Shouldn't my biological clock be ticking by now?

I'm twenty-eight and a half years old. So I'm no spring chicken. All I see around me are people with offspring. Naughty, noisy, snotty nosed children. When I see a woman walking past me on the street pushing her over sized, three-wheeled stroller am I supposed to stop her and stick my nose in and say "Aww, how sweet. Your baby is beautiful"? I don't want to. My gut reaction every time I see a lady with a pram, is to cross over to the other side of the road to avoid the whole situation. I am not interested in children. I don't care what your little angel does, what they eat or how much they poop. I'm just not that kind of girl.

I'd rather have grown up conversations relating to the news of the world and celebrity scandals. I'd rather talk to my non-breeding friends about the hot guy she pashed over the weekend or about the bargains she picked up on her recent shopping trip. Children do not interest me one little bit.

Some of my friends from high school - males as well as females - have begun the whole procreating thing. Some started not long after we left school, others have waited until now. All I see and read on facebook are updates like "My kid is so cute, today he asked Mummy......" and "Today little So and So took her first steps." It makes me wonder what made them suddenly decide they wanted to become Mothers and Fathers. Was their first born an 'accident'? Were these children planned? If they were planned, did a switch in their brain flip and put them in 'Mumma Mode'?

It makes me wonder if the switch will ever flip in my head. Right now I'm finding it hard enough to get a regular root, let alone find a decent enough bloke to settle down with and start a family! I don't have the time, energy and money to look after myself and a dog, let alone to bring up a tribe of children. And let's face it. A few of the men that I have been with in recent years are married and some have children. I am their escape. An oasis if you will.

There is one exception to my rule of child hating. Two really. They come in the form of my cousin's two kiddies. Little Miss that is just over two years old and the Little Dude that just turned three months old. Those kids melt my heart. It might be because they are related to me, so I feel that family bond with them. It might be because they are both the cutest kids I've ever seen. These kids should be models! If I've had a bad day all I have to do is go and spend an hour with Little Miss and her paint set, play dough or help out by getting splashed to death at bath time and I have a smile on my face and my worries from the day have melted away.

I'm still not so keen on the Little Dude, I find him a bit boring, and he spews a lot. Though I am sure that when he gets a little older and stops vomiting on me, I'll get more joy out of him! I love those kids, but even spending time with them, two kids that I adore - does not make me clucky at all. One of my girlfriends - who is my age and single - has a one year old nephew. She gets clucky just by mentioning his name. I don't get it.

Maybe there is something wrong with me? I'm sure by now - as my eggs are slowly turning to dust - I should feel something. I don't. Perhaps I will someday, but for now, I'm just happy being me. Twenty-eight, single and living life large in Melbourne town.

The Great Man Drought of 2010

There was a six month and three day period of time after Round One with the Gentle Giant that I had nobody to release my sexual frustration on. It was mainly was due to my lack of faith in the male half of the species. I had tried so hard to get the attention of The Gentle Giant earlier in the year only to be shunned and not spoken to when he found himself a gal. A call or even a text to let me know that he had moved on from little old me would have been nice. Instead I got the silent treatment. Sometimes not knowing is worse than knowing, because you hold on and hope for the best.

My apprehensive attitude towards attempting to find a new bloke was getting me down. I was starting to think I had lost my mojo. I thought I was never going to get laid again. My mind was playing out little scenarios in my mind of my vagina withering away to dust and blowing away in the wind if it didn't get used soon. The first three months were the toughest. My brain and my body wanted so much just to jump on any semi decent looking male I saw. But no matter how many times I tried to send out the "Hey, you're cute. Let's fuck" vibes I got shot down. I was starting to climb the walls with my horniness. People with shares in Duracell were loving me. I was about to hit the six month marker and I was over it. I was not interested in sex. I wasn't even flying solo anymore. Until one day, curiosity got the better of me, and I logged onto the dating website again.

I had a recent message from a boy who was new to Melbourne from Perth via Launceston. The Traveler and I sent a few emails back and forth, exchanged numbers and play a little bit of text ping pong for a few days. We worked out that we both had been through very long droughts and concluded that we should break the drought for each other. We agreed to meet up at a bar near his place, so if we didn't feel a spark there would be no awkwardness like "Gee, is that the time? please get out of my house." We'd just go our separate ways from the bar to our own homes. Nothing ventured nothing gained.

In the afternoon preceding the 'meet' The Traveler sent me a text saying that he was looking forward to meeting me in the evening and gave me his home address "for the record". I thought that was sweet. It eased my mind a little. Meeting up with men off the internet, no matter how well I think I know then can still be dodgy. I told a friend the address so if I did end up back at his place, and for some reason I had judged his character wrong, and ended up dismembered in garbage bags dumped across the city, the cops would know whose door to knock on and ask questions. Not long after that text we decided to scrap going to a bar to just meet at his place.

I raced home from work to shave my legs and deal with my severely over grown pussy and under arms. Boy oh boy was that an effort! I had a shower, moisturised and threw on a dress. I'm not a girly girl, so it takes me about 15 minutes to get ready. a little longer if my tangled mane of hair has been washed and needs brushing. I threw a handful of condoms into my bag and ran to the car. Safety first.

