Once I had a boyfriend with dreadlocks that I was neither hear nor there about not because he was short, but because his height had effected his personality to the extent that the term "short mans syndrome" was nothing short of an understatement when describing him. Anyway, for come reason, even more unusual then his singing voice I decided to go to England with him. What I had neglected to tell him is that I had an old passionate Italian lover that lived in London. Now like any Italian stallion this one had a way of lingering in my mind. Who could resist a long haired travelling Italian photographer? I didn't stand a chance and nor did my Jockey like companion. It didn't take much for my current boyfriend to annoy me to the point that I was packing my bags, thanking him for an amazing!, life changing!, earth shattering! three months and jumping on the nearest train to London. He was devastated, he cried and chased me to the train station. I looked at him sympathetically, trying to disguise my pity and told him "I'm sorry baby, the heart wants what the heart wants".
Like always I was broke, I'm talking no ticket back to Australia, no money for accommodation etc. All I had was a memory of a crazy fling, a fling that hadn't even lasted that long and a desperation for a life with slightly more risks and slightly less dreadlocks. With nothing but a map and a keen sense of desperation, I of course found my man. He was cutting hair in a little barber shop in Soho(did I mention he was a barber? probably not as its no where near as romantic as his photography yet much more imperative to his survival), it paid terribly but the tips were good and we all know Stallions don't need much to get by. He was thrilled to see me. Picking me up in the middle of the street and showing me off to all his friends. He told me in his deep Stallion voice that he'd look after me, we'd live together in the little hostel he lived in and I had nothing to worry about. We had a ball together, road trips in the snow, photography expeditions. He took me to all the Museums and gallery's desperately hoping I'd turn out to be the girl he'd always desperately hoped for. Meanwhile I too was desperate, desperate to be held in this corner of the world forever, desperate to appear believable in my interest for History and desperate not to be exposed for the wine guzzling uncultured fraud that I so wished I wasn't.
Needless to say I was eventually exposed (and when I say eventually I mean after 7 weeks. Long however by my standards), I cant remember the details (OK I can but don't want to get into them) they involved about 3 bottles of red and a restaurant full of people I didn't know. My stallion left me and no amount of begging or ignoring was going to get him back. I did my standard creepy thing, I went to his work, called from a private number and all that jaz. All he could say to me was "Hey, you broke the short guys heart and now I'm braking yours. Its the circle of love"
So that was my long winded way of explaining The circle of love. Not unlike Love karma only Love Karma's more like when you don't bother to even courtesy call a fella after a shag chances are its going to happen to you. Love Karma's also responsible for those people that seem to be at the top of the Love chain and dodge the circle of Love by always being the dumper and never the dumpee- Love Karma steps in by making sure that there never happy. Never for long anyway, always picking at small things that annoy them.
Anyway so that very next week when I had decided to pull myself out of my miserable state I was sitting on the bar at the restaurant I was tortured in daily (cant call that work) when in walked the florist. Now the florist came to the restaurant every week to change the flowers and he was beautiful. He was skinny with tatts all over his hands, always wore an old man hat and had side burns half way down his sensitive looking face. His flowers were amazing (or maybe they weren't but I'm a romanticist.) Anyway on a mission to recover my self esteem I walked up to him knelt down beside the vase he was arranging and handed him my number. I told him he was beautiful and he should go for a walk with me (god knows that's all I could afford). He smiled beautifully yet sympathetically and tucked my number into his pocket. I knew he would never call me. But, later that very same day in comes the wine delivery boy. He bounced in like he did everyday, smiled at me and told me "Its a good day if I see you Constance" as I was wiping down a painfully dull bench he walked up to me and asked, "if I give ask you out, you wont say yes will you?" I replied sympathetically "Sorry baby, the heart wants what the heart wants"
Dam that Circle of Love.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
In between my sheets
My body has created a precious little girl, my breasts have fed and kept her alive until now, and for her my cervix has dilated, vagina stretched and somehow managed to go back to looking some what human again, the hairs on my back are brushed up against everyday yet will still stand up at someones touch, my liver has recovered from various abusive nights as have my kidneys, my heart has been broken countless times and yet continues to beat.
