasy Glide can be used upright or laying down and looks fantastically satisfying.  It’s one I would love to try out, simple but effective design.  It could have been designed by a girl.  😉

Tags: sex toy, sex toy rsi, sextoy injury

Subtlety, NOT!

Britain seems to have a dual personality, especially when viewed from outside. On the one hand there’s the “British reserve”, stiff upper lip and all that. On the other there’s Benny Hill. Alright Benny Hill and the rest of the Music Hall style comedy that populated the TV of the 50s, 60s, 70s and to a lesser extent 80s.

So at one end of the scale we have what would be regarded by non-Brits as Victorian values, and at the other extreme is a music hall tradition that encompasses Pantomime and End Of The Pier shows.

 I think I’ve touched on this before when I mentioned Kenny Everret, specifically his character Cupid Stunt. Looking back now the spoonerism is obvious. But in my defence I was young and naïve. Kenny was an incredible figure, a rebel and in his own way very anti-establishment. He started off in pirate radio and while he did land a job with the BBC got himself sacked because of a quip about Margaret Thatcher. From memory it was along the lines of  “When we had an Empire we had an Empress, when we had a Kingdom we had a King, now we have Maraget Thatcher we have a Country.” Check him out on Wikipedia if you want to know more.

Kenny is not alone, both in irreverent, highly camp, comedy steeped in sexual innuendo of the sledgehammer kind.

UK readers will remember Larry “Shut that door” Grayson. My abiding memory is of him on “The Generation Game”, were his constant anecdotes about his fictional friends Everard, Slack Alice and a postman called ‘Pop it in Pete’. Not sophisticated but for their time very funny and quite brave as homophobia was rife. When Larry first began his act as a stand-up and drag artist homosexuality was illegal in England so basing your living on being gay was quite brave to say the least.

On the subject of innuendo and me being as thick as a plank, how about Molly Sugden as Mrs Slocombe? If you’ve seen “Are You Being Served” you’ll know the drill. Her entire character was based around a working class shop assistant with aspirations to bettering herself. She had an affected middle class accent that would disappear if she was shocked/upset/ angry or otherwise off her guard. That in itself was, I think, the genius part of Molly’s charactrisation. But she was really famous for the continuous stream of jokes about her Pussy. Of course as a child  I always assumed it was a cat. So we had “stroking my pussy”, “showing so-and-so my pussy”, “my pussy drives him wild” and “damp pussy” jokes galore, before the 9 o’clock watershed.

Not all British performers are what they seem though. Remember Sir Ian McKellen as Gandalf in Lord Of The Rings, or as Richard III, or now as Lear? Well you might be interested  to know that he has another passion, putting on a frock and playing a pantomime dame. Now there’s someone truly at home with themselves. (he’s the one on the left) 

Did Someone Say Bonk Holiday?!

Over here in the UK we have 8 paid Bank Holidays (National Holiday) per year on top of the amount of paid holiday days you receive from your employer.  These days come in very useful over the course of the year, the last being at the end of August.

But I wish we had one of these…Russia went one better on Wednesday, the governor of Ulyanovsk, Sergei Morozov wanted people to have the day off to encourage them to fuck and have babies on Russia’s national day on the 12th June.  He was a little more subtle than me and called it “Family Contact Day”.

Prizes are being awarded to successful couples.  Last year a lucky couple won a new sports utility vehicle.  Not bad for having a day off work to screw each other senseless and then be awarded a prize too!  Why don’t we one of these days over here?  I practice a lot, does that count?  😉

Next time I’m speaking to Gordon Brown, I’ll drop some hints.  Lol

Check the full story here

Tags: bank holiday, bonk holiday, ulyanovsk, sergei morozov, russia, russian federation

Sex and Horror

I bought a DVD today, “28 Weeks Later”. I normally wait for DVDs to fall in price before buying them, but I fancied a gore-fest of epic proportions, which is what the film promises. We might get to see it tonight, we’ll see.

I’ve had one hell of a time at work over the past few weeks, plus the move of the site to the new server, and that is all beginning to tell on me. Work, as it happens has just started to turn good, the issues that have been dogging my project have been resolved by the application of research and bloody-mindedness on my part.

