Sweet Somethings

There are certain instances when we let our guard down, even the most guarded of us. P came back from his trip in HK on Thursday night. We had Korean for lunch the next day. Then we went back to his place, and after some sleepy cuddling, I suggested we take a nap.

It was a good nap, surprisingly. Normally we sleep back to back on our sides. Your body naturally resists another body trapping and cutting off blood circulation in your arm. And most of us aren’t accustomed to hot breath regularly being blown across our neck/cheeks whilst trying to sleep. But somehow, despite being physically close (I did get hot and kicked back the covers on my side), we both slept.

When we woke up, while we were still drowsy, I murmured, “If you moved back to the UK, would you want me to come with you?” P replied affirmatively, saying he’d want me with him. P then gave reassurances that he wasn’t planning on moving back anytime soon. (Damn.)

I would say with reasonable confidence¬†that I then proceeded to give a mind-blowing blowjob. Considering that he reported that he saw stars, and couldn’t quite recall le petit mort afterwards. Afterwards, he rhetorically asked, “What did I do to deserve you?” and kissed me on the cheek. Awww ūüôā

Yes I’m smirking. Like that cat who got the cream. Because I did. Apologies for the lack of class and subtlety.


Another C Word: Condoms

I was talking to a friend of mine over in Adelaide. In the course of our conversation, J started teasing me about the age difference between myself and P. I said that in 5 years, it wouldn’t be as bad. J was surprised that I was thinking that far ahead. Apparently last time we spoke, I gave the impression that I was unhappy and thus, going to break up with P. And glancing over my posts, yes, there’s doubt, and in healthy amounts too. Why do I stay?¬†There’s a few different reasons.

Foremost, I know P loves me. P can be very considerate. One example of that is the insistence on safe sex. We’ve never had sex without a condom. I’ve asked and tried to cajole P into no condoms to no avail. I’ve teased, I’ve begged, I’ve coaxed and I’ve wheedled. Despite my attempts, P has steadfastly refused. I’m not that desperate for it to be bare. I can be a bit …obsessive though. Last night, when things were starting to get heated, P told me very unexpectedly that some test results had come back; P is completely clear of all STIs including HIV. I teased back, “…Ok. Considering some of the things we’ve done, I should hope so.” With a slight grin, P said that if I wanted, we could do things without a condom. And we did.

I hadn’t really thought about it till then, but I am glad and thankful that P resisted and waited till we knew for sure. It’s a reality¬†that people have¬†STIs¬†unknowingly or otherwise. There are people who don’t know how to have¬†safe sex, or worse still, know and choose to disregard that knowledge.

I have a confession and I don’t really care if it reflects badly on my parents. My parents chose to keep my siblings and I out of the sexual education classes when it came time. I can respect that they wanted to protect us from sexual things before it had to happen, that they had their morals and stuck to them. And it’s true, I think children are exposed to things of a sexual nature far earlier than reasonable. My parents did try to have the talk with me, but I knew what was coming and pretended I was¬†au fait with it all, you know, Mum being a nurse and all.

So you can imagine why just once, the very first time without a condom and suddenly, the realisation struck me,

“Oh. That’s why no one wants to wear a condom.”

It also helped me understand how, without any sexual education, someone might come to hypothesise that extra-attentive cleansing and washing might prevent pregnancy. Gosh I’m glad I went and read up on my own.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, be safe. Condoms aren’t the end of the world, even though they taste funny. In fact, they make things a little easier in terms of clean up. But when you’re with someone and have absolute confidence and evidence that they’re clean, having that reassurance makes what follows that much better. I guess that could be one possible point of differentiation between fucking and doing something that goes beyond sex.

Why I Don’t Like the Missionary Position

I feel like this rather sexually explicit post requires some sort of disclaimer. I searched for some kind of rules regarding this, and couldn’t find any. But here we go:

If you’re under 18 years of age or it’s illegal to read sexual material in your country, please skip over this post and find a less explicit one. Also, I’m sorry if this offends your sensibilities.

With that done…

This is awkward to say, but then again, I think sex is awkward. What’s awkward about it?

  • There are body fluids involved.
  • The¬†noises that are made from flesh squelched up against other flesh and moving. Sometimes hilarious, sometimes mortifying.
  • Some orifices are close to other, more unpleasant orifices.
  • Very few of us with full times jobs or study and other well developed interests are actually super-fit all the time with toned abs, waxed legs and believable skin tones.

