I want to be strong and independent alone
But yearn to be held in the arms of someone
To spread myself out in my double bed
But to wake to a cuddle and kiss on the head
Have the kitchen to myself and cook what I please
But for someone to make me a cup of tea.

I want to have the remote to choose my own telly
But snuggle on the sofa, my head on his belly
To wear my pyjamas from six thirty
But be passionately kissed and talk dirty
To eat what, where and when I wish
But to cook up a feast for a handsome dish.

I want to look out the window and drift away in my mind
But for someone grab me for a squeeze from behind
To relax with a film or book without distraction
But to be led upstairs for some steamy action
To sleep soundly, without a snore beside me
But for sex-whipped sheets to make a stormy sea.

I want to have my own space to be free
But for someone to want and need me
To be the one in charge and fight my own fight
But someone to say it will all be alright
So, can one be together and apart,
If anyone comes to claim my heart?

It started with a kiss

Pucker up, folks, close your eyes and move in for that smooch!

Today, we are snogging, necking, ‘pashing’ or just plain kissing. Whether it’s your first ever time or you’ve done it hundreds of times before, your first premeditated kiss with someone is a daunting prospect. I am not talking about a random drunken snog at a nightclub or office party, when you don’t think about what you are doing and all inhibitions evaporated hours ago. This is more about being on a first or second date, when you realise you quite fancy one another, but have not yet found the right moment to make a move. Or you could have a friendship which is about to turn a different corner. Most of us have had someone in our lives with whom we fantasise about locking lips, whether it actually happens or not.

In fact the premeditated kiss is so much harder than the random snog. If it’s someone that matters, you are desperate to get it right, just as much as you would be desperate for things to work out in the bedroom; in fact you are highly likely to get a forecast of bonk-skills from the way their lips work with yours – although I for one can tell you that good kissers don’t always make good bonkers. And bad kissers? I would never let it go any further, so can’t say if this works in reverse.

So, to help anyone else over-thinking a first kiss with someone,  I’ve devised 14 top tips:

  1. Lose the chewing gum – gum-passing is for 14-year-olds, and even some of them will be grossed-out by it.
  2. Don’t eat garlic from at least 48 hours beforehand, unless you have both had it which can enable you to develop garlic repulsion immunity.
  3. Check your breath – go overboard brushing teeth, sucking mints, chewing gum (but see point 1). You have to be fresher than a polar ice cap.
  4. Don’t grab boobs or butt, unless you are 100% certain this will be welcomed.
  5. Don’t ram in your tongue on a first kiss. A small tip of the tongue would be acceptable if you’ve been going at it for more than four minutes.
  6. Move in for the extreme close-up moment as slowly as you can to give the other time to change their mind or avoid the unsynchronised head dodge game i.e. you lunge left, she lunges right, one of you head butts the wall and no one gets a kiss.
  7. Don’t make ‘mmm’ noises – you’re not eating a steak or ice cream and it will kill any ‘buzz’ in a flash.
  8. Try to control your saliva flow (gulping if necessary) – ending a kiss dripping with spit is up there with gum-sharing – something you out-grow at 15 and if she wanted a drink, she’d get one in the usual way.
  9. Don’t bite – at least not for the first kiss – it will just scare off your ‘kissee’.
  10. Don’t wear heavy or over-vibrant lipstick – it is intimidating to your kisser and screams ‘don’t touch me, I don’t want my precious make up ruined’ and most don’t want to wear your lippy themselves (although some may).
  11. If you feel a burp brewing, swallow it back or end the kiss, if it’s beyond your control – having someone belch in one’s mouth is a no-no.
  12. Eyes closed, eyes open? A chicken and egg kind of question. I would say, play it safe and close eyes, but after 30 seconds, you could discreetly peek through one eye to check what he/she is doing.
  13. Slow, soft, gentle, tingly, light-headed – all the things you want to feel, but you can only find out by actually doing it, going with the flow and not over-thinking it (apart from noting the above).
  14. If you are taking this step with someone you want to impress, good luck and remember they will be worrying just as much as you. If you both end up butting heads or missing target, just laugh about it.

