Sexual Secrets

16 01 2009

The last few months my blog has lapsed, not simply because I did not have time, or I did not want to write, but more so because I did not want to share what I was doing.

I make a lot of mistakes, I have always been honest about the legendry fuck ups I make in my life. More so, I put myself out here for all to judge me and wear the clueless to real life award I gave myself on my sleeve like a protection from having to be sensible.

We all know how I felt when I could not find work, being in a strange country alone is hard enough without being in one where you can’t make your rent payments and because of your lack of money the social life that you have created falls by the wayside, so the loneliness that you can feel anyway from being far away from all that is familiar becomes tenfold when the make-shift family (your friends) are out of the loop of your life.

I have mentioned before on here that I had started doing phone sex as a way to make money. Its not something I ever thought about doing but the more I tried to find work and the more I found nothing the more I began to feel that I was going to have to return to the UK with my tail between my legs so I resisted. I spent days/weeks on the internet trying to find jobs or other ways to make money when I came across a site that told me about being a Phone Sex Operator, it seemed that it was money for nothing and through the site I managed to build some fantastic friendships with the women who were doing the same job.

Despite peoples stereotypes these women are not sexual deviants sitting at the end of a line playing with themselves, more often than not they are family based women who are trying to earn some extra money while their children are in bed. Nor are they finding the work a turn on, its more like lets turn Eastenders down in the background or surf youtube while we listen to say the right things at the same time, granted an imagination helps a lot, so does knowledge of fetishes (I know so much more than I ever thought I would and trust me, not even half of them are something I personally would find a sexual turn on.

But and here goes my shameful secret, through doing this I found out that I could earn more money by going one step further, and always the girl to take the next step without thinking I went ahead and did it. In the space of three weeks I had moved on from just ‘supplying’ phone sex to taking my clothes off on webcam.

And this is when it gets grainy, at first I didn’t feel anything, I was like a robot going through the motions, I could smile and pretend I was enjoying it while my mind was completely elsewhere, my only fear was that someone I knew might see me – that to me was the ultimate in humiliation – but as the months passed something changed, I knew I could not do it long term, simply because I did not have the personality for it. I have never hid the problems I face with promiscuously, how I switch from sleeping around to being an ice queen, how I battle with faithfulness, how I fail a lot when it comes to being intimate, for someone who is desperately crying out for someone to not only want to be intimate with me but respect me also and care about my mind I don’t put myself in enough situations to receive anything but casual sex.

Webcam for me is the same, at the beginning – I will not lie here – as much as I did not find it a turn on, listening to people tell me how amazing I looked, how sexy my body is, how pretty my face, how desirable the way I moved or my accent was, was enough to make me feel ten feet tall. I am not really an in-love with myself girl, I have a fake confidence sure but inside I am a quivering wreck. So many compliments made me feel special. How naïve can I be.

The thing is now, now I hate it, now I think of these men, think of myself and feel nothing but disgust. I have been away for three weeks, I went back to the UK, I felt happy and it was nice to have some familiarity and feel so much warmth after the bleakness of the last few months but now I am back home in Spain and with no hope of finding a job here yet (probably not until the tourist season starts in March) I am left with continuing to do this until then.

Unless, unless I make another decision.

A friend of mine is in Canada and she is urging me to go home to the UK apply for my year Visa (you have to be in the UK to do this) and go out there for a year. I would need to be in the UK while my application is going through and also because I would need to temp or get a short term job for a few months to get enough money together to cover my expenses.

I have a lot to think about, and I guess as the weeks pass you will go through my decision process with me, but I just wanted to catch you up with what is going on. And hope that you will not judge me.


Times need to be changing!

12 11 2008

Sometimes when I read back on my entries I truly wonder how I ever wrote them – or I try and recapture the feelings I was feeling when I did but fail too.

It often seems I am so many different people in one body that even I find keeping up with me and with the intensity in the way I feel things very difficult. Just as soon as the intensity wears a little I run, I hide, I jump or the person I have the feelings for gets there first.

I was told last night in conversation that I am the kind of girl that people look to for sexual friendships – nothing more serious – when I asked why they said it was hard to describe but in an inept way it basically boiled down to the way I go hot and cold and more than that at the way I carry on. Despite the side of me you see here, despite the words that fly free from me when I write, in real life my words come with less depth, with less meaning. I can be many things to many people, but mostly I am known as a party girl.