So what could my body have possibly done to me today to force me to turn my back on it? Well inbetween my sheets It Wobbles, no matter what I do the hair it grows so slowly on my head and so fast on my bikini line, I have moles- not just scary looking moles but ones with more fast growing hairs sticking out of them, I have ingrown toenails, I'm going grey prematurely (but I'm angrier at my boyfriend then my hair for that) there is a tattoo of a butterfly on my right breast, the butterfly looks old before my daughter has had her breast milk and dead after (again more my fault but I'm on a rant) and how could I forget my snail trail.
Now finding a man to wax your lower back hairs is not the problem, fitting in to size 8 Betina Liano Jeans is not only impossible but is also not the problem, having breasts that don't require a sign "please watch your step" while would be nice is still not the problem. The problem like always, lies within..
In between your sheets. Somewhere along the way everything got mixed up..
Stretchmarks are a sign that you've shared my body with a baby so tell me why someone would prefer to kiss a protruding hip bone then a beautiful pink stretch mark? Your pot belly is a sign that Iv just enjoyed a big Delicious meal, so why does it get more attention when you hold it in? Smile lines? beautiful. Your pubic hair like a woman's coat of arms, we earned it going through that wretched puberty so why shave it off? Saggy breasts should be celebrated and snuggled up to and flat bums are just asking to be pinched.
At the end of the day, if you exclude new years day, (when my body pretty much packed it in after I consumed enough Vodca Red bull to give a train an anxiaty attack) and the time I bounced back from a fad diet by gaining 14 kg's. My body has stood by me through everything, so its about time I stood by it inbetween my sheets.
So what could my body have possibly done to me today to force me to turn my back on it? Well inbetween my sheets It Wobbles, no matter what I do the hair it grows so slowly on my head and so fast on my bikini line, I have moles- not just scary looking moles but ones with more fast growing hairs sticking out of them, I have ingrown toenails, I'm going grey prematurely (but I'm angrier at my boyfriend then my hair for that) there is a tattoo of a butterfly on my right breast, the butterfly looks old before my daughter has had her breast milk and dead after (again more my fault but I'm on a rant) and how could I forget my snail trail.
Now finding a man to wax your lower back hairs is not the problem, fitting in to size 8 Betina Liano Jeans is not only impossible but is also not the problem, having breasts that don't require a sign "please watch your step" while would be nice is still not the problem. The problem like always, lies within..
In between your sheets. Somewhere along the way everything got mixed up..
Stretchmarks are a sign that you've shared my body with a baby so tell me why someone would prefer to kiss a protruding hip bone then a beautiful pink stretch mark? Your pot belly is a sign that Iv just enjoyed a big Delicious meal, so why does it get more attention when you hold it in? Smile lines? beautiful. Your pubic hair like a woman's coat of arms, we earned it going through that wretched puberty so why shave it off? Saggy breasts should be celebrated and snuggled up to and flat bums are just asking to be pinched.
At the end of the day, if you exclude new years day, (when my body pretty much packed it in after I consumed enough Vodca Red bull to give a train an anxiaty attack) and the time I bounced back from a fad diet by gaining 14 kg's. My body has stood by me through everything, so its about time I stood by it inbetween my sheets.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Big Brother,
I'm going to begin by telling you that I'm actually quite ambitious. When I was 5 I was going to be a princess, 8 I was going to marry the skinnyer guy from Milly Vanilly, 13 I was planning to take on the music industry myself and so on.
Becoming the first Big brother housemate in the history of the world to A) be evicted not only first but before the first two week eviction show, B) Be evicted for Lying and C) to be given the boot without any of the prizes that I so desperately needed, was never the plan.
It just sort of happened that way. Speaking of the plan, getting too drunk on the first night, sitting in a position not intented for skirts and showing Australia my nickers (and bikini line with its gravitational pull down my legs) wasn't on there either.
Oh yes that was the night my adorable new house mates all voted that I be the one to loose my luggage for my entire stay. I cant remember who I voted for though.. I was too drunk.
On the second day my hangover and I marched ourselves (wearing a sheet as I had no clothes) into the diary room to give Big Bastard a piece of our mind. His reply was, "Well Constance what did you expect you Big Brother experience to be like?" (generic answer, was probably on a palm card)
"Well Big Brother, I was expecting a little more then a house full of- 8 individual silicone breasts belonging to ever ambitious promo models, 1 intellect who was so far above everyone that I swear he was starting to hover, The red headed lazy eyed auzzie sheep shearer that the promo models attached themselves too as they believed he was so stupid that the Australian public would feel sorry for him and see him through to the final two, (unfortunately this was the first bit of human female attention the shearer had ever been exposed to and he pretty much exploded by about the ninth week) Then there was the girl with an IQ lower the one of a Tequila worm who describes herself as the "complete package" this would be more true if you cut off her head and replaced it with my Jack Russels Arse.
