According to the lovely people at Clearblue...

...I'm pregnant.

Oh yeah...

The non-self-induced (thank you jamesnslater) orgasm count is up to 3! Drinks all round!

Act 1 - in which our heroine begins to reveal her sluttiness.

Me: I'm meeting [Potential New Boyfriend] tomorrow night, so could you drop me off at the station?
Mother: Of course. Will you need to be picked up again later?
Me: Nope.
Mother: Oh.
Long pause.
Mother: Don't you think it's a bit soon to be staying at his house? It's only been two weeks.
Me: Nope.
And scene.

If only she knew I'd fucked him within an hour of meeting him. In fact, if she had any idea what my "number" actually is, I really think a valve in her brain would pop. Ignorance is bliss.

Still no period. 9 days late, that's not a big deal is it?

Well...

...how much of an idiot am I?

I was pottering about at my parents' house this evening, making a vegetable stock for the soup I'm planning to cook up later in the week when I realised it was 10 o' clock and I was about to miss Law & Order (shut up, it's my favourite show). So I dash from the kitchen into the living room to set the video, and bam! I run right into the armchair. Two toes go right, three toes go left, I go down. And not in the fun way.

I've lived in this house for 23 years. The chair has pretty much always been in the same position. I have never once bumped into it before. But anyway...

I'm on the floor, clutching my foot and saying every swear word that comes into my head. "Motherfucker" featured heavily. When I got up and limped back into the kitchen, I realised there was something touching my fourth toe that wasn't there before - I immediately assumed a flap of skin was hanging loose and there would be blood everywhere. Not so. When my sock came off, I was faced with my 3rd toe pointing in a whole different direction to the way it had previously pointed. I swear, the visual was worse than the pain.

So I tried to stick it out for a while, downed a bit of vodka like any normal person would. My initial reaction, being an all-knowing first year nursing student, was to strap the sore toe to the one next of it with a bit of elastoplast and hope for the best. But then I started having visions of the damn thing turning black and dropping off, so I decided to drive to the hospital. Tipsy. No, I'm not even slightly proud.

Once there I was looked over by the triage nurse (who obviously had better things to do with her Saturday night, judging by her expression), sent back to the waiting room, examined by a doctor, sent back to the waiting room, sent to a different waiting room to wait for an x ray, x rayed, sent back to the original waiting room...then the doctor showed me my x ray on the screen thing - broken toe. What do they do with broken toes?

Yep, strap them to the adjoining toe with elastoplast. I could've saved myself two and a half hours and an awful lot of hobbling, not to mention wincing every time I used the clutch pedal in the car. But that's me, ever cautious.

So now I can barely get myself up the stairs - imagine a gorilla using a staircase, relying mostly on its knuckles. That's me. I've got a dentist appointment Monday morning that I'm not going to be able to drive to without further injuring myself, my parents get home from their holiday on Monday afternoon and the house is a tip, with no possibility that I'm going to be able to clean it to the required standard, I haven't pooped in at least a week, and my period is late. Merry fucking Christmas.

Finally!

Well slap me round the chops with a halibut. Last night, for the very first time ever, I had an orgasm at the hands of another person. We were just messing around, he was behind me playing with my clit, and suddenly I realised there was a distinct possibility I was going to come. So instead of tensing up, worrying I was taking too long and just faking it, I got determined and concentrated and the next thing you know - boom! I was so proud of myself.

He definitely noticed the difference between that one and all the times before when I'd been faking - he said "I can feel you throbbing" - so now I guess my faking days are over because he's totally going to know. But maybe that's a good thing. If it's happened once, it can happen again, right?

Date!

I'm going out with the second of my two men (the one I met in my kitchen, not the one who disappears for weeks at a time) tonight, and I'm wearing the most awesome top ever. It's also the most revealing top I've worn in a long long time.