I fired up the not so trusty Tom Tom, punched in his address and away I went. I parked out the front of his house, spat my gum out and proceeded down the sloping driveway. I got to his front door straightened out my dress and knocked. The Traveler opened it and welcomed me inside. I sat on the sofa and he opened me a beer. We began chit chatting about nothing in particular. We downed a second beer. We somehow as if by gravity, merged closer together on the couch. Then it was on like Donkey Kong. We went form first base to third in around 30 seconds before heading up the stairs to his room.

I was very surprised to see a very tidy room and bed complete with fresh linen. Nice work Traveler. Nice work indeed. I won't go into too much detail of what took place in said freshly laundered sheets. You're a clever cookie, I'm sure you have a good enough imagination to fill in the blanks from things I've said in previous posts.

Six hours later at the not so godly hour of 1am, I got dressed. The Traveler walked me to the door. We shared a goodbye pash. He opened the door and I traipsed up the driveway to the street with a spring in my step.

After a six month and three day sabbatical I was back baby!

Should one encourage an old flame to be rekindled? Part Two

I had deleted The Gentle Giant's number but somehow remembered the last two digits were 28. I received a text asking if I still played with my ropes. I said that I hadn't played with them for a while but when I did play with them it was super fun and he should give it a go with the missus some time. He wrote back that there was no missus. No missus hey? I thought to myself as images of naughty things rolled through my brain. He had my full attention again. I wrote back 'Maybe you should come and play ropes with me some time?' We played a bit of text ping pong and eventually came to the conclusion that he had too much work still to do for the day and I was tired. We left it at 'We'll play some day soon'. Whatever.

The next day after work I was super toey (nothing new there then) and decided to get the ropes out when I got in from work. I grabbed my red Japanese silk rope and un-wound the plait. I found the mid point of the rope and placed it on my spine, roughly where a bra strap would go. I began winding, twisting, threading and knotting around my torso, neck and boobs until I had no rope left. I was amazed with the outcome. After all, it was the first time I had really ever tied myself up. I had only ever practiced on my mannequin. I had the tension of the rope just right. Not so tight that I was going purple, and not too loose that they fell off when I moved around. I took a few cheeky pics on my phone and MMSed them to The Gentle Giant. I tried my hardest to tempt him into my boudoir... No such luck.

He seemed impressed, but not impressed enough to drop everything and pick up where we had left off earlier in the year. I had been given a second chance to show this boy who I really was and again, he was playing hard to get. Boring. I don't like games. Either you want to hang out with me and get to know me, or you don't. Simple. Don't string me along and waste my time.

The trail of the ropes went cold and a few days passed. I was on MSN like I am most nights and just happened to mention that I was going to Sexpo - a sexuality and lifestyle expo at Jeff's Shed- in the afternoon of the next day. I asked if he'd like to tag along and help me pick out some new toys. I was bluntly told he had too much work going on and he would not be able to make it. Luckily for me, one of my girlfriends - Sexi-Bum - is just as much of a sex crazed nympho as me agreed to accompany me to the event.

We were like two kids in a candy store! We ran around like we were high on sugar - squealing with glee at every new toy we saw at every stall. We walked up and down each of the aisles slowly taking in everything that was on offer. I knew what I had come for. A We-vibe II and a new dildo. I found what I was after not long after entering the expo and did not bother shopping around to see if anyone had the items cheaper. Sexi-Bum on the other hand can be quite thrifty and likes to compare prices. After a few hours, we had both spent up big and were tired from trudging through the crowds. We saw the sign for the exit and moved towards it.

We were about 10 steps away from the freedom and fresh air of the exit when I looked up and directly in front of me walked The Gentle Giant - Complete with horrid, "ex" girlfriend hanging off his arm with a dodgy "I'm missing chromosomes" look on her face. My heart sank. Our eyes locked on each other. My face went bright red. I looked away. I could not believe it.

Yeah right! "I'm too busy working to come and help you pick out some new toys to add to your arsenal." LIAR! I don't deal well with people - especially boys - that tell porkies! I couldn't help myself. I had to text him. I asked "Having fun? I thought you and the Missus broke up?" at 6pm as Sexi-Bum and I walked out of the event. Three hours later he decided to text me back. "She wanted to go so I went with". Nice. I wanted to go and asked you the day before and you said no.

So I'm pretty sure the events of the last few weeks and the weekend just gone have answered the question in the title of this blog. No. You should never encourage an old flame to rekindle. Old flames burn out to become ashes for a reason. Let these ashes blow away with the wind. They are not worth worrying about. Use your time and energy on new and exciting things. Leave the past in the past.

Should one encourage an old flame to be rekindled? Part One

The Gentle Giant is back. You may not know who I'm talking about so you might like to backtrack and read my blog titled - You can't always get what you want...

I got my 1st text from him about two months ago. It was a random school night when I received the text telling me that he'd just taken himself on a pub crawl in the CBD and was now in a local pub that I had taken him to. I congratulated his effort and told him that his pub crawl was probably no where near as good as the one I had taken him on months earlier. He agreed. I enquired as to whether he'd like some company on the last stop of the crawl, to which he accepted. I was out the door, in the car and at the pub in less than ten minutes. Eager much? Silly me.