And so the list went on. Big Brother, less then thrilled gave me another creative reply, "that is all Constance"
Oh yes, it was me against everyone in that house and the Big man was my number one Nemesis. My strategy was that surely the outside world hates these promo bogans as much as I do? So Ill be as rude as humanly possible to each of them and the public will love me for it. It was my strategy to stop Hotdogs from sharing his sexual escapades with Australia. And was my strategy to let the "complete package" know that even after 45 minutes of applying her makeup she still looked slightly inbred. But sadly on May the 18th 2005 exactly ten days after my quest for fame began my strategy failed and I was kicked out.
Now lets go straight to public perception... After all my hard work- fighting for Australian rights not to have to listen to promo models working on solving the worlds problems (like hair extensions or highlights and shaved or racing strip?) while sun baking, where was my reward? Was I about to be crowned Public servant 2005? where was there a studio full of my grateful followers?
Nowhere- I was robbed of my prizes and my people had turned on me.
Speaking of regrets.... When Gretal asked that famous question asking if we had any regrets from our time in the house (the question everyone responds to with a lie?) Well I do regret something. I regret not being honest about my regrets. Because in truth I regret my entire Big Brother experience almost as much as Gretal should regret her entire outfit choice.
As for you Big Brother. That is all.
Becoming the first Big brother housemate in the history of the world to A) be evicted not only first but before the first two week eviction show, B) Be evicted for Lying and C) to be given the boot without any of the prizes that I so desperately needed, was never the plan.
It just sort of happened that way. Speaking of the plan, getting too drunk on the first night, sitting in a position not intented for skirts and showing Australia my nickers (and bikini line with its gravitational pull down my legs) wasn't on there either.
Oh yes that was the night my adorable new house mates all voted that I be the one to loose my luggage for my entire stay. I cant remember who I voted for though.. I was too drunk.
On the second day my hangover and I marched ourselves (wearing a sheet as I had no clothes) into the diary room to give Big Bastard a piece of our mind. His reply was, "Well Constance what did you expect you Big Brother experience to be like?" (generic answer, was probably on a palm card)
"Well Big Brother, I was expecting a little more then a house full of- 8 individual silicone breasts belonging to ever ambitious promo models, 1 intellect who was so far above everyone that I swear he was starting to hover, The red headed lazy eyed auzzie sheep shearer that the promo models attached themselves too as they believed he was so stupid that the Australian public would feel sorry for him and see him through to the final two, (unfortunately this was the first bit of human female attention the shearer had ever been exposed to and he pretty much exploded by about the ninth week) Then there was the girl with an IQ lower the one of a Tequila worm who describes herself as the "complete package" this would be more true if you cut off her head and replaced it with my Jack Russels Arse.
And so the list went on. Big Brother, less then thrilled gave me another creative reply, "that is all Constance"
Oh yes, it was me against everyone in that house and the Big man was my number one Nemesis. My strategy was that surely the outside world hates these promo bogans as much as I do? So Ill be as rude as humanly possible to each of them and the public will love me for it. It was my strategy to stop Hotdogs from sharing his sexual escapades with Australia. And was my strategy to let the "complete package" know that even after 45 minutes of applying her makeup she still looked slightly inbred. But sadly on May the 18th 2005 exactly ten days after my quest for fame began my strategy failed and I was kicked out.
Now lets go straight to public perception... After all my hard work- fighting for Australian rights not to have to listen to promo models working on solving the worlds problems (like hair extensions or highlights and shaved or racing strip?) while sun baking, where was my reward? Was I about to be crowned Public servant 2005? where was there a studio full of my grateful followers?
Nowhere- I was robbed of my prizes and my people had turned on me.
Speaking of regrets.... When Gretal asked that famous question asking if we had any regrets from our time in the house (the question everyone responds to with a lie?) Well I do regret something. I regret not being honest about my regrets. Because in truth I regret my entire Big Brother experience almost as much as Gretal should regret her entire outfit choice.
As for you Big Brother. That is all.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Hard to get
What do spaghetti, burgers, crayfish, whole baby chicken and crabs have in common? None should be devoured on a date.
As the words Fuck, prick, broke, shit, desperate and cunt should also be avoided.
