Weird factoids!

So I realized the other day that the age difference between the last 2 guys I slept with is actually 15 years. Whoa.
And yes, the older man was infinitely better, even if the younger one was hotter.

So bees, what news! Apparently noone has done it since October. Lies!

Other weird facts to add?

Oscar time

Does anyone else look at the Oscars, and wonder whether people do inappropriate things with the statuettes when they get home? They kind of look like they would be ok for that sort of caper, as compared to say, this

My Somewhat Horrendous Valentine's Day

Fear not, Agent X, you don’t have to be married to be underwhelmed on Valentine’s.

Although in fairness to PVC, he wasn’t really to blame for the general horrendousness.

Now, I hate Valentine’s Day for the same reason I hate New Year’s Eve – because anything that hyped up is bound to be a disappointment. (There are other reasons why I hate VD, mostly to do with my utter disgust and contempt at capitalism’s attempt to sell ‘love’… or maybe I’m just bitter because no one ever paid for a singing telegram for me while I was in school and my disappointment at never getting the opportunity to hear ‘I’ll Make Love to You’ by Boys to Men screamed at me will now overshadow the rest of my romantic life…)

Anyway, I hate it. And flowers and all the crap make me cringe. A sentiment that PVC and I both share. Also any prospect of a hot date that evening was out of the question, as he had to be the demonstration partner for a beginners ceroc (a sort of jive-y ballroom dancing) class that night. The prospect of heckling him while he was up on the stage appealed to me, so I went along to the class.

Class was fun, and I got a good bit of heckling in. Afterwards there was some of social dancing, and then we had to decide whether we wanted to stay on for the intermediate class, or go home and eat cake. I was all for cake, but he insisted we stay, telling me that I was totally ready for intermediate (with my whole three lessons behind me). So we stayed.

Perhaps not surprisingly, I found the class kind of difficult. Which is a gentle way of saying I sucked. Oh how I sucked. (In fairness to me, I missed the beginning of the class because I had to go to the toilet, and my attention span was shot from the class that preceded it and another terrible day at work). But yeah, Lord of the Dance I was not. Even still, I couldn’t work out why PVC was acting really quite aggressive. He was being all “I said spin on THREE, not FOUR!” and I was all “dude chill out” until eventually he had to point out that his ex-girlfriend had joined the class with her new boyfriend and they had been dancing directly beside us for some time. Her new boyfriend was obviously at the same skill level as me, and she was doing a similar thing to PVC in that she was dragging the poor bugger all over the place.

I asked PVC if he wanted to go, but he was determined to stick the class out to the bitter end. So it then turned into this Strictly Ballroom-esk dance off, whereby we kept dancing into them and they kept dancing into us while the exes shot each other withering looks and I tried to check her out between demented spins. I thought it was funny, and I kept losing the plot and giggling, which only served to make PVC more annoyed at me.

An aside: PVC’s ex is freaking beautiful. You know that famous painting, with Venus emerging scantily clad from a clamshell? Well, like that. Long, flowing auburn hair, creamy skin, blue eyes, etc. I’ve seen photos of her, but she looks even better in real life. Although, by all accounts she’s a bit of a bitch, and while she’s got a nice rack, she has nothing on my ass. So, y’know. I wasn’t about to stick a diamante stiletto in her eye or anything, I was just kind of curious.

Finally admitting defeat, PVC and I sat down to watch the end of the class, while he gazed pensively in her direction. I asked him if he was going to say ‘hi’ which he decided he wasn’t, so we got up and skulked out before the final round of social dancing.

Now at this point, I’m expecting we’ll go to his place, eat cake and shag. But no, PVC has decided that the time was right for telling his parents that he’s planning to quit his ridiculously lucrative career in IT to become an impoverished photographer. This was not music to his highly-conservative parents’ ears. PVC proceeds to have a giant argument with his mum which lasts about two hours while I sit watching them awkwardly. I think a bit of blame might have ricoched in my direction, as the unwholesome artistic influence in his life, but I also might be paranoid. Anyway, not the most fun I’ve ever had, but in a perverse way kind of entertaining.

