Relief.

Relief in more than one sense of the word. My exam is over, and I feel like a weight's been lifted. My outlook is much sunnier as of now, even though the weather's taken a turn for the worse (it was beautifully sunny yesterday, so much so that I got into my summer mood, but today it's drizzling miserably). I've got a meeting with my personal tutor on Wednesday to get this whole truanting-from-work thing sorted out. I feel like I'm taking my life back into my own hands.

Relief in another sense - I fiddled myself stupid yesterday. I didn't even get the vibrator out - just went for it with my fingers, time after time after time, until I was technically orgasming, feeling the release, but not feeling the rush of pleasure. That's never happened to me before, but then again I've never had such a long session in one go before either.

The New Boy gets back next week (as far as I know). Still adoring him. Can't wait.

Haha

I'm fucked on MDMA right now! I had about half an hour's sleep last night, it's now 4am the next night, and I'm not even tired! My pupils are huge! I'm on drugs!

Woo!

I met a man last night. For the first time in a long long time I met a man who gives me the stomach flip. He's so damn cute, it's not even funny. And really sweet too. And he has interesting hair.

We met at a party, then he turned up in the pub my friends and I had moved on to, then it turned out he lives in the same building as my friend's friend, who we went to visit after the pub shut. I was pretty hammered by this stage, but I remember sitting next to him on the sofa and talking away about...something, I forget what. Then I'm pretty sure I asked him if he was planning to kiss me, and he must've said yes because we launched into a snogathon that lasted for the best part of an hour, I think - put it this way, when we came up for air the room was empty; twenty-odd people had disappeared without me noticing.

It was about 5a.m. at this stage, so we went to bed. Not to sleep, obviously. He went down on me without me having to hint - extra points for that. And he didn't seem to mind me telling him to bite my nipples harder; I think it kind of turned him on, actually. We didn't do everything, but we did plenty.

I woke up at 10 to find my period had started. Nice timing, Flo! I just put my pants on and didn't say anything, he doesn't need to be faced with that after one night together. We kissed goodbye on the street and some girl walking past went "woo!" Damn right, woo!

So now I'm at home feeling sick with nerves - that's a sign that I really like someone. The last time I felt like this was with The Ex Who I'm Still Not Over.

He'd better bloody ring me.

Men To Do Today

Recent conquests:

• The Yankee - has grappled with me twice, and both times has made an exit far too soon (that's not code for premature ejaculation, I mean he always ups and leaves before the job is complete.)
• The Brazilian - as mentioned in last night's post. I bumped into him randomly in my building, with a friend who knows his friend, and the four of us ended up drinking in my kitchen for a few hours. When they got up to leave I grabbed him in the corridor and pulled him into my room. Blow job only, due to the girlfriend factor; I shouldn't even have done that but I was feeling very antsy that night.
• Cueball - short, bald and rubbish at taking a hint. This one was a mistake - we were having an interesting conversation, during which I got so drunk that I ended up taking him home despite not fancying him in the least. The next morning I faked period pains to get him to leave - fat chance, he just lay there like an oblivious lump of granite. I pretended to be asleep, hoping he'd get bored; I pushed his hands off me, hoping he'd get offended. He just kept grabbing my hand and trying to make me touch his (tiny) penis. Eventually I wasn't so much dropping hints as hitting him over the head with them, and he left. For the next couple of weeks he bombarded me with messages, none of which I replied to, and every time I thought he was exasperated enough to give up (sample: "If you don't want to see me again, just say so.") he'd send another message the next day. Eventually I pulled the not-over-my-ex trick but even now, a couple of months on, he still tries every so often. There's nothing more unattractive in a man than desperation. I should really put him out of his misery by being brutally honest, but I haven't the heart (translation: am a huge coward and can't handle confrontation.)
• Anonymous Nice Guy - this one was a sweetheart. We met in a really loud club when I was trashed (again) and he actually chased me outside when I was dragged off home by my friend. I think he was looking to get my number, but I just brought him on home with me. We had excellent drunken sex, he came, then after a short rest I started to go down on him. Here's where it goes horribly wrong. I was so drunk that I overestimated my deep throating capacity, and the next thing you know, I've puked on his cock. To be fair, it was only a tiny bit, and I hadn't eaten all day so it was only clear liquid, not chunks or anything. But that was it, he was out of there, and who can blame him? Shame, we could've had something there. I'm sure he told me his name at some point, but I'll be damned if I can remember it.
• Mocha Madness - the most beautiful man I have ever slept with. Black, tall, amazing body, plenty of stamina. We met in my local when my friend and I sat down with him and his friends because there were no other seats anywhere (incidentally, the friend I was with, R, is excellent for that - she'll talk to anyone, which is good for me because I'm pretty shy and would never meet anybody new if left to my own devices.) Then we met there again a few nights later and got talking. The third time we bumped into each other, he "walked me home" and that was the start of it. He wanted it to become a relationship, but because I'm such a coward once I sober up, I couldn't go anywhere with him outside my bedroom. I felt like he was way too good for me, and if we saw each other in daylight and sober he'd come to his senses and never go near me again. So, we just fucked every weekend for about a month. He's got a girlfriend now, one who I'm sure is willing to venture into daylight with him. She's a lucky woman. Self sabotage is a terrible thing, and something that's been happening my entire life. Therapy beckons.

Next post I'll give you the details on my more long term relationships. I think I can just about remember what one of those is.

Blushing...

Bumped into the Brazilian tonight, on the way back from a late night group venture to purchase wine. We hugged and kissed on the cheek, and exchanged how-are-you's. I didn't realise he was going one way and I was going another, so I marched off assuming he was following and I'd get a chance to hang back and say...I don't know, something. But no, he was gone. I'm now kicking myself.