I need not mention that the appearance of cigarettes, bike pants, crimped hair and maternity bras go down like a lead balloon when you first meet someone.
So why then does my friend Miss B always get the guy? Miss be will arrive at the restaurant, drunk and chain smoking, hair in a scrunchy (for fuck sakes,) spag bol running down her face while she tells a story about the cunt of a boss who under pays her.
I will tell you why. 'Hard to get' is no longer a game- its a life style. Throw 'The Rule book' where it belongs, in the sanitary disposal unit at your local Red Rooster. It is shit, its a fad diet for dating.
You see playing hard to get is the oldest trick in the book. Men have evolved and although they might seem to have the intelligence of an ingrown hair they can actually be quite cluey and see straight through it.
So in order to step it up a notch you need to stop pretending to not give a fuck and actually stop giving a fuck. For example- before a date, ask yourself- if this was dinner with my brother what would I wear? or better yet- if I was going around to mums house what would I wear? the new rule is "The less attention and effort, the closer you'll get to your fella"
Here's an example of the power of this love law.
When Plain Jane went out on a date with Super Stud he wasn't expecting much. Until she got there wearing dirty tracksuit pants and a Bintang singlet. He asked, "whats with the attire?" PJ answered- "fuck should I have put some effort in? sorry Iv had a million things to do today"Of course this left SS thinking "she wasn't even exited about this date... Why not?" and by the time PJ slugged him with a huge bill and stumbled out the door poor old SS didn't stand a chance.
The final step for the new and improved "hard to get" is one not to be taken lightly and I only recommend for use by the most confident and experienced female players as failure can lead to the utmost embarrassment.
If you really didn't give a fuck what a particular man thinks of you but would still like to get him in bed, would you bother playing hard to get? No. You would do the complete opposite- So in order to become believable in you playing hard to get you must 'Come on strong' tell him you've "always wanted to do this," and that "you cant wait to get him back to your house" and "that hes manly and huge" After you've had your wicked way with him sneak out and ignore him for a week. Then prepare to welcome a new stalker into you life.
As the words Fuck, prick, broke, shit, desperate and cunt should also be avoided.
I need not mention that the appearance of cigarettes, bike pants, crimped hair and maternity bras go down like a lead balloon when you first meet someone.
So why then does my friend Miss B always get the guy? Miss be will arrive at the restaurant, drunk and chain smoking, hair in a scrunchy (for fuck sakes,) spag bol running down her face while she tells a story about the cunt of a boss who under pays her.
I will tell you why. 'Hard to get' is no longer a game- its a life style. Throw 'The Rule book' where it belongs, in the sanitary disposal unit at your local Red Rooster. It is shit, its a fad diet for dating.
You see playing hard to get is the oldest trick in the book. Men have evolved and although they might seem to have the intelligence of an ingrown hair they can actually be quite cluey and see straight through it.
So in order to step it up a notch you need to stop pretending to not give a fuck and actually stop giving a fuck. For example- before a date, ask yourself- if this was dinner with my brother what would I wear? or better yet- if I was going around to mums house what would I wear? the new rule is "The less attention and effort, the closer you'll get to your fella"
Here's an example of the power of this love law.
When Plain Jane went out on a date with Super Stud he wasn't expecting much. Until she got there wearing dirty tracksuit pants and a Bintang singlet. He asked, "whats with the attire?" PJ answered- "fuck should I have put some effort in? sorry Iv had a million things to do today"Of course this left SS thinking "she wasn't even exited about this date... Why not?" and by the time PJ slugged him with a huge bill and stumbled out the door poor old SS didn't stand a chance.
The final step for the new and improved "hard to get" is one not to be taken lightly and I only recommend for use by the most confident and experienced female players as failure can lead to the utmost embarrassment.
If you really didn't give a fuck what a particular man thinks of you but would still like to get him in bed, would you bother playing hard to get? No. You would do the complete opposite- So in order to become believable in you playing hard to get you must 'Come on strong' tell him you've "always wanted to do this," and that "you cant wait to get him back to your house" and "that hes manly and huge" After you've had your wicked way with him sneak out and ignore him for a week. Then prepare to welcome a new stalker into you life.
Monday, January 4, 2010
disaster dates
"I don't hate women, I just think they have there place in the world. I do however hate Indians, there ruining Melbourne. I'm driven by money, have allot of the stuff and strongly believe this is the reason you will eventually call me back"
And he was one of the better dates Iv been on.