Out of my league

I wanted to kiss you there and then. To gently press my lips on yours, just for a few seconds, just to taste you.

But would it have been right? After all, we only met two hours ago, drank coffee and talked for an hour and forty minutes. An hour and forty minutes to try to gain some intimacy, an hour and forty minutes to discreetly look you up and down; to assess you perfectly shaped rear; to imagine the rest of you under your shirt; to admire your handsome face, your white teeth and pretty brown eyes, long blond hair tamed in a ponytail and neat beard. No, you are not my usual type, but you are a stunning vista, a foreign landscape, like looking over Venice rather than my usual East coast seaside town.

Yes, I wanted to kiss you, to transport myself to this other world. But I am still not sure you are ready to take me. There was a brief hesitation, a flicker in your eyes as we parted at the station, but you are playing your cards close to your chest.

Maybe I am not enough for your land, not the willowy, long-limbed beauty who would match you, too much bulk to sit well in your gondola. Maybe it would tip a little more at my side – not quite a perfect symmetry.

As I teetered back to our table with more coffee, I sensed you watching me, scanning my top to toe as I looked down to try not to spill hot liquids.

Were you disappointed? Was I a five out of ten? For you are surely an eight or nine.

But still, I wanted to kiss you, to taste the sweet nectar of an eight or nine, to entwine myself around your perfect frame, maybe even glide a hand down to your textbook –perfect rear, to feel you against me. A brief few seconds to drink you in would at least give me a glimpse, a peek through a crack into this unreachable world.

Dear darling diary

I’ve had an ok day. Mrs Johnson really liked my poem about my grandma, especially the bit about her smelling of mint and lavender. She said I used good descriptive words. Also my BFF (best friend forever) Stacey gave me one of her One Direction pens. Harry is so buff!

When my mum picked me up from school she said I am going to go to the seaside on Saturday with Dad and his girlfriend Lizzie. I’m not really looking forward to it. Lizzie is nice and always buys me stuff like sweets or stickers, but she’s not Mum. Mum is a bit wacky, but she’s my mum and I like it when we have cuddle time on the sofa on a Saturday night. We sometimes argue but not for long.

Dad and Lizzie hold hands and kiss. I don’t like it. It makes me feel funny and a bit like I am going to be sick. He doesn’t do big long kisses like teenagers do, just small ones on the lips. But I still don’t like it.

Last time I saw Lizzie we went ten pin bowling with her and her little boy, Ben. He had to use one of those ramp things because he’s only three and had the rails up. I managed to get two strikes.

Anyway it was fun, but not as fun as it would have been if Mum had been there. In the car home Lizzie said she had really enjoyed her day with her “three favourite people”. That made me feel upset. She is trying to make a new family with me and Dad and Ben, but that means without Mum.

Mum asked me if I was looking forward to going to the seaside. When I said “yeah, I suppose so” she asked me what was wrong so I told her what Lizzie said after we went bowling. Mum said Lizzie was only trying to be nice and show that she wanted to be my friend. I said it felt like she wanted Mum to go away, then I got really upset and cried.

I just want to have Mum and Dad and me together, living together. Why can’t we all be together and have cuddles on the sofa all together? Mum and Dad used to do that before they shouted a lot and had lots of arguments. It’s not fair that they split up.

Stacy’s Mum and Dad are together. Why can’t mine be? Mum said that sometimes things go wrong and people need to split up because it’s for the best. It’s not for the best for me. I have to sleep in Dad’s flat, in a big bed while he sleeps on the sofa. The bed is too big and cold and smells yucky.

If Dad came back I could stay in my own room and no one would have a yucky bed.

The above is complete fiction and any similarity to a nine-year-old girl’s diary is purely coincidental.

How soon is now?

How long can I wait? How long should I wait? How long is it right to wait.