I got to the pub and the voyeur in me kicked in. He was sitting inside, at a table alone. I paused for a moment and contemplated leaving. I stood and gazed at him for a few moments just thinking about the last chapter I had endured with this boy. I had fallen for him and he gave me the cold shoulder. Did he deserve me giving him the time of day? Of course the answer is yes. I'm a girl aren't I?

I took in a deep breath and entered the pub. His back was tuned to me but as I walked, he span around and smiled at me. I walked over to him, said hello and gave him a kiss on he cheek. I saw his pot was half empty (I'm not being negative, it really was nearly empty) so I sauntered to the bar and ordered two pots of refreshing lager beer.

I sat at his table and we began chatting away. We caught up on the past few months that had elapsed since we last spoke. We talked about work, friends, projects and love lives. It was pleasant. He was still charming and I couldn't help but smile at him. I don't know how or why, but conversation between us just comes so easily. We sat there, and before I knew it around two hours had ticked over on my watch. It was at that point that the singing from the open mic night became unbearable. We picked up our coats and left. As we were standing out the front saying our farewells, I offered him a lift back to the Bat Cave.

I pulled into his driveway and saw an odd looking unpainted car. It turns out that he has done a cut and shut on his 4x4 and turned it into a ute. I was super impressed. We talked about cars for a few minutes before an awkward silence fell over us. I once again - just like the very first night we went out - declared it was getting late and that I should head off. I was secretly hoping that he would invite me in to ravage him under the guise of having another beer. He didn't. I stepped in towards him and stood on my tippy toes to give him a peck on the cheek. He turned his head and planted a semi open mouthed kiss on my lips. I froze. I was unsure if I should kiss him back. I didn't know if he was still with his girlfriend so I chose to pull away. I got into my car as he walked to his gate. Before he went in, he looked back at me. I smiled, put my car into reverse and went home grinning from ear to ear.

That was the last I heard from him until a week ago...

Madame - My new lover and friend...

I needed a new bicycle. My last one got taken without my permission. Get yourself in a comfy chair, and I'll set the scene for you...

...Comfy? Good. Now I can continue!

I was riding reliable old, Huffy to a Mexican restaurant for dinner one evening a few months back with a good friend Miss How Do You Do. It was early evening, the sun was going down, birds were settling into their roosts for the night, when all of a sudden, the left crank and pedal assembly of my two-wheeled vehicle fell off! My close friends know that I have a very quick temper and even the slightest thing that most people would just shrug off sets me over the edge.

I picked up the bicycle and threw it accross the nature strip in a fit of rage, I threw the crank into some bushes and stomped up the street towards the restaurant. I was in a bad mood because I was hungry, my bike has just fallen to pieces so I kept my head down and used the Foot Falcon to get to where it was I needed to be. My plan was to walk to dinner. Enjoy a fantastic vegetarian la combination with the ever lovely and composed Miss How Do You Do, walk back to where I had left the bike, push it home and fix it in the morning. But no, when we got back to the place I had left my bike I was shocked to discover it was gone! Someone had stolen my broken bicycle! Who would ever do such a thing? I was furious! I picked up the detatched crank and threw it as hard as I could down the centre of the street - I'm a girl and throw like one so it didn't get far!


When Miss How Do You Do had calmed me down and defused the situation we continued the walk back to her place. It was late, getting cold, and now my grumpiness has returned ten-fold. All I wanted to do was to get into my 5.7 litre V8 car and go home to bed and forget about the fact that some jerk had stollen my broken bike!

I broiled on the fact that somebody had stolen a broken bike and not bothered to look for the missing part. Did they walk it back to their Aladdin's cave of stolen treasure? Did a one leggered pirate claim ownership of my abandoned fragmented former chariot? Over the next few days I decided it was time to replace the good old Huffy with one more fitting to my personality. I decided I needed a vintage bike.

I started trawling the internet - eBay mostly - for a vintage bike. I came to a realisation that owning a vintage bike would be much like owning a vintage car. Lots of maintenance that would more than likely prove to be quite costly. I found this amazing bike that looked like a vintage beach cruiser, but was in fact brand, spanking new! Eureka! I wanted to buy it as soon as I had laid my eyes on it.

She was beautiful. Powder blue, curved frame, tan leatherlook saddle and hand grips, 7 gears, cane basket on the front and mudguards. I was in love... again! This time with a bike and not a boy! I named her Madame.

Since falling in love with my new flame, we have been on many adventures. I love that I - the unfit, fat, non-exercising person - can now ride my vintage inspired bicycle to Williamstown, do 'the lap' and head home again all without whinging about being tired, exhausted, puffed or out of breath - I put it all down to giving up the dirty cigs five months and fourdays ago.

I heart Madame.

No smoking and taking Champix make The Opinionated Little Miss go something, something...

I am on my last week of Champix. I have been smoke free for 2 months and one week. As I sit back and reflect over the last three months of taking a 'quit smoking' medication twice daily, I smile. I was a smoker of 30-40 cigarettes a day. I think back and I wonder where I found the time to smoke each of these ciggies. Think about it. It takes around 3-4 minutes to smoke a cigarette. This means I spent on average 122.5 minutes a day smoking! That's just over 2 hours of every day! Let's just say I've been smoking for 10 years. I know it's probably more than that, but legally you can only buy said evil cancer sticks once you turn 18. That comes to 7,300 hours of my life that have been wasted smoking! What a waste! Imagine all of the exciting things I could have been doing in that time.