Dating is never ever easy. Iv been on a date with- a bong head (I'm talking a portable bong in his bag that spilt and left bong water all over the restaurant.) Two male prostitutes, (I didn't find this out until half way through, both times) one that sat through dinner talking about the guilt his sexually transmitted diseases have brought him and the other that said "I suppose I prefer having sex with men" this was just before he accused me of drinking too much. An Irish backpacker that claimed to be running from a murder charge (Ecstasy got me through that date, probably not the wisest move)
So now your thinking, yeah yeah we've all been on disaster dates. But wait theres more... What do all these complete winner men have in common? They rejected ME.
Maybe I just don't come across well at a dinner table, could be the four bottles of wine I insisted on ordering because the mere fact that I was on a date was reason enough to celebrate. Of course Id never admit that. In my head there were two reasons, and each rejection was allicated one of them. 1, I'm too fat, superficial bastard would have called if I was thinner or 2 He cant handle a strong empowered woman, (no he cant handle a drunk, scene making drama queen.)
Then theres the ones who would seem to have only asked me out in order to reject me. You know like when a guy asks you to call him only to not answer it. Once this extremely hot black guy that worked in this funky boutique clothing store on Flinders Lane asked me out, not once he practically begged me to go out with him. When I finally agreed (knowing all along I was going to) he asked me to meet him at a bar in the city. I got there, dressed up and exited. He was 20 min's late- he walked up to me, kissed my cheek and told me I looked beautiful then he apologised for being rude however explained that he wasn't staying as his ex girlfriend was waiting in his car for him and they were getting back together. "You don't mind do you Constance?"
"Um well yeah, actually I do you stinking asshole, fuck off then. Hey bar tender? make that a bottle.... one glass"
Hmmmm Am I the disaster date? I have stood outside a block of apartments at 3am calling some guys name cos I cant remember which number he lives in and I felt like a cuddle. I have dated too soon after being dumped and continue to ask my current date if he can figure out why someone would dump me? And Iv refused to eat and only drink because my new fad diet didn't allow carbs after midday and food after 5pm.
So is there really a question as to why I sat next to my mobile day in day out waiting for a call or text even a booty call via text?.. Or why I used to call vodaphone once a week just to ask them to text my phone to make sure its working?... No there isn't.
No dating is never ever easy, not for me... Or anyone dating me.
And he was one of the better dates Iv been on.
Dating is never ever easy. Iv been on a date with- a bong head (I'm talking a portable bong in his bag that spilt and left bong water all over the restaurant.) Two male prostitutes, (I didn't find this out until half way through, both times) one that sat through dinner talking about the guilt his sexually transmitted diseases have brought him and the other that said "I suppose I prefer having sex with men" this was just before he accused me of drinking too much. An Irish backpacker that claimed to be running from a murder charge (Ecstasy got me through that date, probably not the wisest move)
So now your thinking, yeah yeah we've all been on disaster dates. But wait theres more... What do all these complete winner men have in common? They rejected ME.
Maybe I just don't come across well at a dinner table, could be the four bottles of wine I insisted on ordering because the mere fact that I was on a date was reason enough to celebrate. Of course Id never admit that. In my head there were two reasons, and each rejection was allicated one of them. 1, I'm too fat, superficial bastard would have called if I was thinner or 2 He cant handle a strong empowered woman, (no he cant handle a drunk, scene making drama queen.)
Then theres the ones who would seem to have only asked me out in order to reject me. You know like when a guy asks you to call him only to not answer it. Once this extremely hot black guy that worked in this funky boutique clothing store on Flinders Lane asked me out, not once he practically begged me to go out with him. When I finally agreed (knowing all along I was going to) he asked me to meet him at a bar in the city. I got there, dressed up and exited. He was 20 min's late- he walked up to me, kissed my cheek and told me I looked beautiful then he apologised for being rude however explained that he wasn't staying as his ex girlfriend was waiting in his car for him and they were getting back together. "You don't mind do you Constance?"
"Um well yeah, actually I do you stinking asshole, fuck off then. Hey bar tender? make that a bottle.... one glass"
Hmmmm Am I the disaster date? I have stood outside a block of apartments at 3am calling some guys name cos I cant remember which number he lives in and I felt like a cuddle. I have dated too soon after being dumped and continue to ask my current date if he can figure out why someone would dump me? And Iv refused to eat and only drink because my new fad diet didn't allow carbs after midday and food after 5pm.