At the end of the night (into the early hours of Friday morning), we muster our last reserves of energy for cake consumption. Which unfortunately left zero energy for shagging. Bah.

Ah well. Shagged approximately five times this weekend, so I can’t really complain!

WTF?

Ummm......would you trust this to prevent unwanted little people?
Creepy!
Is it just me or does the US seem to have some really weird contraception?

Maybe why it's called a Blow Job?

Couldn't wait to blog about this one..

Don't know what kind of spit/swallow ratio we have in the Hive here, but I'm a bit of a swallow sort of a gal - more for completion's sake rather than it being my favourite flavour, but moving on. I was curious to know if this has happened to anyone else, or only me?

One morning, I was pottering about after my shower on the computer (blah!) and DreamBee wanders out with a massive hard-on. After a little bit of fun out in the living room in front of the window (and checking the webcam was off...) we moved into the bedroom where I continued my oral artistry with less neck crampage.

Moving onto the 'climax' of the story (come on, puns are cool, you know they are) and the funny part. DreamBee is kind of generously endowed, and my throat is kind of small, usually compensated for by movement or lips or whatever, but by one way or another I can generally breathe as well as execute an exquisite fellationic manouver. Not on this occasion. This time I managed to set off the old gag reflex at the same time as DreamBee came, and I suddenly realised that given I couldn't breathe, I couldn't swallow either. I also realised that there was more on its way as well. I'm sure my eyes would have bulged comically a moment before I gagged, then BLAM! Manjuice exploded everywhere, although by some miracle we managed to avoid getting it all over the sheets, it mainly staying all over him and a lot on me and in my hair. Even funnier was I spent the rest of the day feeling half drowned from the effort! What a spectacular embarrassment!!
But anyway, ROFL LMAO. And, eeewww!!

Beezout!

My Somewhat Horrendous NYE

Well, I've had a lot of underwhelming and emotionally draining New Year's - and last night was no exception. Explaining the context of the whole thing is going to be tricky, so I have decided to present in play format:

"Oh, What a (Crappy) Night"
Cast of Characters:

BillyLou
PVC
Ms Cheeky (friend of BL)
Ms Purple Cats (friend of BL)
Ms Gender Studies (friend of PVC)
Ms Gender Studies' Boyfriend (friend of PVC)
PVC's X (who is quite lovely, and hangs out with us sometimes even tho that's a bit weird)
PVC's X's X (the ex boyfriend of PVC's ex girlfriend)
Ms Random Slut Bag (Who No One Invited Anyway)
Weird Boyfriend of Random Slut Bag
Weird Ex Boyfriend of Random Slut Bag

Setting:
Glebe Park

Scene 1:
After spending a nice afternoon in park getting slowly drunker, everyone gets their glow sticks, light sabres and plastic bottles of vodka ready for countdown. When it gets to midnight, fireworks are watched, vodka is skulled and BillyLou is grabbed by PVC and snogged violently. BillyLou's friends and PVC's friends have merged nicely and everyone is getting along. Only Ms Purple Cats is upset, because her boyfriend disappeared at midnight to go and talk to this girl who he is "only friends" with, leaving Purple Cats alone and annoyed. This sets the general tone of upset-ness that will continue through the rest of the evening.

BillyLou's friends have a scheduled 'chillax' party to go to at Ms Cheeky's house in Glebe. PVC's friends are kicking on in park, so we must say goodbye to them before we leave. PVC is saying extended goodbye to Gender Studies' Boyfriend, while I chat awkwardly with the outrageously drunk Gender Studies.

Gender Studies: "Have a really, really good 2008. I mean, I really, really mean it. Have a really, really, really good new year." (Gender Studies is embracing BL intimately.)

BillyLou: "Um, thanks! You too."

Gender Studies: "No, I really mean it. I want you to have a wonderful 2008."

BL: "Um, cool! Thanks again!"

Gender Studies: "I'm so drunk. We should kiss."

PVC: (Noticing the clinch) "Yeah, you guys should totally kiss."