This is not even a quality because when it comes to me being labelled as a party girl it means that I out-drink, out-do, out-party and also…well we all know I have some issues with being promiscuous. I tend to crave highs in life. Its like doing wrong is an addiction and I live in the moment, the knowledge it will hurt me in tomorrow is never a concept I think about.

I guess as I am getting older I am realising the highs – why great – are not good for my long term well being. Its time I hung my hat up on these years when I watch the sun came up in different beds, or on drugs or drink, or in other random places/situations where its not healthy for me to be.

I don’t want to be the girl that’s left behind, I don’t want to be the girl that’s tagged or labelled – though I can’t say its other people’s opinions that bother me that much, its more that this life isn’t making me happy anymore. I want more.

I guess I have never felt deserving of more, so I took the image that I created and run a solo relay race holding on with dear life to that baton. But now, when I look at myself I still see all that is lacking, I still know I am never going to be quite as sane as others, or ever be labelled as calm or laid back, but still I am beginning to think I deserve just as much as the next person.

The way I suddenly felt about Anthony and how much I wanted the security that his love would bring, brought this all back – I know deep inside that I crave love almost as much as I crave the highs, I know I do, I look for affection and friendship in places that I know its not going to last but still I look for it as it seems like my only option.

It’s time to try and turn my life around – I want more than this.

Maybe that’s why this song seems to be fitting to me now.

Just Another Lost Soul

12 10 2008

I was sitting on the sofa in my apartment, legs crossed, glass of Cava in my hand, his sitting on my rug back leaning against the sofa.

We’re talking the idle crap that seems to come so easily, he is telling about a problem with a guy he works with … I’m listening and commenting but when it comes to me sharing my ill-fated Malaga adventure I breeze over the facts and tell him just a simple outline. He is looking at me, I can sense the confusion and I have learnt very quickly that he always asks when he wants to know something.

He is telling me that I confuse him, he can’t work out if I want to be with him or not, his telling me sometimes he thinks I do and then he thinks I don’t. I try to tell him in my haphazard way that this is just how I am. I want to tell him not to expect too much from me but I don’t. He continues thinking outloud:

‘how do I get to know someone who is cold?’

I don’t have an answer. He will never know me. I turn it into a joke and tell him the last place on earth he wants to be is in my head. I don’t want to be there all the time he states but just to know something every now and then would be good.

I carry on drinking, the bubbles have gone to my head and I am feeling light – we joke and laugh and talk about random situations in life. His telling me that he does not ever want to have children and I find myself feeling for the children he will never have, he has such a gentleness, it seems to my untrained eye that he would make a wonderful parent.

The more he talks to me, the more I am thinking that in my confusion right now about my life I have missed something about him. Being me, I go to the my room and pull out the black bag that holds my tarot cards – just for fun I tell him, are you going to share what they say he wants to know. No, no its just for me, I want to know.

He’s stuck.

It’s so simple why did I not see it without the cards. He has spent time just being, being this easy going calm man, loving and giving to all around him, befriending the earth and the people but really he is lost. His cards hold so much hope but all of them reversed – so much to give, so much good to be had, but his stuck. Unsure about what to be or where to go. We’re stuck in this moment together and for some reason that makes me want to reach out to him more. This is not forever, this is our moment to join and be.

After that we get back to being lighter, I feel safer in the knowledge that for all his confidence he is just another lost person.

We’re pulling at clothes on my sofa, the cheap champagne helping us along, his rougher this time but even the pain comes with a form of gentleness. It’s the morning, he is leaving to go to work I get up to see him out and then start my own day, trekking around looking for work. Nothing. Nada. Every road seems to take me to a dead end.

In the afternoon he is calling me ‘I just need to come to your house for a moment’ I open the door and he kisses me, he spent no more than three minutes here and it was just to kiss me.

If I was another girl I would be left with warm feelings. If he was another man who I knew would play the game I would be left with warm feelings. As it is, I was left feeling nothing but guilt.

I managed to avoid seeing him last night and then again tonight. Instead I have sat in my apartment and wiled the hours away on the net, I have no motivation, no money and as the depression sets in I withdraw from the world.

Fragile Wind

10 10 2008

Nitin Sawhney – Fragile Wind 

We’re drinking small beers in a Spanish bar, there is people in the room but I am not sure I could remember them. There is an AC/DC record playing and he is telling me he liked them, I have no comprehension about them and wonder if the ten years in between us are like a vacuum of lost moments we are never going to get to share. I am starting to feel trapped, to feel unsure.