So is there really a question as to why I sat next to my mobile day in day out waiting for a call or text even a booty call via text?.. Or why I used to call vodaphone once a week just to ask them to text my phone to make sure its working?... No there isn't.
No dating is never ever easy, not for me... Or anyone dating me.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
I have felt the agony of being cheated on. I have felt the guilt of cheating on someone and I have also felt the loneliness of being the woman someone cheats with.
When your in love with someone your back to back with them, fighting off the world and when you realise someone has wedged in between you, your now fighting off the world from all angles. Nobodies got your back. Sorry means nothing- part of you thinks that finding out every detail if the betrayal will take away the mystery and take away and secrets this woman shares with your secret keeper or bonds she holds with your rock. But inevitably the details will only hurt you more and thus a bad idea as your protector is no longer doing his job and you need to step in his place and fill that roll by protecting yourself from such images. Might have been one small fuck up or might have been a year long fuck up but either way you feel lost, your little corner of the world has been invaded and you believe there will be more comfort in the bottom of a bottle of Jacks then you ll ever find in your bed again. All of the sudden your lonely.
Cheating never feels remotely similar to being cheated on. Its just as they say, "a bad decision" half the time you cant even remember you did it and other times you'll never forget the deep thrill of the new forbidden skin. You'll either regret it straight away or you regret it later on. There is nothing sexy about being sneaky, about hurting someone you love and theres certainly nothing sexy about being miserable in you home life. This of course is something that we'd all like to believe- Ill only cheat or be cheated on if my relationships going down the drain. But its not the case, we slip up and we land on our love. The combination of beers and flattery or wine and long legs is what we need to convince our selves that the angel waiting patiently between our clean sheets at home is less then perfect and deserves this. Or we deserve this. After woods you've hurt someone and in doing so hurt yourself and the one person you go to that bring you back to yourself you cant tell. All of the sudden your lonely.
I'm a mistress, I'm the other woman, I'm younger and more fun. How ever you put it you know deep down that your second best. You ll always know that someone else gets to sleep the full night, someone else gets to make future plans, someone else gets that respect that either comes from bearing children or a long history. There is another woman that calls out your lovers name while shes bathing his children, and can make him loose it laughing without even looking up at him. You cant yell at him, you cant kiss him at the checkout, cant go on a road trip together and cant call him at work. But you look dam good in a g-string. All of the sudden your lonely.
When your in love with someone your back to back with them, fighting off the world and when you realise someone has wedged in between you, your now fighting off the world from all angles. Nobodies got your back. Sorry means nothing- part of you thinks that finding out every detail if the betrayal will take away the mystery and take away and secrets this woman shares with your secret keeper or bonds she holds with your rock. But inevitably the details will only hurt you more and thus a bad idea as your protector is no longer doing his job and you need to step in his place and fill that roll by protecting yourself from such images. Might have been one small fuck up or might have been a year long fuck up but either way you feel lost, your little corner of the world has been invaded and you believe there will be more comfort in the bottom of a bottle of Jacks then you ll ever find in your bed again. All of the sudden your lonely.
Cheating never feels remotely similar to being cheated on. Its just as they say, "a bad decision" half the time you cant even remember you did it and other times you'll never forget the deep thrill of the new forbidden skin. You'll either regret it straight away or you regret it later on. There is nothing sexy about being sneaky, about hurting someone you love and theres certainly nothing sexy about being miserable in you home life. This of course is something that we'd all like to believe- Ill only cheat or be cheated on if my relationships going down the drain. But its not the case, we slip up and we land on our love. The combination of beers and flattery or wine and long legs is what we need to convince our selves that the angel waiting patiently between our clean sheets at home is less then perfect and deserves this. Or we deserve this. After woods you've hurt someone and in doing so hurt yourself and the one person you go to that bring you back to yourself you cant tell. All of the sudden your lonely.