Suze isn’t faring much better for a variety of reasons. So we’re both pretty weary.

Sometimes you want to watch a film that makes you think. Sometimes one that highlights and dramatises a subject that would be difficult to engage with. Maybe it’s a subject that would otherwise be too dry and clinical like James Watson and Francis Crick’s discovery of the shape of the DNA molecule, phenomenally important, interesting and sensational, but without a little humanisation the story would be a little too much for most people to digest.

Of course there are times when you just want your partner to jump out of their skin and into your arms. Ooops, that sounded quite gory in itself didn’t it LOL. Not that I have to resort to such tactics with Suze, we’re past the coy, wooing stage :). However in the past it’s a ploy that I’ve used successfully hehehe.

I’ve never seen it from the female perspective, obviously as that would involve surgery or a Vulcan mind-meld. So ladies, do you like to be scared and cling to your man? I don’t mean in a “I’m a bloody helpless female.” Kind of way, but in a “Come on big boy protect me from the flesh eating, limping zombies and you’re going to get some wild monkey sex the like of which you’ve never seen kind of way.”

Over to you.

And I’m off to watch gallons of blood being spilt.


Tags: 28 Weeks Later, sex and horror, danny boyle

Looking for Clues?

Sexual activity has a tendency to leave a trail of forensic clues that, if not dealt with can lead to all sorts of embarrassing situations.

There’s pornography, books, magazines, videos, DVDs and Internet porn. How about clothing, particularly discarded underwear- how does it end up hanging from light fittings or between the cushions on the settee?

But most insidious and incriminating of all is bodily fluids. Suze started me thinking about this. When we screwed in my parents’ kitchen we cleaned ourselves up with kitchen towel and enjoyed the post-coital glow in each other’s arms. It was only when I turned on the lights that I noticed the mixture of Suzanne’s pussy juices and my semen making their slow but inexorable way down the door of the kitchen unit we had screwed on. A couple of minutes of frantic, but very quiet, cleaning up saved embarrassment on that occasion.

Suze used to occasionally borrow her dad’s car if we were going out a long way from home. We usually had a quicky on the way home in any convenient layby. We used the front passenger seat fully reclined as the rear seat just wasn’t comfortable. The morning after one such shag Suze was lucky enough to be up first and notice a blindingly obvious stain on the front passenger seat of the car. She later explained her vigorous washing of the seat upholstery to her dad by saying I’d spilt a milkshake whilst driving back the night before.

Another occasion was after Suze and I got our first place together. Her parents came round unannounced only moments after we’d finished a Sunday afternoon shag. I answered the door in my bathrobe. I invited them in mentioned I was just about to have a shower and got changed while Suze made them a cuppa. It was only after they left that I noticed a fresh line of jizz splashes down the front of the robe I’d been wearing. Had they noticed? Nothing was said, but then I don’t suppose there’s much to say.

To my knowledge, despite the numerous occasions on which we could have been found out, we haven’t. But then I suppose, what would anyone say? “Oh, Alex do you know you’ve got spunk on your robe” or “It took us ages to get rid of the smell of the fish milkshake from the car.”

You Have Got To Be Kidding Me!

I think that regular readers will acknowledge that we are pretty open-minded and accepting here at AlexSuze. So long as it involves consenting adults we’re at least willing to listen and don’t discount things out of hand.

There are some things that push us up to and beyond the limit.

We were out at a local adult toy emporium today, performing research you understand, looking for new toys to review for you all. Amongst the more usual products we saw item depicted in the image on the left. Sorry about the image quality, my phone’s camera is very grainy in low light and I thought the staff would get suspicious if I turned up later with my SLR and flash brolly 🙂

This is probably the weirdest and scariest anal toy I have ever seen. We’ve all seen the huge rubber penises of unbelievable length and girth, but the “Ass Midget” takes the biscuit. Just in case you can’t see the dimensions on the packaging the toy is  34cm (14″) long and 7-11cm (2.75″-4.25″) in diameter.

And it’s got a pointy hat.