Okay, he has a girlfriend. But that didn't stop him from lying back and enjoying the view of my bedroom ceiling the other night.

A Little Deeper.

I feel I should give more background on who I am, so people reading this can get a better feel for me. Erm, so to speak. So let me tell you something central to my life:

I like men. I like sex. I'm what might be termed "a bit slaggy".

Last night I made a list of the men I've slept with - the total was 17. I know the names of 13 of them; 4 are anonymous. 4 were serious boyfriends, 1 was a friend with benefits, 6 were friends of friends, 6 were complete strangers (and remain so, as it happens.) 4 were alcohol-fueled mistakes and I woke up the next morning willing to gnaw my arm off to get away.

1 took my virginity. 1 introduced me to the joys of dirty sex. 1 said he loved me after a week. 1 never said he loved me over the course of eight months. 1 had the most amazing body I've ever had the good luck to get my hands on. 1 thought he was my third, when actually he was my sixth. 1 taught me how to give the ultimate blow job. 1 made me feel like a slut, and not in a good way.

But I'm not ashamed. Why should I be?

Mothers' Day

I'm feeling refreshed after a weekend at home - just me and my mum, and plenty of fresh air and...well, food that's not exactly good for you, but tasty nonetheless. It felt wonderful to be away from my tiny little room, which has become like a sort of prison these past few weeks.

And now I'm back, armed with St John's Wort and tons of fresh vegetables in an attempt to bring my mood up this week. I'm trying out everything before I have to traipse to the doctors for something more heavy duty.

I don't know why this all started. I lost a close relative recently, so it could be a hangover from that. I came off the Pill a couple of weeks ago, so that might be playing havoc with my hormones. I hate my job, that's definitely got something to do with it. And, although I'm getting on with the people I live with far better than ever before, I'm still lonely. It's pathetic, but I need a boyfriend to make me feel complete. That whole "you don't need a man to make you happy" and "learn to love yourself, then others will love you" song and dance? Bullshit. I've had plenty of time to love myself - two years and counting - and believe me, it's about time someone else came along to do it for me. I can't keep spending so much on batteries for one thing, I'll go bankrupt.

Plus, text sex with an ex is probably not the healthiest thing, but I have no choice. Until someone real comes along, that's all I've got to keep me going. The day he gets a new girlfriend is the day I begin my descent into repetitive strain injury.

Trouble Sleeping.

Wow, insomnia's a bitch, don't you think?

I don't know if it's depression or just a really messed up sleeping pattern, but I just cannot sleep lately. Well I say lately, but it's been with me off and on for years. And getting up in the morning when the alarm goes off is just so hard - much better to just close my eyes again for a few minutes...then suddenly it's four o' clock in the afternoon and I'm just about ready to start my day.

I haven't been going to work recently, thanks to this blessed situation. In fact, it's been about four weeks since I actually did a full day's work. It's got to the stage where I'm scared to go back because of the shit I'll be in. At least I assume I'll be in shit, although you'd think they'd have tried to phone or sent me a pissy letter or something. When I had two weeks off for legitimate purposes a couple of months ago, I got back and almost no-one had noticed I'd been off. The joy of being the new girl doing shift work, eh?

It's not just that though - the old trouble is back. Leaving the house has become an ordeal. I can just about manage it if I'm with someone, but I've been promising myself I'll nip into town by myself for the past...ooh, six days now, and I haven't actually managed to leave my room. What do you call that? Agrophobia? I don't think so, since I can do it if there are people with me, and they have no idea anything's wrong. It's just my nerves. I'd go to the doctor, but I'm too edgy. Oh the irony!

Right, Monday. On Monday I'm going back. Probably.

So...

...I took ecstasy for the first time on Saturday night. Do people still call it ecstasy? Should I be saying MDMA or pills or something? I'm so old (23, that's old these days.) Anyway, I took it.

Some background: I have always been vehemently anti drugs. I came of age as the whole Leah-Betts-take-drugs-and-you-will-die campaign happened, and so I was always very wary. Plus my friends at school and uni never dabbled in anything, not even weed. The only drugs experience I've ever had was when I was about 20 and my boyfriend at the time made hash cakes (again, are they still called that?) I liked the feeling, it made me pretty giddy, but soon enough I just got sleepy and hungry, devoured 6 KitKats and went to bed. Which made me wonder: what was the point? There was no way I could do it before a night out, and on a night in I had alcohol to relax me. So that was my first and last dabble.

Until last Saturday. The girls I live with are complete druggies, but have never pressured me to do anything, not that I'd give in to pressure anyway. But this night, I just thought fuck it. If I don't do it now, while I'm young and with no responsibilities, I might never do it. Or I might end up doing it when I've got kids, trying to escape from my horribly suburban life, and that's not good for anyone. I'm sure social services would agree. So someone offered me a pill, and I took it.

And god almighty, was it good. I felt euphoria for the first time in my life. My limbs were light as air. I was smiling at everything and everyone, especially when we got to the club - I was grinning like a loon, but so was everyone else, so it didn't matter so much. The best thing about that atmosphere is that everyone's looking out for everyone else, so people were making sure I drank enough water, but not too much. I remember going around hugging the people I knew, and they were all kind of "aaww, first timer." I also became the best dancer in the world, or at least I didn't care who was watching. And I sweated a lot. Now may be the time to get rid of the mid-back-length hair I'm rocking.

So that was Saturday night. I spent the whole of Sunday in bed, trying to stop my jaw clenching. Monday was weird. It's now the early hours of Tuesday morning, and I still feel like I'm on something. I'm assuming this is normal. If it's not - fuck it, I feel good, who the hell cares?