BL: "Um... isn't that your boyfri...." Gender Studies pounces upon BL and kisses her smack on the lips. BL feels very awkward. Gender Studies is not unattractive, but her boyfriend is standing right there, and doesn't look quite so enthused as PVC does. Finally, BL wriggles out of kiss, and makes lame awkward jokey chit chat.

BL: (to PVC) "Um, honey, isn't it time we were heading off?"

PVC: "Oh, no. There's no hurry." BL notices that all of PVC's friends are now staring at BL and Gender Studies.

Gender Studies: (advancing towards BL again) "Have a really, really great..."

BL: (to PVC) "Honey! I think we really should go now. It's getting late!"

PVC: (reluctantly) "Oh, I guess so." PVC finally bids goodbye to Gender Studies' somewhat sour-looking Boyfriend, and finally we are able to walk away. Last I saw of Gender Studies she was walking woozily towards another lone female in the group, arms outstretched.


Scene 2:
Everyone is on a beanbag or futon at Cheeky's house in Glebe. All the ingredients are there for good time, but as mentioned that vibe of tension still prevails. Does not help that these weird random guests have seemingly invited themselves. Random guests include Random Slut Bag and her entourage of weird boyfriends and ex boyfriends. Random Slut Bag is really annoying. She has colourful hair and hippy clothing, but is one of those people who is trying really hard to be alternative to disguise the fact she has no personality, other than annoying. She keeps diverting the conversation (loudly) back to herself, inflicting us with stories about her depression, her (numerous) suicide attempts, her alcoholism, her restrictive Catholic upbringing, her violent fits of rage and her nymphomania. She flounces around room and bats her overly glittery eyes at any one who is male. At one point she makes out with her ex-boyfriend, while her current boyfriend sat at the other end of the room and looked morose. She keeps trying to flirt with and install herself next to PVC, which everyone else is trying really hard to prevent.

At this point, Purple Cats gets into a shit with everyone and pretty much storms off. Just as Purple Cats is leaving, PVC's X's X walks into the room. PVC's X's X sees PVC's X and plonks himself opposite her, so her can make her uncomfortable all night. PVC is livid, as PVC strongly dislikes his X's X, and thinks he should leave immediately. PVC's X assures him that she is ok, and everyone in the room looks on as the awkwardness unfolds. Even Random Slut Bag is momentarily quiet.

Finally, PVC's X's X seems to get the hint that he is not welcome, and after what feels like hours he finally leaves. Everyone is starting to settle down, and there is still a glimmer of hope that good times could potentially be had.

Having drunk about 80 litres of water to compensate for the zillion drinks she has consumed, BillyLou decides to get up and venture downstairs to the toilet, leaving PVC unsupervised on futon.

You can probably see where this is going, but anyway...

When BillyLou returns she finds Random Slut Bag draped all over PVC. They are not kissing or anything, but Slut Bag gives BillyLou the most victorious look of spiteful glee (BillyLou has not been overly polite to Slut Bag during the night) that BillyLou wants to kick her several times in the head. BillyLou resists urge to make giant scene (she is pretty shocked, actually) so she decides to go outside into the fresh air.

BillyLou goes for walk. Cheeky follows after her, and is supportive while BillyLou has small tantrum about how much of a stupid whore Slut Bag is.

When BillyLou returns she finds PVC is looking for her. PVC is apologetic. Is it lovely, and despite Slut Bag's energetic attempts, relationship between PVC and BL comes out stronger. PVC cheers BL up by wearing knitted hat with pom poms and singing to her.

PVC drives his X home (I really quite like his X, so this is ok) and then PVC and BL crash at his place at about 4am.

The End.

Postscript: BL and PVC have beautiful sex several times on New Year's Day. Awesome.

Crack Wax

Hi all,

Has anyone had a brazilian? I have not, but I feel a little like I may as well have. Really, all I am short of one is a couple of labia and a teepee at the top.

Just had a 'bikini' wax from an no-nonsense big momma named Keisha. (Lovely, but also a bit scary)

She was almost shocked when I was slightly confused - "What, remove my undies too? Everything? I..I just want the bikini..." then she just went with the 'mnnmm-hmmm' approach and off they went.