I mean, I used to wear stuff like this constantly when I was 18/19/20, but then I went on the Pill and filled out all over, and since then I've been convering up like a mofo. But I was shopping the other day, tried this top on and just thought fuck it. If I don't wear stuff like this now, before I know it my tits will be in my shoes and I'll be cursing myself for not making the most of my youth. Plus the girls are looking super good right now because I'm about 12 hours away from my period. Let's hope it has the decency to wait until morning and not do its usual "surprise! It's 3a.m. and you've just woken up to find your sheets covered in blood!" act, because I'm not sure how this guy will feel about dealing with menstroooation. And he'll be spending the night, obviously. That goes without saying.

So yeah, I feel pretty good. I'm also wearing heels for the first time in a long time, and last time I wore these shoes I misjudged some stairs and fell on my arse in front of a very amused bouncer. So if I don't post in a few days you'll know I slipped on some cobbles and ended up in hospital with a broken leg. Wish me luck!

Mother Issues

I have issues with my mother for many reasons, which hasn't escaped the notice of my therapist - every session gets reverted back to her sooner or later. One slightly trivial grumble I had with her until recently was the fact that she wouldn't let boyfriends sleep in the same room as me when they came to visit. This isn't such a big deal since I went back to uni, because obviously I'm not under her thumb there, but I'm having to move back home for the summer and it got me thinking.

The rule is simple and rigid: no sharing a room until you're engaged, and even then it's not guaranteed. Patently unfair, especially since pretty much everyone I know has been allowed to shag their boyfriend in the comfort of their own bedroom since the dawn of time. But my mother's devoutely Catholic and she will not allow me to fornicate while she's under the same roof.

However...

When I was going out with my last boyfriend, about two years ago, he lived a fair way away and we both had jobs so we could only see each other at weekends. And more often than not, on the weekends he came to stay, my mum would arrange for her and my dad to spend at least one night at their friends' house. It was never explicitly stated: "While I'm not here, feel free to fuck him six ways from Sunday in any room you choose". But clearly she knew that was what was going to happen, and I guess that was her stamp of approval, in an abstract way.

She was a touch wild as a teenager, from what I can gather, and I'd like to think she hasn't forgotten how you feel when you're in your late teens and early twenties - all you want is to spend 23 hours of the day naked with a man on top of you.

Like mother, like daughter. Although hopefully she wasn't quite as slutty as me - no-one likes to think of their mother like that do they.

He's ba-aack!

I know I should've been way more indignant. I should've made him work his way back into my good books. You can't just go missing for two weeks then reappear and expect everything to be normal.

And yet.

Yes, the first of the two men I'm dating (well, sleeping with - let's not overstate things) popped back up to say hello last night. I'd had a really crap night - a group of about 10 of us has gone to this big outdoor party thing, and I'd lost everyone within about two minutes of getting there so I had to come home ridiculously early. Normally I might've wandered for a while, befriended some girl while queueing for the loo, and eventually stumbled across my friends randomly after a couple of hours or so, but I just wasn't feeling it last night despite having a face full of UV paint and looking super hot in my new top. So, home I trundled, stopping off on the way for a few bags of crisps which I consumed in my pyjamas while reading crappy womens' magazines.

Then, 2a.m., my phone beeps:

"Sorry haven't been in touch, been ill and had lots of stuff going on. Didn't mean to mess you around, just been selfish recently." Well at least he's honest. I texted back explaining my crappy night. He replies:

"Not in the mood? Doesn't sound like you! [clearly he knows me well] On way home now, hammered. Getting pizza."

What can I say? I was hungry. I demanded he come over immediately. He didn't need to be invited twice, probably couldn't believe his luck. Didn't even have to grovel. I'm so weak.

It was a great night in the end though. When I'm on top of him everything flies out of my head and all I can think about is how amazing he feels inside me. We fell asleep at about 6, wrapped up in each other. He got up to go to work at 11, and now I probably won't see him for another two weeks or so. Or until the next time he's drunk and horny, whichever comes first.

Where's my willpower? If found, please return to walkallovermeidon'tmind@selfrespect.com