I'm a mistress, I'm the other woman, I'm younger and more fun. How ever you put it you know deep down that your second best. You ll always know that someone else gets to sleep the full night, someone else gets to make future plans, someone else gets that respect that either comes from bearing children or a long history. There is another woman that calls out your lovers name while shes bathing his children, and can make him loose it laughing without even looking up at him. You cant yell at him, you cant kiss him at the checkout, cant go on a road trip together and cant call him at work. But you look dam good in a g-string. All of the sudden your lonely.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Public Masturbating
Its rude to point at someone, its ruder to stare at someone. Spitting at someone is vile and reserved for only the classiest of folk (train station dwellers.) But an all new low... and a rudeness with its own community of rude is masturbating at someone. What does one call this activity? its not flashing, its not molesting its masturbating at someone. Some characteristics of a extroverted masturbator is the inability to walk, they lurk. The inability to sit still, they shake- not a scared shake, more of a cold shake (imagine a whippet) They have strange sleeping hours, almost nocturnal.
One freezing cold Melbourne morning my sister left our house to go to work, she was doing the breakfast shift at the local cafe. She briskly walked to the tram stop to read the timetable. My poor innocent sister noticed the shadow of a lurker but thought nothing of it as she stepped into a doorway to keep warm while waiting for the tram. That's when he struck. Around the corner popped the pathetic excuse, pants down, dick in hand, desperate look on his face as he started to masturbate towards her. My poor sister ran all the way to work. Mortified.
Now I'm not naive to the fact that men love there dicks. Nor do I think I'm the only one who's been in the following situation......
Girl gets drunks, girl meets guy, goes home with guy, gets into bed and realises shes to drunk and not into it so opts to pass out instead. (Come on we've all done it) Funny part is when guy gets desperate and after trying to wake the girl up for 15 Min's realises he has to take matters into his own hands and proceeds to wank right there in front of her.
Orgasms arn't the only thing we ladies fake, we also fake sleep. So cheers for that one fellas doesn't leave us feeling awkward at all!
When I discussed this scenario with a girlfriend she admitted shed been there but didn't think there was anything wrong with it.
Anyway I'm not that understanding, I don't see it as a mans need to get off or a beautiful thing. I don't feel the need to celebrate a mans cock at every opportunity nor do I see his orgasm as an imminent ceremony.
To me these acts are desperate showcasing a sexual greed and lack of control. But a lack of self control that Iv learnt to tollorate. Should have just coughed up for a cab home.
The real villains in the story and the public masturbator... The train station wanker, the guy on a date with himself in the sand dune and the cinema creep camouflaged in all the different shades if fowl.
So after carefully reminiscing the time I almost bumped into a guy doing a poo under a statue in Madrid and the overweight, half naked hooker that looked to be halfway through her menstrual cycle on high rd Kilburn- Iv come to the conclusion that if you places public masturbators in a community with all the above and worse they would still find themselves the guy in the town being referred to as 'The Rude Guy'
One freezing cold Melbourne morning my sister left our house to go to work, she was doing the breakfast shift at the local cafe. She briskly walked to the tram stop to read the timetable. My poor innocent sister noticed the shadow of a lurker but thought nothing of it as she stepped into a doorway to keep warm while waiting for the tram. That's when he struck. Around the corner popped the pathetic excuse, pants down, dick in hand, desperate look on his face as he started to masturbate towards her. My poor sister ran all the way to work. Mortified.
Now I'm not naive to the fact that men love there dicks. Nor do I think I'm the only one who's been in the following situation......
Girl gets drunks, girl meets guy, goes home with guy, gets into bed and realises shes to drunk and not into it so opts to pass out instead. (Come on we've all done it) Funny part is when guy gets desperate and after trying to wake the girl up for 15 Min's realises he has to take matters into his own hands and proceeds to wank right there in front of her.
Orgasms arn't the only thing we ladies fake, we also fake sleep. So cheers for that one fellas doesn't leave us feeling awkward at all!
When I discussed this scenario with a girlfriend she admitted shed been there but didn't think there was anything wrong with it.
Anyway I'm not that understanding, I don't see it as a mans need to get off or a beautiful thing. I don't feel the need to celebrate a mans cock at every opportunity nor do I see his orgasm as an imminent ceremony.
To me these acts are desperate showcasing a sexual greed and lack of control. But a lack of self control that Iv learnt to tollorate. Should have just coughed up for a cab home.
The real villains in the story and the public masturbator... The train station wanker, the guy on a date with himself in the sand dune and the cinema creep camouflaged in all the different shades if fowl.
So after carefully reminiscing the time I almost bumped into a guy doing a poo under a statue in Madrid and the overweight, half naked hooker that looked to be halfway through her menstrual cycle on high rd Kilburn- Iv come to the conclusion that if you places public masturbators in a community with all the above and worse they would still find themselves the guy in the town being referred to as 'The Rude Guy'
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