God the boy has done it again.
I am about to go home to break it up with him.
He is paranoid, controlling, and his disputes against me, my friends and his friends have left me increasingly isolated.
I can't be bothered to put up with his pathetic demands anymore.
I want my money, my friends and my life back.
Or at least, thats how I felt last night when the boy was a dick ( again) and called my friend 'a lairy fucker'. Yes, she is rude, and tetchy occassionally, but I have known her for ages, she gives me lots of presents as a buyer for Topshop, and all in all i love her.
But of course, how can I do this and not totally erase him out of my life? I am, after all, sickenly in love with the little fucker. Breaking up with someone is such a huge, catastrophic jump to make - once I cross this divide, if I change my mind will I be able to jump back over it?
He's ringing me now - I have had countless messages, but have stubbornly ignored them whilst I organised my own thoughts in this chaotic mess of a head. I'll update you on the final solution tomorrow - right now I need to drag myself and my stinking hangover home to bed, via a long phonecall.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Thursday, October 05, 2006
getting the horn with my ideal bloke
I was twirling around on stage, feeling pretty good about myself. My partner - a lovely ozzie brunette- and I had decided to stay till 4am - the death hours when it is usually twiddling your thumbs time - and made bank. Hey, we were the only ones with any razzmatazz and energy left!! Most girls were hanging out in the changing room, or trailing round the club miserable and tried, bullying the few remaining customers into a dance.
I was in one of my favourite dresses, a hot little pink number with silver tits and spangly g-string. (Unfortunately the g had lost all of its silver in a too hot wash and now looked like a scabby rubbery skin tone, but its small enough for no1 to notice in the lights - I hope!)
Anyway, my partner walked past the stage, shouting a sexy compliment and nodding towards the stag party in the VIP corner. She had arranged a double dance for the two of us, all they needed was a bit of a gentle reminder and lots of persuasion.
I thought sex - remembered my sexy man at home, that dark mop of almost curls, his naughty grin nuzzling at the back of my neck - and "ting!"I had my filthy face on, shooting dirty scowls at my audience, twirling round the pole so that my head rushed. Call me infantile, but I love that buzz.
I bounded off stage - I am very bouncy 99% of the time, even in 6" perspex heels - and was just walking towards the stag lot when I heard my real name called out. Jesus Christ - who's that, I thought, turning to see a tall, skinny Docherty lookalike. My interest was piqued, but £££ always wins, so I shouted to wait a minute and carried on. I figured I knew the mystery man from my 'normal life'.
However, he had got my name from one of the waitresses - very crafty, I like - and just thought I was hot to trot on stage - the sexiest girl there - which I also like- and wanted a few dances - multiples I also like -$$kerching!!$$
I loved dancing for this man, who ticked all my boxes - tall, skinny, dark hair, played guitar in somewouldnottellmeband, asked me to move closer, and closer, with a husky voice hewn from years of smoky back studios in Camden. I gave hime 3, then some extra, as I was enjoying it too much, and left the booth as horny as a schoolgirl.
This feeling crashed and burned though, as I then found out that the bouncer had charged me for 6 dances, not 3, so my earnings were pisspoornill for all that excitement and hard work.
Where has all the soul gone?
In fact, where has that sexy brute gone? Ahh, if only I was single.......
I was in one of my favourite dresses, a hot little pink number with silver tits and spangly g-string. (Unfortunately the g had lost all of its silver in a too hot wash and now looked like a scabby rubbery skin tone, but its small enough for no1 to notice in the lights - I hope!)
Anyway, my partner walked past the stage, shouting a sexy compliment and nodding towards the stag party in the VIP corner. She had arranged a double dance for the two of us, all they needed was a bit of a gentle reminder and lots of persuasion.
I thought sex - remembered my sexy man at home, that dark mop of almost curls, his naughty grin nuzzling at the back of my neck - and "ting!"I had my filthy face on, shooting dirty scowls at my audience, twirling round the pole so that my head rushed. Call me infantile, but I love that buzz.
I bounded off stage - I am very bouncy 99% of the time, even in 6" perspex heels - and was just walking towards the stag lot when I heard my real name called out. Jesus Christ - who's that, I thought, turning to see a tall, skinny Docherty lookalike. My interest was piqued, but £££ always wins, so I shouted to wait a minute and carried on. I figured I knew the mystery man from my 'normal life'.
However, he had got my name from one of the waitresses - very crafty, I like - and just thought I was hot to trot on stage - the sexiest girl there - which I also like- and wanted a few dances - multiples I also like -$$kerching!!$$
I loved dancing for this man, who ticked all my boxes - tall, skinny, dark hair, played guitar in somewouldnottellmeband, asked me to move closer, and closer, with a husky voice hewn from years of smoky back studios in Camden. I gave hime 3, then some extra, as I was enjoying it too much, and left the booth as horny as a schoolgirl.
This feeling crashed and burned though, as I then found out that the bouncer had charged me for 6 dances, not 3, so my earnings were pisspoornill for all that excitement and hard work.
Where has all the soul gone?
In fact, where has that sexy brute gone? Ahh, if only I was single.......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)