You say it can happen when I think it is right to happen, but I no longer know what is or isn’t right. Part of me wants to hand this decision to you; part of me wants it to happen now.

I want you to kiss me hard, to catch your teeth on my lip, to propel your tongue inside my mouth. At the same time I will stand on my tip toes to be nearer to your height and your hands will grab and squeeze my buttocks.

Then you will run your fingertips up my back, flick open the fastening of my bra and tear off my dress. You can push me back onto the bed, dive into my chest and nibble, suck and caress my breasts while I writhe under you, feeling the hardness waiting inside your jeans.

Your fingers will find my damp cavern below and fiddle me into a foaming frenzy. Under my breath I will whisper: “I want you, I want you now.”

I will fumble with your belt and zipper until I capture your throbbing beast, to explore his length and make you sigh in ecstasy. And sigh again, you will, as I crawl down the bed to tour his shaft with my tongue and take as much as I can inside my mouth.

I will do this for as long as it takes for you to writhe and pulsate, before cat-like, I will slowly crawl up your body, brushing my mound along your legs, lingering over your beast.

I will brush against it a little longer as I kiss you hungrily, then slowly, slowly I will lower myself over it, guiding it into my cave.

We will fuck fast and hard, first me pinning you down to enjoy your sighs and ‘Oh Gods’. Then you will sit up, firmly push me onto my back and take me hard and deep, my legs pointing at 90 degrees, my feet near your shoulders.

You flip me over and take me from behind, hard, fast as the bed creaks and bangs against the wall. “Go, go, go!” I will exclaim, as you start to tremble. Then it happens; you spasm, pull out and your seed spurts over my breasts.

Sated, we will collapse together in a sticky heap, exchanging numerous kisses, feeling closer than ever.

So, my original question – how long can I wait?

Barry and Sandra: The Christmas Special – Part 2

The ‘disco’ part of the evening was well underway and even a few of the women from Sandra’s office had taken to the dance floor, swinging their hips and side-stepping to the usual recycled party tunes, such as The Time Warp, Birdy Song and Oops Upside Your Head.

Sandra and Stacy continued to grimace at each other as Phil Pop churned out one ‘classic hit’ after another.

“Another white wine and soda?” Offered Sandra as she got up to go to the bar. “It may anaesthetise the effects of the DJ.”

As she walked around the square of lino that formed the dance floor, her face dropped as she remembered that Martin and Barry were still propping up the bar.

“Your arse looks nice in that dress, love,” Ventured Martin, which was rather bold, even for him.

“Sod off, Martin,” Sandra replied. Barry was oblivious to the exchange and had moved on from reading beer mats to gazing vacantly at his ale. Sandra ordered the drinks, handed over the money and was about to beat a hasty retreat, when she felt a hand touch then pinch her derriere.

She jolted in surprise but managed not to lose the drinks. As she spun round, the red face and slightly bloodshot eyes smirked at her.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Was all she could muster when the answer was blatantly obvious.

Undeterred, Martin said: “Come on, love. You know there’s an attraction between us. I know you are gagging for it.”

“No, I am bloody well not!” And with that she looked to Barry for support. Even now he surely couldn’t ignore this. But Barry was away with the fairies, still unaware of what was happening.

“But look at you, tits on show, arse sticking out. You so want it. Barry’s had his chance. Now it’s my turn.”

“You absolute dick head!” She screamed and threw her white wine and soda in his face.

“Ooh, feisty! Come here, now and give me a kiss.” And he reached out to grab her arm, even though his face, hair and shirt were now sodden.

At this point Barry was roused from his reverie. He quickly took in the scene and guessed what had happened. Martin was his mate, but he knew he was a lech. He had accepted this, but could not if it involved Sandra.

Without a second thought, he jumped up from his bar stool so swiftly that it fell and hit the floor with a crash.

He pushed Martin so that he lost his balance and stumbled over backwards in a heap. He then went over to him, helped him up and dragged him out of the room.