He is so nice to me, too nice, its starting to scare me my mind is going into overdrive ‘please don’t think I am a good person, please don’t think I can give you what I don’t have’ it’s time to leave, he is asking me if I want to go back to his apartment. I find myself agreeing even though my mind is elsewhere.

We’re in his apartment, hardly talking, hardly touching. I’m lost.

He puts a CD on and I am falling, we are standing there, holding one another, barely moving but I feel like we are dancing. I’m listening to the words of Nitin Sawhney and losing myself. His asking me if I mind if he doesn’t hurry, he wants to make love to me – how can he know that I am cold inside and nothing can melt me. He is reaching inside of me, finding something to grasp that is not real. I cannot stop him looking for what is not there, I do not know the words to say to tell him to keep his feelings, to be like the rest and look and see all that is lacking. I’m holding onto the music ‘inside my head I can be anything…’

He is making love to me, I am responding but there is always something holding back. This gentleness is too much for me.

We’re falling asleep, like a fallen angel he is looking at me in the dark, stroking my face. He cannot see my tears I just want to sleep and forget, always I want to forget.

Its morning, my resolution is hard, he is waking me wanting to make love to me. I cannot respond, my mind is not so much blank but bleak… the winter has set it. I’m nothing but cold. He guesses I don’t want too, but he is trying to persuade me, he thinks his sweetness, his openness, he’s feelings are enough to change my mind.

I’m laying there, wishing he would stop, he keeps trying, he is acting with compassion, wanting to make love to me – I feel like I am being raped all over again my mind is another place, with another man, with someone who hurt me, who made me colder than I already was. He is gentle but all I feel is someone else’s hand on me, someone who tore my life to pieces, a monster I cannot forget.

He stops, gets ready for work, I can see the confusion in his eyes, he feels like he has gone to bed with someone who is pure sunshine and woken in the middle of the coldest winter.

His leaving, I pretend I am sleeping. I get up and leave, careful not to leave any piece of me in that apartment, I stand at the door with tears in my eyes and tell his absent spirit that I am sorry, I am sorry but I cannot change.

I’m driving, the miles between my home and Malaga, as the miles pass I feel myself relaxing, I’m alone, driving through mountains, wishing I could stop time and stay there. I want to get out of the car and climb to the top and sit and be. My fingers are curling the rosaries hanging from my dashboard I’m praying for a sign, anything that lets me know I can feel, that I am human.

500 miles later I arrive, I have listened to the CD he gave me last night so much that my speakers in my old car have blown.

Everything seems fine, I paint on my smile and for three days I stay with my sister it seems ok …

We’re drunk, words are coming, she is shouting, I know I have said something wrong – I always do – my mind is going over and over, her words are stinging me. I want to go home, but I do not know where home is.

I’m texting him, telling him I want to come home to him. I need something to believe in even though my heart knows its not reality I am chasing. Its half four in the morning and I’ve had too much to drink but I am in my car driving back, the miles pass so slowly, my tears are drying, the anger is coming, then the hurt, the confusion, the guilt, the awareness that I always fail.

I’m resolute I will never speak to her again, I’ll never look back.

I’m home, he is waiting but I do not go and see him. Instead I lie in my bed of broken dreams and dry eyed I wait for sleep to take me.

I have no money, no job, I cannot pay my rent he is calling me but I am going further into myself I know this is not what I want.

I’m drowning …

And I cannot swim.


3 10 2008

We ate Sushi in a back street restaurant, I felt like I was sharing in his magic light, so often I have seen him, so often he came into the restaurant where I worked, his hippy style of dressing, his smile that made me want to smile right back.

Before I left work I commented to a co-worker about the secret crush I had harboured for the last year ‘I have no idea why I think about this man so much but I do’ I confided, the day after I left that same co-worker passed on my number and the hippy is ringing me … so there we are eating Sushi, we’re talking random thoughts in broken English, a man so different than anyone I have met before and there have been many men, so many different types of people with whom just for a night or a little while I have let myself share in their light.