Legs went flying, initially I was going for a timid trim, apparently this isn't the go. Typically, it would be 'hold your leg there'...'no, there' (I put leg up off to my right a bit, and up a bit, she re-positions so my leg is up near my shoulder somewhere, somewhere at the extreme of my flexibility) Repeat.

As I was there in the chair with my both ankles held above my head and stretching my tummy up for all I was worth, I couldn't help but feel the situation was a little weird, but I didn't wail when next she put hot wax on my intimates and then ripped the hair out, either. Go me! At least she was nice and quick about it.
As I was give leave to get dressed again she patted me on tha arm and said that it's the best way, only doing the outlines leaves 'all that' down there and that's just not nice. he he. I kind of agree with, but still. Aii!

I think the exposure factor here was actually worse than having your vagina examined for whatever reason - last sexual health clinic I went to they were like 'oh, this guys new, do you mind if he does your tests and I supervise' so there's 3 people peering up your clacker. At least they give you a piece of paper towel to put down when they wander off so you can pretend you've got a skirt on or something. Here I was nude from the waist with legs akimbo and NAKED VAGINA pointed at the door.(closed) {OK, probable excessive use of word vagina there, but it gets addictive.}

Ah the indignity of it all! Beats trying to wax yourself though. (Highly unrecommended)

PS. ...Vagina

RUDE!!!!

And yet strangely arousing. I'm sure it's wrong to be aroused by Shrek...

Damn

Well, I had the conversation I'd been avoiding with PVC.

Told him I had been planning to move to Melbourne, but would stay if he wanted me to stay. (Implication: he would quantify what we have as a relationship and things would become more serious - as much as I hate those words).

He said what I'd been dreading he'd say - that things would continue the same way if I chose to stay in Sydney. Which are not bad - but certainly not enough to relocate my 'dreams' for.

I realised later that I chose a bad time to bring this up as I was suffering PMT at the time. I started crying, arggghhhh, I couldn't believe how much of a girl I was being. (You won't commit to me?? Wahahahaha!!!!) He was nice to me, but god it was embarrassing.

Then there was awkwardness - should we keep seeing each other even though I'll be moving away in three months? We didn't really address this so much as have sex. Which was amazing. And yes I know that's really dysfunctional, but I'm comfortable with that.

At the end of it the consensus was yes, we should keep seeing each other, but now I don't know if I can do it.

But the sex...!

Aw, fuck.

Also I know my username has changed - I'm in the process of fiddling with my accounts.

Weird Relationship Limbo

(cat girl)


I think the title says it all. What do you do when for all intents and purposes you are in a relationship... but at the same time you have no idea where you stand with that person, where it's going, what sort of boundaries there are... I mean the reason I've let all this go for so long is because I don't exactly approve of over-labelling everything, but there does come a point where you just want to know if someone is your goddamn boyfriend or not!!

I brought up the concept of me moving to Melbourne with PVC Bee. It went something like:

Me: "Don't suppose you want to move to Melbourne with me?"
Him: "Um... probably not."
Me: "Oh, ok."

Yeah, great discussion. Really constructive and helpful. Pfft.

Not to sound like a whingey pants, cos I do so enjoy the time I spend with PVC, and the sex just gets better... but still I feel that nothing about it is certain, and I'm just so tired of feeling like there's no point in getting close to someone because everything inevitably ends.

I mean, the last time I saw him, he was recovering from the flu. So I made dinner and brought it round and then had to spoon feed him (he wasn't really that sick, just enjoying the attention) and then I stayed the night where we held hands in our sleep... was really beautiful... and then in the morning it's all "see ya".

I'm confused :(

Profile Photos NOT TO PICK

Agent Z asked if I had any joy in the RSVPing department, and while there is some possible potential (even though the whole process still galls me unending) I thought I'd care to share one of the profile photos from my 'interested parties.'
I notice a lot about profile photos, the classic photo is usually some guy who has hacked out his ex missus from the photo leaving behind the telltale shiny-hair-on-shoulder look.

