Friday Flash #10 and Masturbation Monday #25

Friday Flash Prompt #11 Happy New Year


Masturbation Monday Prompt Week 123


A new year, a new start.

At least that what I told myself.

But I could travel the world,

New York, London, Paris,

and never escape.

I let you inside my head and now I can’t get rid of you.

I wish I could un-feel,

the touch of your fingers on my skin.

I wish I could un-remember,

the feel of your hands on my body.

I wish I didn’t think about you holding me every night I go to sleep.

I wish I didn’t think about you fucking me every morning.

I don’t want the snapshots and flashbacks in my head.

A flurry of images.

Bodies, sweat, saliva and semen,

Mouths and hands,

cock and cunt,

tits and arse

I don’t want my body remembering,

how it felt,

to kneel for you,

to submit to you,

to surrender to you.

To willingly give you,

whatever you wanted.

To willingly take,

whatever you chose to give.

But I let you inside my head…

More Friday Flash here.

And more Masturbation Monday here.

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The Notebook (or New Year’s Revolution)

Including Boobday #53


Seems that most bloggers are doing a year in review post at this time. I decided not to. This year has been shite. If you’re really interested you can read back. I decided to write a looking forward post instead. There’s no guarantee that 2017 is going to be any better, but I can be better. At least my attitude can be. 2016 was crap for so many reasons, both personally and for the rest of the world, not least so many of my teenage icons passing.

Before Christmas I’d had a couple of OK weeks, I’d had a couple of days when I felt happy, actually felt it, and then along came Friday. It’s like a switch, and I feel like shit again. And I’m tired of it. How many more times am I going to have this happen? Or more accurately, how many more times am I going to let it happen? I spend a couple of days alternating between ‘Woe is me’ and ‘Fucking bastard’ and I’m tired of it. Long story short, I’d decided (again) I needed to change, something, anything, to stop the cycle.

And then Carrie Fisher died. I wasn’t even that much of a fan, I knew who she was, and I vaguely remember her in The Blues Brothers, but the whole Star Wars thing just passed me by. I’ve seen bits and pieces of the films but I don’t have much interest in any of it – Star Wars, Star Trek, Dr. Who, etc. I started reading bits and pieces about her, and let’s just say it gave me an extra kick in the pants.

I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas Day. I’ve barely been to my mum’s. It’s just not the same without my dad there, plus my sister is over from England, she can be a snipey bitch at times. But it was OK, so was Boxing Day.

The problems started on the 28th. I got the gift he’d sent me for Solstice. Bastard. I know he meant well. Bastard. It’s a beautiful embossed leather notebook. Bastard. Even after convincing myself I wasn’t going to let myself get upset about things again there I was sitting thinking ‘Fucker, what the fuck?’ etc. etc. I spent the day angry, upset, confused, teary and I had to go back to my mum’s that evening for more family shit. In the end I’m glad I went, it was good fun. At the end of the evening we were going to put the furniture straight and my sister started, she wanted to wait for my eldest to come back. ‘He knows how they go.’ Two couches, we all know where they go FFS. Then she started about my swearing, despite the fact we’d all been swearing all evening. I kept my mouth shut and went home. I really am done with her. I think 49 years is enough time spent biting my tongue to keep the peace. Good job the notebook didn’t arrive before Christmas I suppose.

So, what to do with the notebook? I thought about returning it, I thought about burning it, I thought about using it, thinking and feeling shit every time I did. In the end I put it away so I couldn’t see it.

I spent yesterday at home, trying to figure out my PLAN for 2017. Small things, simple steps to work out and change the things I don’t like about my life – I can’t spend another year like this. I feel more positive about things than I have for months, I don’t have to spend time feeling shit over him, I won’t spend time feeling shit over him. I need to take control, stand up for myself, get my fire back and start living again.

The first step was my sister, the second step was having to set up a profile on OKC. Because I had deleted all contact details for him it was the only place I could think of looking, I sent him a message asking him to stop. I’m going to leave the profile up till Monday, might get a message from someone worthwhile (doubt it). And the third step was writing this post. It’s a bit all over the place I know but I had to write something. I want to get back to it, writing and taking photos – my photography blog has died. And while writing I found the fourth step – deciding what to do with the notebook. I am going to keep it, and each time I have a thought about him, good, bad, whatever, I’m going to write it down. When I’m ready, or it’s full I’ll either burn it or send it to him. And guess what? It’s Friday and I’m happy!

And of course I had to post for the last Boobday of the year  😀


More Boobday here.


Christmas Wishes

I know there’s still a week to go but if I think about writing too much I end up not writing anything. The words just don’t make sense any more.

You all know I don’t believe in dreams come true, romance or happy ever after, but if I could have one thing this year it would be someone to lean on, just now and again.

Hope you all have a good Christmas etc. I’m sure I’ll be back at some point (and I’m always on Twitter).