Champix, the necessary evil. I have tried and failed in the past to quit smoking. I knew it was bad for me, but I was addicted to nicotine. I tried the patches when I was 23, but ceased using them after they started making my skin smell like a stale garbage bin. I managed to not smoke for 4 and a half months back then. Last year my house mate and I decided that we were going to kick the habit together after hearing about Champix from a friend. We both popped off to our doctors, and started taking Champix the following Monday. It was great. 3 days into the treatment I was not finding myself having the urge to light up every 10 minutes. It was weird. My brain would think "Oh, it's been a while. Let's have a ciggie" The just like magic another part of my brain would kick in and say "We really don't need that coffin nail, do we?" and I would not light up. I managed to last 6 months before things went sour with the housemate and instead of fighting with him, I'd go out into the back yard and have a cheeky cig. This was OK at first. Just smoking one or two a week. As things got more and more hostile between us, I began smoking more and more, and before I knew it, I was a full time smoker again.

8 months down the track brings us to March this year. and it was as if a switch had been flipped in my head. I just wasn't craving to smoke as often as I use to. It may have had something to do with the change in recipe of my favourite brand. I even called the customer hotline to ask why they tasted different and stopped burning if you stopped puffing. I swapped brands, was still unsatisfied and it was then I signed myself up for another round of Champix. Again on the third or fourth day after commencing the medication, the desire to smoke was gone. i cut down to around 10 or less fags a day. 2 weeks into treatment I had given up completely. I was stoked!

On the fourth week of taking the tablets I began having crazy dreams. Not crazy, cool trippy, acid-like dreams. But more like frightening nightmares that would wake me up in hot and cold sweats. Sometimes I would even wake up trembling. The first one I can remember involved my dog (and life partner) Billy and I going on a road trip 'in a fried-out kombie'. We stopped at an imaginary seaside town to stock up supplies. Upon my return to the car, I found my precious Billy had been murdered in the back of the camper van. He had had his throat slashed. His blood was everywhere. It was upon seeing this that I woke up. Another nightmare I can remember involved me being stalked by some kind of predator through the streets of Melbourne. This horrid dream resulted in me being hung, drawn and quartered, just like the medieval torture. Nice. Not.

(I started this bog back in August, and just never finished it off til now. I'm now six months and one day smoke and crazy dream free)

My love for rope...

Some time ago, let me see... I guess it was around 18 months ago or more, during one of my random internet searching sessions that I seem to engross myself in all too often, I came across some raunchy pictures of a beautiful naked woman tied up with a bright red rope. She was not tied with regular old 'Granny knots'. These knots were similar to knots I could remember from a favourite book from my childhood. It was a book on maritime knot tying. I would spend hours with a 2 metre length of jute rope tying, untying and perfecting knots. Sad, I know. But there was not much else to do that didn't involve mischief on Dad's access weekends!

My favourite knot to make was called a monkey's fist. So titled, as when completed it looks like a scrunched up paw or fist. Genius! It was used by old school sailors at the end of ropes to add weight to them so a rope could be thrown from the deck of a ship or boat, to a third party waiting on a dock to catch and tie off. After conducting some research into the history of the humble monkey's fist, I discovered that it also had a more sinister use. It went by the alias slungshot, and was used as a rather crude but I assume effective malee weapon by sailors when involved in tavern and street fights way back in the 1800s.

This is one of the hardest knots to master the art of. It took me several attempts to get it right. Out of all of the attempts I have made over the years to tame this beast, I've only managed to get it down pat twice! The hardest part is at the end, when you tighten up all of the loops to become a round ball shape. I almost always ended up with a random loop that would not go away! This frustrated me so much that on one occasion out in the back yard, I poured zippo fluid on my precious jute rope and set it alight. After my rage subsided, I was sad that my rope was gone and I had to explain to my somewhat grumpy father, why I needed a new length of rope. I made up a lie and told him that the ends were too frayed to use anymore. He bought my story, and off we trotted around the corner to Mitre 10 for new rope. I chose a white 3 ply acrylic. Once I got it home, I spliced both ends so they did not fray or unravel.

Getting back to where this fable began, my discovery of Japanese rope bondage. I was intrigued by the woman in the red rope so I searched for more and more images to ogle. I was fascinated by what people had managed to do with a few metres of rope. I got online bought my self a few 'how to' books on Amazon.com and went to Bunnings and bought 10 metres of rope. I dusted off my armless and headless mannequin, cracked open the book and jumped straight in. I flicked through the book and stopped at a page with a photo of a bottom (person being tied) wearing what looked like a bra made of rope. My mannequin has boobs so I thought that would be a great place to start! My eager hands palpated the rope as I read through the instructions. I folded the rope in half and began to string up the dummy. Before I knew it, I had created some simple breast bondage. I was as happy as a dog with two dicks! I took a quick photo and untied my creation. I was now hooked on a new drug. A drug called Shibari. Enter my new obsession!

You can't always get what you want...

...Even when you change your mind about what it is that you want and how you go about getting it!