“Let’s go after them,” Exclaimed Stacy who had dashed across the room to see what was happening.

“No, leave it, please. Let’s just go and sit down. I want to forget about it and enjoy the rest of the night,” said Sandra. She didn’t know whether to be more shocked by Martin’s actions or Barry defending her corner. She couldn’t believe that, after weeks of avoiding her, he would step in to help.

Ten minutes passed. It felt like an hour. Then the door swung open and Barry walked in, alone. He looked a little dishevelled, slightly weary.

Stacy waddled across the room again. “I think you deserve a drink, Barry. What you having?” He accepted quietly, but barely glanced at her. He was looking around the room anxiously.

“She’s over there,” said Stacy. “I’ll bring over your drink, then pop to the loo.”

Sandra was slouched at her table, her chin resting in her hands, her mind running over what had just happened. She watched the coloured lights above the dance floor. Then her view was blocked by a man in a blue shirt.

“Hey, wake up, daydreamer,” Nudged Barry. It was the first time he had spoken to her for so long, yet still his tone was light-hearted and jokey.

Sandra didn’t know how to respond. She just gazed into his chestnut brown eyes. She felt her own eyes fill with warm tears and tried to blink them away. She looked down, having nowhere else to hide the fact she was about to cry.

But Barry sat down next to her and took her hand. With his other hand he gently brushed away a small tear before kissing her softly on the lips. It was just a small kiss but enough to press the right button in Sandra. She threw her arms around him and used all her strength to push him closer, forcing him to kiss her again, this time long and hard, tongues and all, dissolving every last scrap of pink lip gloss. Sandra’s right leg had also managed to raise itself to wrap around Barry’s hips. (“Thank God it was a flarey skirt on this dress,” she thought.)

As they kissed, the music and everything around them seemed to fade into a muffle. That was until a very loud “Woo!” became too hard to block out. It was Stacy trundling back to the table.

“You did it!” She bellowed. “You two belong together. He’s a keeper, hun.”
Barry and Sandra smiled shyly, feeling a little awkward that their reunion had been so public and guessing that it may be the subject of office gossip next week.

Then a familiar tune rose from the speakers. “Oh, maybe he does know how to play something decent for a change,”said Sandra, belching on soda bubbles.

As Paul Weller’s ‘You Do Something To Me’ started up, Barry gave Sandra a look she understood without words. They both stood up at the same time and he took her by the hand to the dance floor. Wrapped around each other, Sandra’s head nestled in Barry’s chest they did a slow dance which was more like a swaying hug. But they looked contented and in love.

“Aw bless,” Sighed Stacy to no one in particular.

When I see you next

When I see you next…don’t make me wait; let’s not eat, drink and talk for three hours. Save that for afterwards.

When I see you next… I want you ready for me, but fully clothed. I will walk through the door, kiss you slowly, taste you, drink you in. Our embrace will last long enough for your knees to go weak, your head to feel dizzy. Then I will slowly peel off your layers, tugging off your tee-shirt, prizing open your jeans so I can nibble your delicious core.

When I see you next… I will kiss and taste your entire body, from your feet, all the way up your legs, sucking and licking your muscly firm thighs. You will be passive, only able to writhe with pleasure as I crawl, cat-like up your body. I will pause at your balls, encircling each with my tongue, sucking and nibbling every single millimetre of them as you moan and undulate.

When I see you next… I will slide my tongue from the base to the tip of your towering hard penis. I will tease the end by poking the very tip of my tongue into the urethra and glide it around your glans, maybe several times. After I think I have licked every bit of it I will hold it firm and lower my mouth over it as far as I can go, sucking, licking, devouring. As you are powerless under me, I will pull off my pants, leaving on my black stockings.

When I see you next… I will lower my wet, excited pussy over your penis, slowly taking you in and begin to fuck you slowly, as I throw off my dress and unleash my breasts from underwired restraints. I may even let you have some freedom to touch them, squeeze them, take them in your mouth.

