Archive for August, 2012

My professionalism knows no bounds.

Or rather, I like to ignore professional boundaries.

Yesterday someone I’m on a committee with – granted, it’s an LGBT committee and therefore a fair amount of group incest is to be expected –  posted on Facebook that he was bored. “Anyone want to do anything?” – well, go on then…

So we got some wine and went to his place, and drank said wine in the kitchen whilst summarising all the gossip we could from the past academic year. There’s plenty of it. Anyway, once the wine was done he went to the bathroom and I went and sat on the back of the couch looking out the window at the back garden. C came back from the bathroom and knelt on the couch behind me with his hand on my shoulder. “It’s quite a nice garden,” he said. “Yeah, it is,” I replied, leaning back with my elbow more or less in his crotch. “Big, too”.

He looked down, I looked up, and with the immortal words “Fuck it!”, he pushed me back onto the couch.

I wasn’t wrong either, he had a really thick dick, so much that it hurt after a while and I came really quickly the first time round. I then worked on him for a but until he came; we had a break, I finished the half-glass of wine I’d left on the kitchen table (we didn’t have sex in the kitchen, he won some serious man-points by carrying me to the bedroom and dropping me on the bed), and then somehow ended up back on his bed, again, naked, again. This time he came first – I made sure of it, it would have been rude otherwise – and we spooned a bit before he finished me off.

He seems to have quite a similar attitude towards things like this as me; he’s coming to my leaving party tonight (I’m moving away in FIVE DAYS AND REALLY CAN’T DEAL WITH IT) but as he said, life’s too short to be awkward and since we now know we’re fairly sexually compatible if neither of us has success elsewhere we can just hook up with one another again. Truth be told I’m not massively attracted to him, he’s not my type really, but we had quite good sex –  or at least I thought so, and he told me I gave the best head he’s ever had and who would want to pass up on that again?


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Flashback Friday: I’m not that into you

At our last pre-Erasmus party, the summer at the end of second year (2009), there was quite a lot of vodka going around. That’s to be expected when you’re at a party with a lot of people from ex-communist nations, I suppose, but I was young(er) and naive(r) than I am now and was quite surprised by it. When we ran out of the regular stuff, Kate (not her real name) pulled out a bottle written in Cyrillic which I assumed was from Russia but it turned our her dad had brought back from Ukraine. More was drunk.

Our hostess, R, had some friends there I’d never met before and one of them was tall, thin, tanned, all in all quite attractive. And he was half-way through a Ph. D in Chemistry, so clearly had brains. And social skills! Win. I expressed some interest to R who then apparently spoke to her friend L who mentioned me to the Chemist, and he then followed me into the kitchen when I went to get a top-up of whatever that Ukrainian substance masquerading as vodka actually was. And we kissed.

Luckily, some of the other flatmates had gone out to a club where Kate and her then-boyfriend worked, so I mentioned to him “Raspberry’s room is empty” and off we went. We were on the bed,him on top of me, still fully clothed but grinding quite hard, when the door opened and R walked in with a face like thunder. “Uh-oh,” I thought, “She’s not happy”

“One of you,” she said accusingly, “has my cigarettes!!

The Chemist sort of gestured towards the door and told her they were on top of the fridge. What they were doing there I’ll never know, I never thought to ask, but R seemed quite pleased with this answer and off she went to the kitchen. We got back to business, before realising that we had no condoms and our prospects were therefore quite limited. We needn’t have worried though; the door opened again a few minutes later and there stood Raspberry, back from the club, who clearly hadn’t been warned there were to people in her room. She sort of screamed a little bit then apologised and backed out, and we decided it was probably time to stop what we were doing. As we were getting dressed, the Chemist ventured “You can come back to mine if you want… I mean, I’m going on holiday tomorrow so you’d have to leave quite early…”

And pulling my T-shirt over my head, I retorted without thinking, “Hah, I’m not that interested”

And that was when I realised I’d turned into a harsh bitch.

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