I confide how confused I am about the move, how for some reason just before I am supposed to be leaving I have found myself feeling that its not time for me to move, I do not tell him about the running, but he knows, I know he knows, I can see it in his eyes. ‘You’re a very different type of girl’ he tells me. I spend my time being as normal, as inconspicuous in this world as possible I tell him that I am boring. He laughs, he disagrees, you say that so much he tells me but you have no idea how non-boring you really are, your different, its ok to be different he tells me.

Why am I so different? I don’t know.

He tells me about his sailing, his carpentry, he takes odd jobs around both of his loves, he tells me about his visits to Thailand how he is learning the language. About his life where he comes from in Madrid and the girl that owned his heart for a long time. There is ten years between us, him older but in some ways while so open minded he seems so naïve. He has lived in a world of kindness and compassion, he shines with his acceptance of himself and those around him. I, the girl who only feels live when she is alone and seeing the beauty of the natural earth around her, wants to reach out and touch him.

We’re in a bar its named after the dark moon – we’re sitting on cushions. He is laughing at me again, you call me the hippy man but look at you. Your no different, maybe more so. I look at myself at my clothes and think about the comments people have made in the past about my bohemian sense of style. I know other looking in would think that was what we are, but I am wondering if I am being a chameleon, I am so good at that I can blend in with whatever is happening around me to go unnoticed. You can never be unnoticed he tells me with a brightness in his eyes. For a moment I feel like he is mocking me but soon see he is not.

I tell him about my family, but just the facts, not about the pain. It seems to quaint to talk about causes when I am finding myself telling him the truth about who I am, I am telling him about not liking people, about my obsessions with the spirit world, about my pretence about liking the things that people are supposed to but never really wanting to be there or understanding what I should like about it – about my beliefs, we talk about believing in god and he tells me he wishes he could believe, my confidence in my own beliefs surprises myself. How can you not I say, when you are on your boats and you look around and see all that is real, all that is amazing how can you not believe. My church is the world I say, my church is in nature, not in cold stone buildings and words of a bible. I am part of something that no amount of scientific talk can take away the magic.

His pulling me towards him, we’re kissing and touching like teenagers, in bar empty apart from two other groups we’re sitting in the corner reaching for each other.

We speak so much, we say little about the past or the future, we speak about the present and the things that are important to us every day, he tells me about caring for his elderly Father, I tell him about my battles with the many facets of myself about how I never feel in, am never quite accepted – I feel like I am saying too much, being too honest for the world of lies I have built around myself, its only here in my written word that honesty feels so natural to me.

He takes my hands and speaks to me in low tones; People are scared of anyone that is different, you are much more different than most, your anger at yourself is because you are trying to put yourself in a box, so you can be part of this thing called normality. But you cannot fit, your different and it makes people insecure and it makes you angry.

I wonder if he is right, at the time it seems so real, but in the back of my mind I know he is seeing me as something pure, he is seeing the good, honest side of me – the girl that like the quiet life and just wants to be. There is another side of me that I fight with so much, the self destructiveness, the anger that he has not yet seen.

We walk to the promenade, we sit smoking cigarettes in the early hours of the morning on a bench, the sea is behind us, black with the night and alive with the wind. We’re sitting close, silence has descended and we’re just being.

Then we are in his apartment, laying close, touching, in the darkness he is whispering to me in Spanish, he kisses me goodnight, tells me I am beautiful, my body is aching for him but he does not do anything more than hold me as I fall asleep.

It’s the morning and I am feeling him wake beside me, I can hear the shower going and then he is back, laying next to me and stroking my face, through bleary eyes I gaze at him and wonder if I can stop the thoughts that will turn me against him in days, the thoughts that come so easily to me to make me not want someone, even when my heart and body aches for someone I can turn myself against them. My emotions are like a winters morning, when my mind turns cold it freezes my feelings. His leaving for work, telling me to stay and sleep, I doze on and off and then return to my house.

All day I am thinking about him. Then its nine at night, he is ringing me, I can hear the tiredness in his voice and we arrange to meet tomorrow.

I’m in a bar, Nicholas, someone I have known for a while is with me, we’re matching drink for drink, laughing at stupid things and having difficult conversations with our broken attempts at each others language. My heart is telling me that I don’t want to do this, my minds pushing any thoughts of good away, this is the night, I belong to the night.