There’s probably others, but I will say this: porn has given its audience completely unrealistic sexual expectations. Probably the biggest point of contention: very few girls¬†want to try anal, and even fewer like it.

Another bone I have to pick with porn is that the things that are arousing on screen are most definitely not sexually stimulating in real life. I once asked P to try a little spanking. I ended up laughing my head off.

However, when it comes to the missionary position, which is the most basic one, I find I avoid it where possible. It’s strange, but I have thought it over and determined why I don’t like it.

  • The last inch¬†hurts. And especially¬†when getting close, attempting to avoid inserting the last inch of Tab A into Slot B is seems nigh impossible.
  • Even if it didn’t hurt, I have no idea what to do with my face. Expressions that come to mind are encouraging (as in, “You’re doing great!”), feeling it (as in, “Yes, right there.”) and “I love you.” ¬†But they all seem contrived and insincere.¬†
  • Running and regular stretching afford a certain flexibility, which on the best of days, is a forehead to kneecaps with unbent knees. However, this is slightly different during sex. And not exactly comfortable.

Look, sometimes I talk during sex. After all, there’s certain logistical details that need to be worked out. You know, what limb goes where, your leg is falling asleep, I need to pee, whatever have you. Sometimes, I laugh too (and not just at trying spanking). Is that normal? I don’t know.

I was petrified at the thought of saying, “I don’t like doing this part of sex with you.” But I steeled myself, thought of how to soften the blow, and said it (nicely). Surprisingly, P was ok with it. After all, there’s heaps more positions to do instead. And really, it needs to be good and comfortable for everyone for it to be fun.

What is normal anyway?

Except for watersports. That shit is not normal.


This blog was meant to be a place for me to write down crazy things that happened so my relatives and friends could read it. Then I looked at my stats and found out they didn’t read unless I told them I’d posted (sensibly). Then I decided I’d write down things I’d prefer they didn’t see, like a diary. With this in mind, I’ve made a new category: Confessions. This may be haphazard as far as categories go; it’s not like I intentionally plan my weekend around regrettable acts. Although, I did plan a pub crawl for me and L who is leaving the city for good. Thank goodness that break-up was easy. Anyway, time’s a-wasting!


Confession #1: I thought vagina dentata was a real thing. According to wikipedia, it’s a supposed condition where a woman has teeth in her lady envelope and is central to cautionary tales against rape. And the source of inspiration for an anti-rape device.

However, I was most firmly disabused of this notion by the medical doctor in my study group today. At least he was nice about it. Let’s pretend it never happened, like most of high school.

Confession #2: Normally, I snack on crackers while I study because they’re plain and cheap. But one day, I decided, no, it needs something more: Nutella. After a midsemester on Monday, I came home, opened up the jar, and saw that I’d¬†eaten 75% of a 750g jar of Nutella over 1.5 weeks. Oops. At least I didn’t eat it with a spoon. Which I have done before.

As for the midsemester, I didn’t do that great, but I am consoled that other people who did study heaps were unhappy about random questions. Why would I ever need to explain “primordial juices” to a patient??

Confession #3: I dreamt I had a threesome with P’s best friend and his wife. Twice. It was so naughty, but good. The thing is, I felt so guilty, even in the dream! Crazy. I have no idea why, but I nearly told P about it during sex. Why? I don’t know. Thankfully, I restrained myself. Even I know a topic like that is a mood killer.


Ok! And we’re done! Let’s never have another embarrassing thought or incident, ok?

Post Viva

I went over to P’s after steak night at Botanica’s with Zach, Sarah, Jesse, Ted, and Soph. After some cuddles, some fun, and then more cuddles, P asked me what my favourite colour was. It’s been a couple times where I’ve been asked to confirm my birthday date. It’s nice, having someone ask things, knowing it’s for my birthday present. I just wish I could orgasm when we have sex.

I’m not 100% sure I passed viva. Despite getting the problems, it could’ve gone so poorly. Particularly section 1. And the brunette with the nose was scrawling heaps in Section 3. And a bit during my section 4 roleplay. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
I so very much want an acceptance to Sydney dental. Or UWA. I would be willing to compromise much to get it. I don’t care what they say, it’d be worth it. Consequentialism, the ends justifying the means, it’s worth it. Who gives a fuck about the rest?