Thrust action included

The other night I met an unusual companion. well not that unusual for me but unusual for the night which was planned. It started out innocent enough, a quiet drink in soho. I can feel the raised eyebrows at that comment but bear with me, it was the original intention.

So it was five drinks later on our way to salsa class I realised tonight might be a bit more interesting than I had planned. For one, instead of our Cuban salsa class being full of greasy middle aged men, it was full of talent. Bulging biceps and bulging trousers, fluid hips, chiseled jaws, deep set chocolate eyes and broad shoulders. And all that back and forth had got me into a bit of a bother. My steps started to falter as I swooned in the arms of the many salsa gods who kept thrusting me all over the dancefloor. I was concious my friend N was going home to a hot blooded male in her bed and sadly I was not.

That was of course until I met BOB. He didn't look like my type at all so it wasn't until I saw the 'thrust action included' that he caught my full attention. I had to have him. No woman would stand in my way. I went straight to the cashier and felt like a silly school girl picking out a puppy in a window. £40 later I left with an Anne Summers bag that seemed to flash neon lights at passerbys which rattled as the 9 batteries inside clattered around. I kept a firm grip on the bag, determined not to lose it like last time. (that's a story for another time)

Of course I've heard of the rampant rabbit, what woman hasn't? I used to own one myself but I found after I'd had it a few years it's vibrations increased a million times in decibles, getting louder and louder until it sounded like I was being attacked by a rather persistent vacum cleaner or on some occasions a rambunctious jet engine. The crunch came when my flatmate knocked on my door to check I was ok and that's the day my pink rampant rabbit went the way of the
trash.

I have been rabbit-less for 2 years now and after listening to me bemoan my lack of action N dragged me into Anne Summers. And introduced me to perhaps the greatest invention ever, the thrusting rampant rabbit. Otherwise known as BOB, the battery operated boyfriend. The vibrating game has clearly changed while I'd been away. My old rabbit used to have an annoying rotating option that wierdly made you feel like you were undergoing a cervical exam, hardly erotic or orgasm inducing. So I stuck to the vibrating option which did me
just fine.

Until BOB that is. It has a built in thrust action and unlike having a jelly like feel to it, is oddly quite humanlike. Like a man with fantabulous vibrating balls. So after some red hot salsa and many a cocktail I went home to something pbetter than a red blooded male in my bed and better still I didn't have to endure the chainsaw snoring that often follows. So to the rampant rabbit makers out there consider this one customer suitably satisfied.
Xx
jh

Chilean love triangles..

I'm sure I'm not the only one who watched with trepidation as the chilean miners were winched to safety today.  I got tingles just thinking about what it would be like being trapped down there for 69 days. But what didn't surprise me was how everything in life tends to boil down to the little things, well not little, but human things. Boy and girl things. There a more than a few broken hearts woven into this disaster, which unveiled a shed load of duplicity. Duplicity that makes alot a lot of women a bit scared. There wasn't just one miner who had his lover and wife turn up at the mine, there have been several who have had not just another lover, but two or three other lovers on the go at once, wives, girlfriends and mutliple children. I don't know about anyone else, but I find this as, if not more scary than being trapped in a rickety, old mine shaft. This is the sort of thing you used to read in movies or in books, but it's fast becoming a way in which we live.Telling different versions of the truth, to live a life or as many multiple lives as we like. 

Michael could be your boyfriend, a stock broker by day, escort user by weekends and S&M cyber chat addict in his downtime. He could also have his own dating website page just for hooking up with randoms. It's enough to make you cynical and bitter. Should you do a big old internet check on men before you make them your + 1, a pipl search to check their credit rating, a bit of facebook stalking? I think you could drive yourself crazy doing this, and in fact I have nearly done so with one guy I recently dated. P. He was older, more mature but secretive. I stayed at his, he stayed at mine. We became BF/GF, and started to see each other alot. But three nights a week, every week he wouldn't be free. He told me it was due to sport commitments. It wasn't. One night, I happened to be walking through a quiet area of bayswater with a friend when I saw him with her. They were out to dinner and she was wearing a ring, his ring.

Cest le vie. Sure I cried, sure I felt betryaed and hurt but I like to think of falling love as much the same as putting on a blindfold and taking a step. That step might be in any direction and it might lead to anywhere. There could be nothing below, but you have to take that step. You could fall, you could stumble. Or it could just be the softest grass you have ever walked on. Either way you have to have faith to do it. Some people might call me a sucker but I prefer the word idealist. Head in the sand? Maybe, but I'd rather have that, then it full of fears and insecurities prompting me to scroll through his phone looking for evidence. Will I do it again? Absolutely. Eyes blindfolded, hoping for the best and if I fall, well I've seen worse.