And a face.

And little boots.

The only thing it hasn’t got is a bloody fishing rod!

It’s a pornographic garden gnome.

So would I put it in the garden or up may arse?

Neither, that is one toy that, though undoubtedly unusual, is staying in the shop.

Tags: ass midget, anal toy, sex toy, gaping, extreme insertions

Mobile Dependency

I have just returned from shopping and realised just how conspicuous mobile phone usage has become.  It seems like everyone finds it necessary to walk around with a mobile phone stuck to the side of their face.

How have we got to the stage where we can’t live our daily lives without having to call each other or send text messages to each other. Yesterday (and not for the first time) I watched in disbelief as a your girl crossed over while texting.  And the worst case of addiction I have seen, someone actually texting whilst driving their car.

It’s not so long ago thatI but remember having to use public phone boxes when out and about, but not regularly it wasn’t necessary.  You may call your parents to let them know you are going to be late or use one in an emergency but it certainly wasn’t necessary to make tens of calls per day.

And the laziest thing I have witnessed so far was today.  A woman came to sit next to us on a bench in the shopping mall whilst we were nibbling a sandwich.  Her husband stood waiting for assistance at a mobile phone kiosk just four meters away.  I’m eating my food and she takes out her mobile, dials and then her husband, who is only a couple of paces away picks his up.

She then started to have a conversation with him which lasted about 5 minutes.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  Have we become so dependent on mobiles that we can’t use our legs any more.

Oh and one last thing before I finish my winge.  Lol  I was in the supermarket the other day buying some bleach and the a guy stood next to me started to speak to someone, I assume his wife, about which cleaner to purchase, he was actually reading out the labels on the back of toilet cleaners!

There could be a future in rehab …The Suzanne Mobile Dependency Clinic.  🙂

Tags: cell phone, mobile phone, transformers, transformer phone, cell phone dependency, mobile phone dependency, text messge, texting, SMS messaging

We All Have Needs

 I have to go shopping today because both my pet (to the left) and I have the same requirements…
…he needs one of these
And I need to get one of these

It’s All Up Down

I love Friday’s at work, people seem to be more relaxed and jolly.  We hardly did any work this morning, spent most of it chatting.  It was fairly quiet work-wise and we had worked hard all week as the pace began to pick up following the end of the school breaks.

The girls even indulged in a chocolate bar before lunch and then one confessed…remember these girls are obsessed with dieting…that they had taken a liking for M & S chocolate chip cookies from their “Finest” range and indulged in one after tea each night.

For one moment I was reminded of Little Britain and the Fat Fighters club run by Marjorie, whose favourite saying was “cut them in half then they are only half the calories, so you can have twice as much”.  Lol

I let all the diet talk and the “Oooh I shouldn’t have eaten that”, crap flow over me or it would really start to grate by the end of the day.  But today there was some juicy gossip.  Apparently one of them knows a woman who attended a friends funeral and ended up shagging the vicar.

Not just once but following another funeral she attended some time after the first.  I was A wondering if she was after a seat in a special place and B wondering if she was the kiss of death, being that she knew of two people who had died within a short time of each other.  Or C, was she creating business for he newfound boyfriend?  🙂

Either way it filled the morning with joviality, I nearly wet myself with laughing.  So the morning quiet quickly melted away and then it was time to go for my lunch break.

When I got in the car it was like an oven, the sun was blazing this afternoon and it seems that we have another spell of Summer before the dark cold Winter descends upon us.  I lowered the front windows to let the air in and started the engine.

I drove down the street and pulled on to the main road, as I did so I heard a wolf whistle come through my window.  A smile grew on my lips and I felt very smug and elated.  It’s amazing to be appreciated by guys, it gives you a real lift.  So I was on cloud nine.

Then…I looked in the rear view mirror…

…There was a girl in a pair of figure hugging blue jeans, stilettos and a yellow shoe sting t-shirt that her nipples clearly and prominently poked through, walking down the road.

Isn’t it amazing how you can be on cloud nine one minute and the next have the rug pulled out from under your feet!

Tags: marjorie dawes, little britain