Some things should just be left as they are!

I have an online dating account. I won't bore you with the details of which site it is or what my username is - Mainly because I don't want you all to see it! But kudos to you if you've found it and have had a look! It started off as a joke type thing one drunken night. All above board and innocent and more so for a laugh than anything else.

I was curious to see who and what was out there after just coming out of a international long distance relationship. I had been out of the Melbourne dating game for over 3 years. I thought online dating may have been a convenient way of meeting people without having to put in much effort. You know, being able to chat online and get to know people whilst sitting in bed in my PJs instead of wasting countless hours and effort getting all dolled up to go out on what is essentially a blind first date. I don't really have much experience with the whole date thing, and to tell the truth, I don't really care for it!

At first I came across a lot of people just wanting a quick hook up. That was similar to what I was looking for at the time. I was far from ready to jump straight into another relationship after being hurt so badly in my previous one. I wanted to get to know a little about them before becoming bed buddies. I'm not so much of a slapper that I'd jump into bed with any old Joe Blow and Whatshisname. I am picky. Not too picky that all of my partners must be over 6 feet tall, ripped like Calvin Klein underwear models and have the face of an angel, but they need to be appealing to me in some way. Whether it be the color of their eyes, their sense of humour or a cheeky smile. Just because I have a profile on a dating website and am looking for a partner from said site, does not mean I don't still have the right to be a little picky. Right?

I went through all of the messages I'd been sent and came across a gentleman - I'll call him "Trumpet Face", because the way his lips stuck out made him look and sound like a trumpet - He was in the age range I was searching for, from his photos he looked like what I was looking for and from chatting to him online and on the phone I decided that he seemed interesting enough to meet. We met in a pub in South Melbourne for a beer and a bite to eat. Things were all good even though we were both a little nervous. Soon, the conversation was flowing, we laughed. We got on like a house on fire. Our food came out and it went downhill from there.

He began talking about his last girlfriend that died, and how sad and lonely he was. I felt sorry for him and tried to change the subject but he wouldn't let me. I started to eat my dinner before it went cold but he kept trying to hold my fork holding hand. Do you know how hard it is to eat a parma and drink beer with one hand?! Things calmed down. He stopped talking about the dead ex. He let go of my hand, and instead opted for playing footsies with me under the table. I tolerated this, but I'm no fan of PDAs! I became quite uncomfortable in this situation, so I scoffed my dinner and made an excuse for a rapid departure.

He walked me to my car and proceeded to stick his tongue down my throat! Yuk! I was disgusted. To make it worse, he stuck his hand down the back of my jeans at the same time! I had to stop myself from biting the tip his tongue off! To top it off, the next day Trumpet Face called me 6 times and texted me 38 times! STALKER ALERT! I texted him back and told him I didn't think we should see each other again, and that he should probably delete my number. I had escaped!

I was a bit scarred from the first dude, so I stopped checking my messages for a little while. After I had put the whole disaster behind me and built up the confidence, I went back for round two.

Enter "The Quiet Man". With this guy just like Trumpet Face, we chatted online, swapped happy snaps and spoke on the phone. We met in China Town. He was 40 minutes late. Not a good start. We found a restaurant, got seated, ordered our meals and drinks. I ordered a beer, he ordered a lemonade. 'Uh oh' screamed the voices in my head 'He's a tea totaller!' I struck up a conversation about his job, and just things in general. He answered all of my questions with only one or two short words and totally avoided eye contact with me. Houston, we have a problem! This dude was a Nervous Nelly! Not my type at all. Not that I really have a type.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and luckily had a text from a friend who was out drinking in the city who asked if I wanted to join him. Phew! YoYo, my saviour! I came back from the bathroom and tried to get a complete sentence out of The Quiet Man. No luck. It was getting late, 9pm, and I was getting bored. I told him a little white lie; that I'd unfortunately have to call it a night as I had work early the next day. Naughty me. He walked me to the taxi rank and then continued on to where his car was parked. As soon as he was out of sight I bolted to the bar where my friend, more beer and fun times were waiting! Exit The Quiet Man.

After two extremely different dates from hell I decided that single guys were too weird and needy for me so I began searching for a man looking for a play mate outside of his current relationship. A local "Married Guy" turned up. He lived close by. He fit my search criteria. He was married so I knew he would not be clingy, and above all we would not have to go through that awkward dating stage I hate so much.

Married Guy was cool for a while but his sexual desires far surpassed anything I was willing to stretch to - Literally :S Now, I'm no vanilla. I have a few slight kinks. I've had sex in almost every position thinkable and in many different locations including a grave yard. I've put things in places that those things probably shouldn't ever go. I've fucked a man with a strap-on. I've tried dress ups and role play. I own extreme anal jewellery. I've had a threesome. I even got into Japanese rope bondage for a little while. So, as you could imagine, I'm up for pretty much anything at least once. But unfortunately when he bought over a butt plug with the girth of a James Squire beer bottle and an inflatable vaginal stretcher I had to call it quits! There were other factors like the amount of sweat that would drip off him and onto me during sex. Gross. Goodbye and good luck Married Guy.