I'm sure if you asked any of these chilean women who have been betrayed and hurt by the whole affair, if they would take back the years and decisions they made with these men, a lot would say they have regrets, but would they regret falling in love with them? That instant they fell for them? I doubt it. Sure the hurt would kill, more than kill, it would cripple you right now. But that moment when you know. You really know, and it's so utterly terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. No I don't think anyone could ever regret that  moment, regardless of the heartbreak. In the midst of betrayl and broken trust there is always hope, hope for better days and better times... that and a box load of chocolate and I'm sure that won't be in short supply over there...
xx
jh

Two wheeled flirting London style

Blue skies seem to have brought out the smiles today and the inner flirt in leveryone. I cycled into work today and nearly fell off my bike. Not due to a rogue jaywalker or sneaky car door. But due to some surreptious flirting from my fellow riders on the road.

I was dressed in nothing flash, just a touch of lycra, a hoodie and pink helmet and gloves but it was more my bike than me that seemed to attract attention at least to start with. I was casually stopped at lights when I felt eyes on me, I turned  and saw mister serious cyclist eyeing my bike up and down, like he would like nothing better than to be alone with it in a dark room. I felt like draping my bike in a towel just to protect her modesty. When I caught him looking at my bike and admiring my wicker basket he nodded and said 'Nice bike', much the way I've heard many men say 'Nice tits'.

At 7am in the morning it was the last thing I expected to experience at Euston station crossing intersection. He gave me a wink and another nod and rode off. I was still a bit bemused and to be honest still waking up when I got to the third set of lights and another cyclist went past me, only instead of whizzing past he slowed down turned to me and  said 'morninnng'.. not as in a typical brisk 'Morning' but with a slow drawl that is said with a smile and hidden wink in the words. I nearly tumbled off my bike and started to think what is going on today?

I was still thinking about the first two earlier incidents when I heard a bike bell chirping, shrilling from the opposite side of the road. I looked over and saw another male cyclist, decked out in full lycra and waterbottle in hand, looking my way. Correction. Looking at me. I twinged my bell twice and he nodded. I nodded. He winked, I smiled. He gave a tilt of the head and I raised my eyebrows. The lights turned green and we went in opposite directions, cheeky grins fixed on both our faces.

I don't know if it was the blue sky, the way the sun glinted on my pale blue pashley or something in the air, but I think I might be wearing the same pullover again tomorrow. Who knows, perhaps Mr Darcy might ride past  ;P

xx
jh

wishing on the lottery and tooth fairies

As it is I can't help but feel a little bit frustrated today, I overhead two girls talking ont the tube this morning. One of them was bemoaning the fact that this guy was giving her the run around and not treating her properly. The other one, who had a wedding ring on with as much bling as she could muster without weighing her hand down to the pavement, kept reassuring her,   "Don't worry sarah, if its meant to be it will be, not to worry you'll meet the right guy,"

If one more person says that line in my earshot, or worse to me, I think I'll pick up a hundred 'hes just not that into books' and put them in a blender and serve it up to them as soup for dinner. Its not pleasant to hear all the time and hard to swallow, thank you very much.

I just love the way some people say you'll meet the right guy. It reminds me of the dedicated locals in my home time back in Aus, queing up for the lotto with their fingers crossed, repeating the mantra "one day, one day and woudn't it be nice". It's kind of akin to going to sleep one night and expecting the tooth fairy to leave a perfect man under your pillow in the morning. All you have to do when you wake up is to inflate via the hole in the butt, to make him full of air and hey presto, here's your man.


But don't get me wrong I'm not a bitter twisted singleton and frankly I think most single women in London have endured a bit of a bad rap. We are sometimes viewed as hostile towards men, like they are totalitarian states we must invade, conquer and control much like saddam hussein on a power trip but this is just not true. Sadam Hussain was a sadist, we are just after a cuddle with a man with a perfect penis.. hardly conquerers or dictators. If we want to talk about dictators, then perhaps its time to point out the biggest dictator out there is the male phallis dominates and influences men on a daily, if not hourly basis.

I can safely promise I've never had my vagina tell me what to do or that its compelled me to go and grab a guys ass and take him home only to tell him the next day that I have a boyfriend and he better go because he's coming down from liverpool today... But don't get me wrong I'm not bitter in the least, and nor am I a man hater..

rant completed
xx
jh

Final warning to all london men - no more BSGB

Thinking about the potential gentleman codes of conduct made think of all the BSGB I've come across. Bad Single Guy Behaviour that it is. I know lots of girls are guilty of giving men the run around in London, but never have I come across such bad manners or behaviour than  when I first arrived in London. Australian men aren't overly romantic, in fact they aren't overly complicated but you tend to know where you stand with them and while they might have BO now and again they don't have really bad bedroom etiquette.