This one is a fucking classic, and I didn't even read the profile past looking at the photo. Lets take a moment;


Point One: Who are you Viviyan? NO. Unless you have stars on your bleach blond head I do not want to see an up yours in sight.
Point Two: Is that a beret? Frank Spencer wore a beret mate, not cool even with you're geetar in the forefront of the shot. Go and write a poem you want to be emo.

Point Three: I think Carmen Electra is hot, it's a toss up who when she and Dave Navarro were married as to who I'd rather be, but is a profile photo a proper medium for expressing this? I think not.

Not to mention I hate this holding camera in bedroom look, and I can't get over the fact he looks twelve.
This is the kind of thing which has stopped me from actually sourcing any kind of decent candidate (what is this recruitment?) because photo aside he's almost ignore my 'ideal guy' thingy, he lives in the city and I said I wanted someone in the west, he's 19 and I said 22 to 29 (not a huge age gap but hey I'm not dating a 30yr old!)...

With some luck I will discover the descendant of a Norse God wandering the sands of Thailand... sigh, or not, whatever.

What's wrong with this picture?

(Not this picture. Nothing wrong with a scantily-clad cat girl.)

I think I've reached the bottom. Today I found myself trawling through the obituaries section of smh.com to try and determine whether a love interest of mine had died. When you find yourself doing this, perhaps it is time to stop and evaluate. One can't help but be reminded of that line from that song:

"Don't be no fool when
Love really don't love you."

This is D-Bee. (Myspace guy, the one with the drug history, the one who caused all that shit with my aunt and her somewhat doubtful choice in father of her child. If anyone is confused, don't worry. I think I'm mostly writing this to myself).

After everything happened with my aunt and uncle, D-Bee sent me an email apologising profusely and saying that he hoped I could forgive him. He said not to worry, he wouldn't be going anywhere. This meant everything to me - to know that even though things were shitty I could at least I could rely on D-Bee to talk to.

This was over two weeks ago.

Since then he hasn't been online at all and hasn't responded to my email that bluntly asked him to let me know "yes" or "no" if we were talking anymore.

I don't have his phone number. I don't know where he lives. I don't know his last name. And yet I spoke with this person about every third night for hours (online) since the beginning of the year. We told each other some big, personal things. I felt, in some strange disconnected way, that I knew him, or at least I knew I wanted to know him. The night that the crap happened with my uncle D-Bee was talking about the possibility of meeting - which was huge for him considering the drug past (and associated complications), etc.

And now he has disappeared off the face of the planet and there's nothing I can do but look through the obituaries. And this is, like, EVERY obituary as I don't have his last name.

Is it too much to ask for my prospective dates to be mentally sound, not addicted to something, in possession of a driver's lisence and ALIVE???

Fucking hell.

p.s. Agent Y please let us know how RSVP goes. (Hopefully well!) I've heard it can work but due to my freak-magnetism I've given up on the internet.

I'll let you know if D-Bee ever turns up again. Preferably not in a body bag.

Pussy ring?

This is a ring.

Made of sterling silver.

For your finger.

With a pussy on it.

True story.

Want one?

Pussy rings

LMAO

Rape Comic?

Umm. is it wrong I find this kind of funny?

Yeeuuuuurrrcchhh

As above. Ew. I thought that scene was gross! Apart from the hear-hear for the realism of her licking her hand in a nod to Yes, sex in a factory may not be the most ideal of locales for her, and friction burns down there are never fun. I thought ew ew ew. But that could be because I hate Brittany Murphy and her stupid slaggy looking mouth rather than anything.

I am Agent Z, Hear Me Whinge

I just read Agent V’s post from way back – only just noticed it. And dude, I hear you. Being single is supposed to be fun, naughty, promiscuous. But after 12 months of very irregular lovin, (in the last year I had approximately five halfway decent shags, and they were mostly with Bad Bee), I find myself going out of my freakin lovin-deprived little mind.