The next guy I came across I found at my place of employment. I can't really say too much about this guy, as I don't want to give away his identity so, I'll call him Mr X. I can tell you that he wasn't a colleague, he was a contractor for the construction company working where I worked at the time. As I was a team Leader, I got to spend a bit of time with him one on one during the course of his duties at work which gave us the chance to chat and get to know each other. He had a girlfriend when I first began seeing him, who over time became his fiancee and finally his wife. He even asked for my advice on what kind of ring he should get her. Weird, I know. I told him that for once it's not the size that counts, it's the color and clarity of the rock that does!

It was in one of our deep and meaningfuls he confessed that he had never experienced anal sex. I was shocked! How could Mr X - probably the best looking and easy to get along with guy I'd ever met - never of had the chance to explore up the dirt track? I told him that I usually have quite the desire for anal sex and sometimes favoured having a wang in the stink instead of the pink! This intrigued him and we began to excessively flirt.

One afternoon out of the blue I got a text from him asking if I was home alone. I let him know that indeed I was. 10 minutes later he was at my door. I yoinked him into my house by his belt and threw him onto my bed. I kissed my way down his body until I got to his jeans. I ripped them off as fast as I could - It was then I saw his underpants. They were bright green Mitch Dowd briefs, complete with a cheeky monkey printed on the front, grinning in my face! I cracked up laughing and told him I was going to spank his monkey! I gave him a mind blowing blow job and after he had time to re-charge I popped his anal cherry. The poor thing didn't last all too long but was happy none the less. We have hooked up many times, mostly in my car, which can be pretty hard now that I drive a ute with only front seats. Where there is a will there is a way! Mr X is the centerpiece of my trophy collection, and I'm in no rush to delete his number. Mr X's wife is expecting their first child.

Moving on! I had a bit of a break from Mr X about 8 months ago. I had a moment of morality. I came to the conclusion that I was ready to find a man of my own, instead of continually borrowing someone else's. I wanted a man of my own to hang out with and not just in the bedroom. I thought I may have even been ready for another relationship, instead of gate crashing other people's. So back to the online dating website I went. Searching high and low for a decent single guy. I was getting so many messages from so many dropkicks. They were saying things like "Nice tits, I'd love to cum all over them." Gross. That's really not the way to a girl's heart nor is it the way to get into this girl's panties. You need to be a little more suave and creative than that.

Earlier this year along came The Gentle Giant. He introduced himself as the defender of Gotham City. This made me laugh. This earns you brownie points to get into my panties. He officially had my attention. I was into this guy. Big time. Our first meeting was at a local groove spot with a secret garden out back. The weather was still nice so we smashed a few brews. Before we knew it, it was closing time. I offered him a ride. He accepted. Turns out he lives around the corner from me. More brownie points awarded to The Gentle Giant, I stepped into the Bat Cave. We had another beer and watched Crocodile Dundee II on the telly box. Because I was getting really into him, I didn't want to let this guy know how much of a naughty little nympho I can be, so I told him it was getting late and that I should head home. He walked me to my car where we chased some stray cats out of his yard and into the street. We kissed. I got wet and wanted to go back inside and have my wicked way with him, but forced myself to be a good girl and go home - Alone. I just thought that a nice boy like him would be looking for a nice girl. So that's who I was going to be - For now anyway. I molested myself three times that night imagining what it would be like to fuck him.

A few weeks passed. The Gentile Giant had been busy with work. We finally met up for drinks again. I took him on a mini pub crawl of the local area. He said he'd been living around here for a few years but not been out exploring the local watering holes. I even showed him the old morgue. I'm not sure why I did that but, it was on the way to the next pub so I swung by. He seemed interested by it. We drank until late and ended up back at his place yet again. Again the telly went on and we had a couple more beers. And me wanting to be the good girl, tried ever so hard not to jump his bones. We made out on the couch for what seemed like a pleasurable forever then he took the lead - just like had I wanted him to. It gets boring being a dominant female after awhile - and he walked me to his boudoir.

We had some pretty good sex by first time standards and then afterwards we snuggled. I can hear the chorus of "Awwwwwwwwww's" sounding off in the distance! I ticked off some more brownie points. I thought BINGO! I've hit the jackpot with this guy! He's cute, can hold a decent conversation, drinks beer, he's good in the sack and he likes to snuggle afterwards. I was in heaven! We awoke in the morning to a sharp knock at the door. He said "It's OK. They'll go away in a minute." Apparently not. It was his mate popping in to help himself to breakfast. The Gentile Giant got up and had a shower. I searched around on the bedroom floor for my clothing and got dressed. Not wanting to be seen by the friend I stayed as quiet as a mouse. After he showered and dressed he discretely walked me to my car. We kissed and said goodbye on the porch. I was so thankful to have my car. I can tell you, it's quite some time since my last walk of shame, and doing it in a car is so much less shameful!

A little time passed and it was not long after my birthday, I got a text to go out for a beer again. I love beer and I really stared to like this guy so I said yes! It was an odd night to be out (it was the Labour Day Weekend) and all of the pubs closed early. This time we ended up at my place. I had the home field advantage - Or so I thought. I still wanted to be a nice girl and not let out the inner nympho. After all, this was technically only our 3rd date! I wanted to rip his clothes off and do him right there on the couch but still didn't want to give him the wrong idea about me. It got late. We ran out of beer and went to bed. We put on a DVD, Zach and Miri make a porno. Maybe we should have put on a real porno. I have quite an extensive collection. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I know we did not have sex. I do know that we cuddled again.