English men its time to clean up your act, I fancy circulating a flyer at all the countless speed dating events in London just ot get the message out there. At the top of the list would be:

• Non reciprocal fellatio is unforgivable. Full stop. If a man won't go down on a girl but wants you to do it to him he clearly has something against pussies and therefore should be shown the door. A man should worship the area and feel grateful to be granted access to it
• Despite what you make think, waiting games do not make us want you more. In fact it does the opposite, the only ones who end up wanting you more are the bunny boilers so perhaps you deserve it. No we won't have sex with you more quickly if you wait a week to respond to a message, in fact it reduces your chances of being admitted to the land of the vagina by more than two thirds. Known fact. Unless you are an astronaut, or swimmer who for some unknown reason can't be near a phone then the mantra with messages is you recieve one, you respond to it. Promptly. 
• The butt area is forbidden. This speaks for itself, caresses only and compliments are welcome. Men obsessed with anal should consult with a blow up dummy or some porn. I say this despite being actually quite fond of it, as most sexually adventurous and open girls do but it has to be done with a person you have a measured sense of trust for. Put a ring on my finger and you can enter the one way street buddy. If not, we could perhaps experiment with a strap on if you are that obssessed.
• Cheat if you dare. If you decide to sleep around and cheat be prepared for the consequences. In this day and age there is no need for lying and playing games. After a thrill? lets go have sex outside where we could get caught or in your best friends wardrobe. Don't think you will get away with it, no one ever does and when the shit hits the fan you really don't want to deal with a woman scorned. 
• Space? Saying you need space to anyone you are dating is just not acceptable. Like space? Need it badly? Become a bloody astronaut
• Saying I love you but I'm not in love with you is sufficient reason enough for the death penalty. The man may as well have taken a chainshaw to your heart and sliced and diced it to pieces and laughed. If you don't love me, lie and then leave. The next man who says this to me will experience real pain. This is the only instance in which lying is ok in a relationship.
• Nookie cookie. If you don't want a relationship and only want sex be man enough to admit it. I will not punish a man who is honest enough to say what he wants. More than likely he will be rewarded with access to the pussy playground. 
• Me Jane, You Tarzan. Don't assume all women are the same and want the same things. Don't assume the psycho ex that is still stalking you on facebook has the same qualities as every other woman and that we are all after your assets. News flash, its 2010 and we can buy our own assets. The only assets we covet are the ones in your pants.
• OH OH no. Don't be selfish in the distribution of orgasms, share the love and give it as much as you can to the woman you're with. If you only look afte ryourself you may soon find yourself in short supply or left in the company of your left hand. Don't tempt the orgasm karma goods who'll strike you down with impotence for this level of selfishness. Besides, if the poor woman has stuck around despite the lack of orgasms I guarantee you she isn't happy and it won't be long before she is looking for her orgasms elsewhere
• Fabio is a fallacy. News flash - you don't have the magical gift of making a woman orgasm just b looking at her and randomly probing your fingers back and forth. It actually requires some deterixty and effort. Just because she moans, it doesn't mean its from passion. The problematic thing here is if you tell a man you're faking it or not experiencing the big O he gets insecure and starts feeling terrible about himself. Hello?? What about the poor woman who isn't getting her rocks off?  So the moral of the story is boys and girls, don't think you are gods gift, listen and ask its the least you can do. Van Gogh didn't become an artist over night and you can't become the god of sex just because you own one of the key instruments.
• Groundskeeping - keep the bush trimmed. No one likes to experience public hair flossing. Believe ir ot not, the reason most women get waxed/shaved is for the ease of access and presentation, not because we enjoy having hair follicles ripped out of our skin and sensitive bits. How do you think your lady feels going down to tackle the amazon jungle in which your schlong is hidden? We don't have whipper snippers built into our mouths, so be considerate and trim it. 
• Skidmarks - no one likes them. Don't bring up the Ex or your mother on the first date or dates in general. Its just plain rude, no one asked to see the skid marks on your jocks and you have just done the social dating equivalent. Keep it to yourself, at least until she's seen you naked and knows what she's in for.
• Godzilla or Mighty Mouse. Finally size does matter. Some girls like small, some like big. But size does matter. If you are small, you best have excellent oral and hand skills to make up for the downfall. If not you are being just plain selfish. Every girl will compliment it, regardless of size but deep down they'll have a preference and you'll have to sell yourself. Fact.

I'm seriously considering making a flyer of these thoughts and distributing. The women will thank me and so will the men. Imagine the hours of  hurt, anger and downright dissapointment that could have bene prevented if men knew of these simple guidelines? Lily Allen for one wouldn't be lying in the wet patch fo the bed feeling so hard done by if men knew some of these simple facts.

