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!