In the morning we molested each other. That was loads of fun. He rubbed my pussy over my underpants. I couldn't stand it any more. I grabbed his hand and guided one of his fingers deep inside. He made me cum in no time at all. I wanted return the favour so I got in nice and close and wanted nothing more than to slide his rock hard cock down my throat, and give him a blow job that would have made him blow not only his load but also his mind. But I didn't think that good girls would rush into oral sex, so I controlled the urge. We cleaned up, got dressed and I drove him home.

I had not spoken to him for some time. I sent him some naughty videos and pictures. No respose. Something was not right here. I tried to contact him again a few weeks later. Still no reply. Not to my texts or shout outs on MSN. I didn't understand. Then It became totally clear. He had moved on from the boring, straight laced girl he had met in me. I never gave him the chance to unravel unique the layers that make up this Opinionated Little Miss.

I bet he thought I was a boring prude. If only he had taken a peek under my bed and seen my 'toy box'. If only he had caught a glance at the selection of whips, straps and paddles hanging behind by bedroom door. Then he would have known that I wasn't such a shy, goody two shoes after all.

It turns out he is now the boyfriend of a girl that is just like the real outspoken me! Though only two weekends ago we exchanged some very flirty texts. He pulled out of meeting up at the last minute, claiming he didn't have the energy. Perhaps it was his conscience that kicked in and he remembered about his new girlfriend? Good for him. I guess that just means he is one of the good guys. I had come second - Again. Why do I always end up being tossed aside like a piece of garbage? I've tried being me. I've tried being someone else. Neither worked!

Hence the title of this blog. You can't Always get what you want... Even when you change your mind about what it is that you want and how you go about getting it. From now on, I am only going to be the real me. Yes I may be a little crass and straight to the point but that's me. And If you don't like it, then move along. There's nothing here for you to see!

Fin.

Innie or Outie?

Ladies, do you have an Innie or an Outie? And no, I'm not talking belly buttons!

I have have a quite extensive porn collection (for a girl anyway), I've seen loads of porn on the internet (that's how my laptop got AIDS and died), and I have also thumbed through many a porno mag in my time and it came to my attention just how different vaginae can be. I knew that the color of your skin would determine the color of you punani, but up until around 4 or 5 years ago I had no idea that pussies were as varied in shape and size, and so different from one chick to the next.

If you're not sure what you've got follow these simple instructions:
1- You need to down trou' and stand in front of the mirror with your legs slightly apart.
2- Depending on your hairstyle down there you will either see:
a) A slit only - This would be an Innie
b) A slit plus your inner labia poking out (much like small tongues) - This variety would be an Outie.

Not that I'm a doctor or anything but after some extensive research and question asking to different people it seems that an outie is just due to having large inner labia that simply have no room to stay contained inside the outer labia, so they just spill out - Hence the name. Plain and simple. I ran a quick poll by my friends and it seems that innies and outies are split 50/50.

I think innies look a little posh and how do you do. You know, like a lady from say the 50s all prim and proper, very neatly presented with not a hair out of place. And outies look like a vampish young thing ready for a night out on the town, with all of their wares out on display!

What do guys prefer? Well, according to more of my research, again the verdict is came in at 50/50, and most of the dudes I surveyed added at the end of their answer "It doesn't really matter if her pussy is an innie or an outie, as long as it's wet and ready!"

Nuff said!

Worst Birthday Lunch in the history of humankind!

My sister GiGi and I decided to go to Sam's Boatshed (Syme Street, Williamstown) for for my Birthday lunch on the 20th April 2010 at noon when they just opened the doors. It was a lovely warm day so we sat outside. After perusing the very boring and out-dated menu we both decided to order the Chicken Parma with green beans and roasted chat potatoes. Yum! I couldn't wait to eat! I love green beans!

We ordered drinks when we ordered our meal with our dense waiter that was behaving like he was stoned - we did not catch his name as he neglected to wear a name badge - which he bought out very quickly. However, the meals were a completely different story. They took around 40 minutes to come out. We then sat with our meals in front of us for around 5 minutes before cutlery and napkins were brought out to us. No salt, pepper or any other condiment were offered.

In this time I noticed that there were no green beans but instead a rocket salad. I HATE ROCKET! My hatred for this vile green weed stems back to my childhood, but I don't want to get into this story today, I'll save that one for another day! Rocket is so overdone these days! Listen up Chefs of Melbourne: Melbournians are over rocket as side salads! I drew the waiters attention to the lack of green beans on my deep plate (The plate was more like a shallow bowl) and pointed out that I did not care to eat rocket. He just blankly stared at my plate, shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

We could now tuck into our now luke warm meals. The chicken was beautifully cooked - lovely and moist. The chat potatoes were not roasted, and in fact were deep fried. Being a keen cook on domestic and professional levels myself, I can tell the difference. It's not hard to tell the difference. Blind Freddy could tell the difference! I got through around a third of my parma and looked at the bottom of my plate. There was what I estimate to be around 40 to 50mL of oil sitting on the bottom! My food was so greasy I had to use my napkin to dab the oil from my food before masticating it.