We’re in my apartment, kissing, clothes being torn off, biting, touching… we’re in my bed, we’re pulling, tugging, the sex is rough, sweat running down our bodies, we’re everywhere, hair being pulled, swollen lips being chewed, I look at us in the mirror my eyes last night so bright with warmth are now black as coals, void of anything except lust, his hurting me treating me with the lack of respect that men keep for whores, my body is reacting with desire, I want to be hurt, I want to feel the pain it makes everything real, there is no gentleness, no soft kisses, this is what I do, this is what my body is made for, like a lady of the night I want more and more, I take everything he gives and come back harder.

We lay side by side, his rough hands bringing me to climax, making me call out.

His leaving, it’s half four in the morning and we’re done. We swap chit-chat at the door, one last kiss. I close the door lay back on my bed and stare up into the darkness, I have a voice in my ear telling me to feel humiliated, telling me that I promised myself I was passing this, that it was not needed anymore. But like an addict craves the drug of their choice, like an alcoholic craves their drink of choice, I crave pain, I crave the feeling of loss of abandonment, of emptiness, of emotionally void encounters that make my body react and my heart feel cold.

I do not cry. My winter snow is not yet ready to melt.


29 09 2008

My blogs lately have been depressing. I have no doubt that people who are reading are sick of hearing me bleat on about the situation I have put myself in … after all it was me that quit my job, its me that found my running shoes early in life and kept on running, and its me that’s running now.

I’ll be packing up the car in the next week and driving the 6 hours or so down to Southern Spain to look for what comes next. With nothing except one months wages, my few possessions and a heavy heart I’ll set off, but I know as the miles pass between here and there I will change, I will bit by bit forget about all that I am leaving and think only of the possibility of the unknown.

My life has changed drastically in three weeks. Nothing I do really surprises me anymore.

Fran paid me a visit last night, as you probably gathered from my last post. Fran doesn’t love me, nor does he know me in any other way apart from sexually. But he keeps me company sometimes and I am grateful for the affection in times of need. He asked me why I was moving and for some reason when I replied the obvious ‘because I have nothing here’ I found my eyes welling up, I fought back the tears and was thankful for the darkness so he couldn’t see. But its true, not having anything has always been a balm to me but it suddenly became such a sad statement to make.

I am 27, I have been lost for a long time and with no hope of ever being found or showed love I am finally admitting that I need to stop looking for change within myself. I am not a good person, my temper is quick, my moods legendry, I am selfish, I make mistakes at every corner. This is how I am, and people like me need to make an alternative life – we need not to put ourselves in situations where we can hurt or upset people.

I need to stop caring when I have done wrong. You see I know I am moody, I know I am over the top in my temper tantrums, my irritability is monstrous but I am always thinking I want to change and each time I do not I beat myself up, and now as I leave and I realise that nobody really cares if I am here or not I do not have many people to say goodbye too, not people who will wave me off and swap fake promises of keeping in touch. So this is it, this is my problem, I need to not keep trying to change who I am, I need to accept that I am always going to be this way that goodness is not something I will possess and find a life in which I can be a solitary being so I can cause the least amount of hurt in this world as possible.

Judgement Day

29 09 2008

Laying close together, arms and legs entwined, glistening skin upon skin … the smell of sweat, of bodies, of sex.

He fingers the necklace I am wearing

‘what do you call this in English?’
‘It’s a crucifix’ I reply my black eyes staring straight into his ‘you’ve just fucked me while God watches’

He squirms, tells me he is a non-believer, and also that its obvious I am too, haven’t I just blasphemed by keeping my rosaries around my neck while in the act?

Have I?

Does God look down on me, his messed up child, the one with the devil eyes and devil temper and think what a waste of creation time. Could I not have done better.

Does he watch every mistake I make and then sigh as he marks it down ready for my exclusion from paradise? Does he watch my excuse for a life with a heavy heart and wonder why I consistently defy the bibles version of what a good child of god should be like?

Or does he, in all his glory, understand that the reason I never ask him for anything is that I know I don’t deserve it. Does he understand that my need for affection, not given to me in normal life, comes from encounters such as these?

Does he emphasise with my thinking, that I don’t read or follow the bible as I long ago started my own journey to find my own understanding. Does he see that when I sit on the beach, on my own, with the rain lashing down on me that I love every piece of the earth, that my respect for nature and my adoration of everything he created is as real as the ground I stand on. Does he see that I, the forgotten girl, has always felt like the only place she simply belongs is as a solitary being experiencing the elements.

I don’t believe God judges me, I believe he leaves that it those who judge so quickly on this earth.