It’s just a freak show out there. An utter, utter freakshow. And the more cheesed off I become with the whole ‘dating’ thing, the hornier I get!

My year in Dating Wonderland (summary form):

* Broke up with the Hopeless Tortured Artist Bee (he was on anti-depressants which meant he never wanted to shag and when he did he couldn’t get it up)

* Had stupid affair with Bad Bee (we would see each other about once a month, have incredible sex and then he would pretend it didn’t happen for another month until he got drunk again…)

* Shagged a girl, which really meant I got her off and then she rolled over and went to sleep, and I’m not willing to repeat owing to the fact I’m not a lesbian

* Had a one night stand with some (albeit good looking) random after speed dating. We had sex twice, amount of orgasms I had= zero.

* Met Nice Bee, and we all know about Nice Bee. (Now that I have broken it off with him I have been accused of running away because he was sick, which really wasn’t true. I was running away because he couldn’t kiss and the sex was shite.)

* Pashed Fat IT Bee at office Christmas party. Went on date with Fat IT Bee, thought maybe it could work. Had abortive sexual experience with Fat IT Bee. Told Fat IT Bee just wanted to be friends and got abused by text messages and emails. Fat IT Bee quits his job and deletes me from his myspace. Mature.

I mean, MY GOD, people.

I think the only option left, is to fork out a bit of cash and buy myself a decent vibrator. Like one of those fancy rabbit ones.

A purple one.

Bees out.

the plot thickens

Well it seems my receptors are a little more active these days, though after an entire week of effort (his) I have to admit it was getting obvious that Hee was interested in me the same way ...yes.....that way....as I was interested in him for all this time! so yay! but what to do about it?!

Details!

Talk about a tease! You post about your middle of the night sexy sexness and then go on a tangent about horrible warts - *shudder*. That poor girl. If that happened to me I'd kill myself.

I haven't been 100% truthful about the complete lack of action in my life. Last Friday I went to see Nice Bee, and once we got past the bad kissing things were all right. (I've given up trying to kiss him back. He just overrides my attempts to make the kissing good so now I just stand there with what must look like a distracted grimace on my face quite literally doing nothing while he kisses me... hot! Not.) I'm not sure how many details people want on the whole kinkiness business... so I'll assume not many... but anyway he combined the sex with the kininess to make it halfway decent sex. (As in, lasted approx five minutes - a four minute improvement, and I didn't have to ask him to have sex with me - he took the initiative this time. Thank Christ).

So, pro: Five minutes worth of kinky sex.

Con: His phone rang right at the crucial moment which was really distracting and annoying, and what's worse he was getting me off the next day and the same thing happened again right at the crucial moment.

Bah.

But, can't complain.

(But is this blog really about political correctness? Or is it our blog and I can whinge if I want to?)

Well, maybe I'll unleash a tirade of whinging next post. Right now I'd better get back to work.

middle of the night lovin' and

Well as we're all apparently living vicariously through me, we had awesome middle of the night lovin' last night. While I won't always give you a next day update on our sex life, I wanted to mention this occassion for its general infrequency. Whee!
Now tell me about you!

Agent (i can't remember- Nice Bee Agent) remember how we talked about the balls with the jiggly bits inside? That are for strenthening pelvic floor muscles? What did Nice Bee call them again? There was a name you used? (I usually call mine the jiggly blue balls).

I actually had quite a funny conversation at a party last weekend with some friends about sex toys and one of the girls has a name for her vibrator! She calls it 'sergio' ("Serge-sounds like a detergent") and this girl is in a committed relationship. Interestingly she also confessed to me that she has Genital warts and her boyfriend can't touch her down there at all! The sad part is that it's not simply a moratorium on licking etc, but also on fingers!! And she's had it the whole time they've been together (over a year) so he's never been allowed to get her off with her clit! He must be damn good at sex for them to still be together I reckon (in the satisfaction department). But he is a lovely guy really and very accepting of her warts. It sounded awful though as she said at most she's had about 16 at a time, and at least 4-5. At least she can get rid of it though, its not one where once you have it you're stuck with it. It's just taking a really long time to get rid of.