We finished our meals and were patiently waiting for the waiter to clear our plates and offer us a dessert menu. We sat for around 10 minutes after which I began to lose my temper. My sister promptly got up and went inside to pay.

We left very disappointed and dissatisfied after giving the place a second chance after the last time I ate there. My starter of GRILLED Saganaki was forgotten by the kitchen, and then came out DEEP FRIED swimming in oil, served in a bowl, sitting on a paper napkin with my main meal.

I vow this - I will NEVER return to Sam's Boatshed again. You have taken enough of my time and money!

Filling in Time

I use to have a job. I don't have a job anymore. I lost it. If anyone has seen it, could you please return it to me. Actually scratch that. I don't want it back... Finders keepers!

I faced instant dismissal for tossing pebbles across a driveway into a metal waste paper basket. Harsh? I thought so, but there is and was nothing I could do about it. I was a casual employee, and if that is your current employment status, I urge you to search for a new job. Even if it means changing to a part time job at least you will have more rights than a casual.

Yesterday I was thinking that I have a lot of time on my hands these days, so I might turn all of this down time into something positive. I thought I need to stop wasting my days playing stupid flash games on the net, and watching hours of endless trashy TV provided by the magical Foxtel box. I need to do something constructive - even if its for my own sanity. So I started my blog. This is my second entry. I don't care if nobody but me reads it. That's not what I'm about. I'm not a look at me kind of person. Not with writing anyway. I've always had a way with words. I love them. I love manipulating them.

I'm thinking this will be a good platform to be able to vent all of the steam that is blocking up my brain. My head is just full of annoying little things. I need to clear them all out and make space for new stuff. But I want to save it all for posterity. So I can look back one day and think, Oh my God! What was I thinking back then? I was really messed up. I like to look upon it as Spring cleaning, but in Autumn. Perhaps I'm living in the wrong hemisphere?

So, this is me!

Why hello there! I didn't hear you come in! Come. Sit. Make yourself comfortable and I'll tell you a tale. Please ensure your seat is in the upright position, your tray is stowed and you have fastened your seat belt. This ride may get a little bumpy!

I have been told many times in my life that I am opinionated. I never knew weather or not it was a dis or a compliment. I'm still not sure. A thesaurus lists many synonyms for the word opinionated. Some of them include: adamant, assertive, biased, bigoted, bossy, cocky, conceited, dictatorial, inflexible, intransigent, obstinate, one-sided, overbearing, pigheaded, positive, pragmatic, prejudiced, self-assertive, set in stone, single-minded, stubborn, uncompromising and unyielding. All of these words, along many more describe a tiny piece of the whole package that is moi.

I was born under the Zodiac Sign of Aries. Well, actually, I was born on the cusp of Aries and Taurus, but apparently I display significantly more qualities of an Arian. This basically means that I am the most volatile and passionate of the Fire signs. I am also a mover and shaker, action oriented, expansive and like to take charge. I also share a birthday with good ol' Hitler and the ever charming Napoleon. Do these things explain why I'm opinionated? I'm not too sure. I may have to delve into this idea another time.

I am forever suffering from Foot in Mouth Syndrome -A symptom of being opinionated. I speak before I think. I guess I just call it as I see it. (Perhaps I should pursue a career as some sort of umpire or referee? - I'll tackle that one another day)

There was a time a few years back that comes to mind. I was out to dinner with 'The Girls'. Earlier that week there had been an horrific traffic accident that involved an overloaded car full of silly, young "invincible" punks. Long story short, the driver lost control of the car and it span out of control and eventually came to rest among some trees alongside the freeway. Page one of the next edition of the local news paper had a half page photograph of the aftermath of the accident. If I close my eyes I can still see it. A bright yellow wrecked VN Commodore, blackened in some places from the intense fireball that enveloped the car following the impact. It was the kind of picture that you look at, save a mental image of and reboot in your mind when you ever feel tempted to go 'just a little bit' faster than the allowed speed limit, in order to check yourself back into reality. In the photo I noticed something. Something very disturbing. In what remained of the back seat of the car you could quite clearly see a charred corpse of a n unfortunate passenger. I thought it was gross, but also an interesting thing to talk about at the dinner table. And for some silly reason I just 'had' to share my thoughts with the Girls then and there .
I recalled the details of this photograph to my friends just as the waitress brought our bill. Only to have her burst into tears, call me an insensitive bitch and storm off in hysterics. It turns out, those kids in that car were her friends. Naturally I felt really bad, but what could I do? My foot was already in my mouth and all I could do was try to pluck it out. I could never have known that she was connected to those kids. If she was still so clearly traumatised by the event, she should not have been waiting tables in some dodgy pub, but instead she should have been at home grieving with her other friends that had been left behind.

The point of the preceding story that started out to be a short tale and ended as a long epic was, that I have no control of the words that come from my mouth. I think I want to change that about myself. Not because I don't like who I am, I just think I can become a better version of me. I don't want to be completely uncritical of the world around me, I just want to awaken the part of my brain that filters and controls my breath being formed into audible words secreting from my lips. Opinionated Little Miss Version 2.0 here I come.

Stay tuned for the next episode...