When I see you next… I will at some point dismount and make you take the upper deck and thrust yourself hard inside me, as you finger my clit and kiss me hungrily. You may at this point have a little more control to place me where you will, but I will slap your bottom if I want more and deeper.

When I see you next… I want your climax to be intense, explosive, spectacular. Let it spray all over my breasts, let it squirt into my mouth, let it smear all over our bodies. I will smell, taste, touch and inhale you.

When I see you next… we will end up sweaty, sticky, exhausted, in a lovers’ embrace with our hearts thumping loudly.

When I see you next…When will I see you next?

Shoot that poison arrow

So, ladies – I can only do this one from a female perspective, but hang on in there, chaps, you might learn something. Ahem… So, ladies, you have identified your target, but how do you achieve a direct hit? How do you ensure the object of your desire is struck by your ‘l want you’ arrows?

We are not necessarily talking about love here, but pure lust, and ways of subtly letting the male know that you are very keen to share more than a handshake with him.

From my experience, very few men notice the kind of signals suggested in magazines – eye contact, brushing past, flicking your hair. Most would not even see it if you wore a t-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘I’d like to get jiggy with you’ in neon pink across your chest.

Unfortunately, to ensnare your prey you need to work hard, campaign and sometimes be prepared for the long game. It took me three years to finally get it on with The Man. Other personal relationships and obstacles did hamper progress, but he had no idea I fancied him for the first two years. And I surprised myself that my interest and resolve was as strong in the third year as it was in the first.

With this, I may not be the best person to advise, but here are some suggestions anyway:

Find a way to talk: Looking longingly at him and trying to catch his eye are just not enough. He will just think you are staring at him like a nutter and rather than arousing his interest, you are just scaring him off. Ok – you want to admire the view, as you totally, utterly want him, but be subtle about it.

Join in: If he’s a work colleague, make sure you go to any social outings he’s at – being around and accessible means you are not as forgettable as you could be. If he’s a friend of a friend find times when he is going to be out/around.

Non-obvious stalking: Don’t actually stalk – this is not only scary for your target, but can land you in trouble with the law, with an injunction or even custodial sentence! And being a psycho is not going to do anything for your sex life. What I mean is if you know he is in a certain place at a certain time e.g. in the work canteen, waiting to catch a particular bus or train or in the supermarket, show up from time to time. I don’t mean be there every time without fail or he will start to panic and change his routine to avoid you. From time to time, even once a week (but don’t pick the same day every week or he will notice a pattern) be about, breeze past, say ‘hello’ if you dare, smile, tuck your hair behind your ear. Don’t linger – walk by, get the milk out of the fridge, do whatever you have to, but move on. A fleeting appearance can leave a bigger impression than giving him a full account of your crappy day or the argument you had in the shoe shop when you wanted a refund.

Smarten up: Take a little bit of extra time on your appearance if you can. Check your makeup is tidy – no panda marks under your eyes – and your hair looks clean even if it isn’t. Wear things that highlight your best bits e.g. if you have good boobs, a bit of cleavage doesn’t do any harm, as long as you are not in the realms of a lusty serving wench in a 17th century tavern. If you have good legs, show them off. To do all this, you don’t have to dress obscenely – this won’t go down well at work and your friends will think you’ve had a knock on the head. Just look in the mirror and think “would I fancy me?” or “what will he notice first if I wear this dress?”

Create a ‘oops’ moment: Once your ‘breezing by’ routine is established, I don’t see anything wrong with you creating a situation where you have to interact, even if it is an old cliché. Dropping a pile of papers near him, forcing him to come and help you pick them up, may have been applied in dozens of movies, but it’s worth a go. It will test out whether he’s a selfish git or a polite and helpful sweetie if nothing else. Alternatives are accidentally bumping into him in a crowded place, dropping something out of your handbag on the platform or near the bus stop, even spilling a drink. Even if he helps you up and asks if you are alright before walking off, it gives you something to refer to next time.