The guilt and anger at myself builds over the space of a few days, after a week of feeling good, slowly the bad thoughts and feelings creep back in.

I’ve only myself to blame, I let you in, I was the one who couldn’t refuse you when you found a gap in the wall.

And slowly, stone by stone, I let you further inside, into my mind, into my heart.

Now I don’t know if there’s enough left to rebuild the wall.

Friends say ‘You’ll meet someone else’, and I look around me and ask them ‘Where?’ They have no answer.

I really wasn’t going to write about you again, I thought maybe this time…but no, here you come again creeping into my thoughts.

I just wonder how long?

How long until thoughts of you are a rare, fleeting occurrence?

How long until I can forgive myself for being so stupid again?

How long until the need goes away?

How long until the wall is fully rebuilt?





…but I’m a cynical, old bitch

Wicked Wednesday #42



How do you define romance? What to you is a romantic act or an example of a romantic personality?


I’m pretty sure I’ve said more than once here that I don’t believe in romance. Perhaps I should clarify that statement.

I don’t believe in romance for me. If it works for you then I’m delighted. I think it’s a glitch in my personality, I just don’t like sharing some parts of me with others.

I would define romance as the crap you see in films, on TV or read about in novels. Mostly the characters are young, pretty, have money, freedom – those things which make romance a possibility – being whisked away for a romantic weekend in Paris, an intimate dinner in a favourite restaurant, a tasteful, but expensive gift. Hearts and flowers, and even if things aren’t quite perfect, they soon will be. I rarely watch romantic films, I can’t connect to the majority of characters or storylines and I can’t let go enough to just enjoy the story. The same applies to romantic fiction and erotica, there’s no connection. I might read the occasional chick lit if I find it in the charity shop and I’m in the mood for fluff I don’t need to think about, and I do like to read short erotic pieces on blogs, but I don’t have the patience to read much of it. I do read a lot of fiction but I tend to stick to horror, fantasy or books about serial killers. No connection with the characters but I find I can let go more easily.

I know you can have romance without all the bells and whistles, sometimes it only takes a small gesture – doing something nice for someone you love – even if it’s taking over making the dinner or giving them a silly card just because.

One of the problems I have with romance is that romantic gestures have been few and far between in my life, for most of it the closest I got was a bunch of roses (which I hate) and a box of Milk Tray (which I also hate). And this was more of an obligation than a romantic gesture – last minute at a petrol station job because his sister had reminded him it was Valentine’s or Mother’s Day. There were never any other signs of romance. In twenty odd years we went for dinner once, to the pub maybe three or four times, and to the cinema once. We had two family holidays to visit relatives here in Ireland. Never any spontaneity or just because…and blah, blah, blah.

Another problem is Disney. Ever since I saw Bambi, stupid I suppose, but I don’t believe in happy endings. I always preferred the bad guys, still do. They always get the best lines. And Hollywood romance is always bullshit. I do like the girl in Brave though, I would have loved to have been able to watch her when I was a kid. And I love her hair!

Now I find I’m too cranky and cynical for it. I don’t have the patience for games. I find I don’t know how to respond if someone does something nice, I always wonder what they’re after. I don’t like surprises, or having money spent on me, it makes me uncomfortable. For a little while things were OK, like I say, silly little gestures, but I started to feel uncomfortable about things again.

I don’t do well with people getting too close to me, unless they want to fuck me. Too many times ending up in situations I didn’t want.

If you’re interested in me you don’t have to be romantic or pretend to love me, because now I’ll probably just laugh in your face.

More Wicked Wednesday here.



You say you think about me a lot.

First thing in the morning or last thing at night?

Or am I just an afterthought?

Do I invade your every waking moment,

or disturb your sleep as you do mine?

Or am I just an afterthought?

I don’t need you to quantify,

only to qualify.

Although I wonder,

now I can finally think past you.

Will you become just an afterthought?



Wicked Wednesday #40



Inspiration for this prompt come from the open and honest way of writing by M of the blog Cammies on floor, during and after the breakup with her husband. Many who read that must have thought of their own break-ups, their own slutfests, their own way of dealing with the heartbreak. Come on, share yours with the world.

A slutfest would be good

right about now.

To spend hours and days

fucking you out of my head.

To have someone else

run their hands

over my body.

A new mouth to kiss and bite.

A myriad of new bodies

to explore.

Each one different

to you.

New hands

new mouths

new cocks.


To be able to leave you behind.

A series of one night stands

to be the slut

that I know I am.

Hands between my thighs

searching between the folds

to find the wetness within.

Slick fingers stroking my clit

swollen with need.

Sliding inside me

to banish you.

To be fucked

again and again

night after night

one after the other

cock after cock

until there is nothing left.

My mind empty and quiet.

I wish.


More Wicked Wednesday here.