If only....

jh

The age of the gentleman

I may have just had a close encounter of the third kind. No, I'm not talking about being beamed up to a UFO and probed and poked, although that would make for an interesting story. This encounter was with one of London's most elusive characters. The Gentleman.

During my three years living and working in London  I've become more than accustomed to all the cut throat tube door entrance shoving, discreet elbowing, guerilla hand bag maneuvering and tactical eye contact avoidance that comes with the daily tube and bus working day commute. The mantra  most repeat to themselves is it's every man and woman for themselves and keep calm and carry on.

But tonight, chivalry was the order of the hour and Mr Darcy himself made an appearance, this time not in the form of the pages from a jane austen classic or from one of my silly daydreams.

I was stuck on the C11 bus with many other tired weary souls who just wanted to get home and  out of the sea of traffic which had somehow snaked into one of the world's worst traffic jams. The bus was already packed to the rafters, and I was one of many standing. It was a perilous choice, either lean my face away from one commuter's musky, sweaty armpit only to end up pushed up against someon's back which was already damp and slimy with back sweat.  Hardly the setting for a chivalrous act to say the least.

When the girl hopped on the bus, she looked bedraggled and I barely noticed her. She looked how I felt. Her hair was wet from the drizzle, she had far too many sainsbury's shopping bags and her handbag was dragging along the ground. I saw her stumble near the first row of seats then make her way to the standing section where we were all trying to maintain our balance and ridicuous bubbles of personal space at the same time.

Suddenly a man who until now had looked completely sane and normal in his work suit and tie stood up in the first row of seats and shouted at her "Are you going to apologise for that?"

The whole of the bus averted their eyes, but turned down their ipods in mild interest.

"I said sorry, what did you expect your leg was in the aisle?" she replied back.

"You don't just step on someone's foot like that, show some respect," he shouted back at her. Shouting for no reason at all really, as the bus had fallen completely silent by now.

"You saw me struggling but you didn't move, I just tried to get past," she replied and shook her head to dismiss the ongoing conversation.

He was practically going purple in the face with anger by now and blurted out "Stupid fucking cow," and sat back down shaking his head.

The rest of the bus seems to be in a bit of mild shock and I must admit I too was shocked that a stranger would speak to someone else like that, let alone a man to a woman.

I looked around at the other men on the bus who were  swapping looks of outrage with each other when one man raised his voice, "That kind of language is uncalled for when talking to a lady, I think you should apologise for that," he said clearly and evenly. To which many on the bus retorted with 'Here, here".

The purple faced suit man stood up and turned around incredulus and said "The stupid cow deliberately stepped on my foot. No need for that kind of behaviour on the bus and I was sick of it," he responded, clearly not ashamed of his outburst and more than happy to go into bat for another argument.

To which the gentleman replied "Regardless, no one should be spoken to like that. Show some respect for all the women on the bus. Imagine if she was your sister or mother, you wouldn't want someone talking to her like that. I don't care if her heel ended up chopping off your wee little pinkie toe. It's uncalled for you should be ashamed of yourself,"

I swooned as did many other women on the bust. That's right, I swooned for  this ordinary, hum drum looking fellow, with a wedding band (I noticed this when he first spoke up) who hadn't struck me as overly memorable five minutes earlier. Chivalry is sexy, boys please note.

The angry man went to pipe up again and the girl interupted and said this particular passenger does this everytime she gets on, if its not her, its someone else who has pissed him off and he has a go at them.

The angry man was starting to rant now and have a go at The Gentleman saying "I fucking deserve to be left alone on my home from a hard working day and not have to put up with rude bitches on the bus.." and he was going further when another bloke piped up and said:
"All those who think this man shoud shut his mouth or get kicked off the bus raise their hand now,"

And wouldn't you know it, the whole bus put up their arms including the bus driver who tapped on his microphone and said "For those of you who can't see I've got my arm up too, so you, mister trouble maker big mouth you can shut it and let us all get home in peace or get off"

The bus broke out into a random applause and the purple angry man sat back down grumbling and kept his mouth shut for the rest of the journey. What added icing to the cake was every person who went past him on the waiy out said "Excuse me, Excuse me"and made a big deal of being overly polite when they went past angry purple faced man. One woman went past and said to him "Now you have a lovely evening now, smiling is better for you then frowning," and it made the rest of the passengers have a bit of a giggle.

 By the time I got off the bus, The Gentleman had well and truly departed and when he did, he did so to a round of applause from the rest of the remaining passengers.

All in all a heart warming  brush with chivalry and it has left me wondering if there are other gentlemen out there in London, I know I've had many account with many masquerading as one and if any abide by a universal code of conduct, such as this one (Gentleman's code of conduct).

And most importantly,  does  Mr Darcy ride the C11 bus?


jh