Take an interest: Assuming you get talking eventually be completely, utterly interested in everything about him (even if your only interest is seeing him naked). So, you are supressing a yawn when he drones on about Formula One, steam trains, logarithms or computer programming. But you have to put on your best Oscar-winning performance and look fascinated. You should even listen well enough to ask him a few questions on his specialist subject – this will impress him no end.

Take it to another place: The conversation has to continue – either in a bar, restaurant or if you are daring enough, your sofa or boudoir. Find a way to do this – “we should talk some more in the pub” or your selected venue. If he takes the bait, you are a step closer to take off. If he doesn’t , either he’s tired, not interested or clueless about your less than honourable intentions in which case you will have to start all over again with the above steps. And believe me; I’ve been there – three times.

If all else fails: You could just wait until Christmas – if there’s a work Christmas do or you are out with your friends or feeling extra festive at the bus stop when people around you are a little more jovial than usual. Then, either blurt out that you fancy the arse off him, dive in for a kiss or launch yourself at him. This will at least get you a swift response as to whether the last few weeks/months/years have been an utter waste of time or well worth the graft. If it all goes horribly wrong you can use Christmas as an excuse and pretend you lost it for a few seconds.

Birthday bubbly

For DSM birthdays are not usually popping corks and explosive climaxes of fireworks.

I prefer to get a year older quietly and discreetly, especially now I’m the wrong side of 35. A table for two somewhere half-decent is the most I aim for.

So my recent annual day was set to be more of the same… until The Man made himself available for a steamy afternoon.

As I walked through his front door I heard water running and he quickly led me upstairs. The bathroom was softly lit with tea-lights and the centrepiece, his roll top bath, was almost overflowing with frothy bubbles. He poured out two glasses of champagne and we swiftly discarded our clothes, sitting end to end.

I stroked his muscly legs and he ran his fingers along my ankles and feet, as we lay back, soaking up the hot bubbles and sipping the cold ones from our glasses. Within minutes the outside world had ceased to exist and all that mattered was the warm suds, the cool drinks and each other.

When we eventually (as our skin was turning wrinkly) prised ourselves out of the bath, The Man turned on the shower, suggesting we rinsed off the bubbles. As the hot water sprayed us, I felt his strong, solid body against my back. His arms first encircled my waist, then his hands moved up to my breasts, massaging them in circular movements. I turned around to face him and we kissed, water spraying into our mouths and everywhere between us.

We clambered out of the shower and, still soaking wet and dripping all over the floor, dashed into the bedroom, half falling, half diving on to the bed. He kissed me keenly, exploring with his tongue, moving down my neck, my chest, pausing to suck and lick my nipples, moving further down my body until he reached my now-ravenous cave. As he explored all the nooks and crannies I felt my entire body tingle and judder. He barely emerged for air as he devoured the pink flesh before him with his skilled tongue and fingers. I was immobilised with waves of spasms until he moved upwards and kissed me, letting me taste myself.

By now his penis was fully standing to attention, reporting for duty and ready for action. I had to get a mouthful so I returned his devotion by licking the long shaft and sucking as much as I could cram into my mouth. At the same time his fingers entered me and played my favourite song.

It had almost reached the point of the second cork of the day being popped when I used all my might to pull him on top of me so he had no choice but to enter me. I said, quietly: “I want you to fuck me now!” Well, it was my birthday! Of course, he obliged, first slowly but firmly, then harder as I slapped his bottom to make him go faster and the bed began to creak. We rolled over so I was on top and made the bed creak a bit more. He then thrust himself into me from behind as I bent over the bed.

Now fully dry, we collapsed on the bed in a heap and I snuggled into his chest, listening to his heart thumping. We kissed softly, sipped more champagne and kept the outside world at bay for as long as we could.

Well, it certainly beat being given the bumps or soggy sandwiches with cheese and pineapple on a stick…