Dark thoughts again. I tell myself, over and over:

It was not the way I wanted it to be. It was not how I wanted it. It was not what I wanted - not like that.

I've never bought any sort of personal massage device, ever. I've been to Ann Summers parties (where the sales promoters have enthusiastically suggested testing a vibrator's power on the tip of your nose) and I once went into a pretty hardcore sex shop when I was in university, but that was really to buy my dance pole.

All of a sudden, I've become very attracted to the idea of glass. To me, it doesn't seem monstrous or sleazy, but in fact, rather beautiful; plus, quite a few reviews on the Internet have remarked - raved, even - at how smooth its surface is compared to ordinary silicone. It's not the stuff of farce, is glass. I see it as an artistic toy, a work of art I can have fun with.

Although a few vibrating glass toys have been invented, I'm not really interested in what it can do so much as what it looks like. Is that superficial? For instance, LoveHoney sells one, and it's a clever idea that allows its user to chop and change, depending on their mood.

That pales in comparison, however, to Bondara's glass selection. I am literally in love with their pink Hera. It is so, so gorgeous. It's pink without being patronisingly kitsch, and those curves are incredibly appealing. It's on sale now, and by goodness, I wish I'd discovered this when I was still living in the UK. I reckon I'd have had quite a ball, although getting it back to my home country would have been quite a nightmare.

The whole glass toy range at Bondara is fantastic. I really like the fact that they've named their toys after Greek deities, since I've always loved Greek mythology and it gives the toys an air of elegant debauchery, rather than just giving them tacky titles such as 'The Thruster' or 'Monster Cock', or whatever they're naming adult toys these days.

My other favourite is Hyperion, which is definitely quite a good idea for a toy and is probably very entertaining to use in front of a partner, but for personal satisfaction (not that I'm an expert), the shape looks a bit too basic compared to my first choice. Selene also looks like it would make an enjoyable toy, but I must highlight Artemis as the prettiest plug I've ever seen. I doubt I'd buy it, and I'm wondering whether the goddess herself would be so pleased if she knew how her name was being used, but its transparent, crystalline quality is charming.

While Bondara do overseas delivery for £4.99, I'm very tempted to risk it, but then the post here is so unreliable, and they already rifle through the parcels for valuables. Tut, tut.

Dammit! Why didn't I think of this?!?!

Sitting in the car this evening, waiting for the rush-hour traffic to finish its crawl, I wondered if it would have been better off if I'd gone ahead and let it happen anyway. After it first happened, I mean.

Perhaps I might as well have done it - as I found out all those months afterward, it would have been safe, and don't they say it feels so much better? And then we might still be speaking and writing to each other now, and I might have something to look forward to. I wouldn't be wondering, every night, who he's met in Metropolis now and if he ever thinks of me and understands what he did.

But at the time, after I breathed again and everything inside me had turned to ice, I told myself to stick to my guns and say no. The temptation was there, and I did consider it for a second, but I knew - I knew I would be betraying myself and everything I stood for. That I would never play the fool, and that I would always look after myself. What if creation defied everything I threw at it and grew into life? I wouldn't let myself be so stupid, and I'm glad.

So I got my wish.

"I have known the violent side of men, the side that can destroy another human being because of their own desires." - Tori Amos

Fantasy #38: Slow-dancing in a floaty, ditzy flower print dress with a boy I like, and the Arctic Monkeys' 'Cornerstone' in the background. Because it tugs at my heartstrings and makes me want someone to hold my hand as I turn, lower my eyes, smile, and flirt coyly.

So. Shall I write about how I made love with a boy while I still had the bruises left by another on my body?

All made out of more love, of course, not violence. Or if not love, then desire. And afterwards, I kissed Will goodbye - perhaps for the last time, I thought - and headed to brunch, then dinner. I had to cover the bruises with makeup in case anyone noticed; that's how bad they were. I looked like I'd been mauled. (Which I had, I suppose. In a good way.)

After dinner, TA cancelled on me. Then phoned later, as I was scouring shower tiles, to ask if I could go round before he left for home. I went, of course.

I thought he just wanted to talk, so when he leaned in and kissed me, I asked: 'Are you sure you've got time for this?' He murmured he did. Off went the lights, our clothes - or was it the other way round?

In the dark, we ran our hands over each other, tasted each other. 'I'll miss this,' I said. By that, I meant I'd miss him. I doubted I'd ever find such beauty again. His favourite CD played in the background, and after all, he'd always had good taste in music (amongst other things). And when we finally were, it was different - better. Slower. More gentle, less for show. At last, fucking that wasn't self-conscious on his part. Oh, why couldn't he have done it this way from the start?

If we weren't kissing, our faces were only inches apart. I could feel him breathing, hear him, hear us giving little gasps, little moans as we moved together. The sound of us against the silence. It was the closest I'd ever come to making love with him properly. And then, slightly sour, I wondered who'd taught him to be less frantic in bed. I doubted he'd suddenly had some sort of sexual revelation.

It was over too soon. He had to leave, I had boxes to pack and a guilty conscience to ignore. Walking back home later, I would realise it had been just sixteen hours since I'd been in bed with someone else.

I got dressed with the lights on while he stared up at me from the bed, lying there in just his boxers. I'd forgotten how his eyes had that look - still had it - that could make me fall in love with him again and again, and melt me, melt me. Now I wonder if he saw the marks on my shoulder - I'd forgotten about them - because even with foundation dusted across the bites, you could still see them slightly. Careless of me, but maybe he wouldn't really have cared. I'm sure he had other lovers, and I certainly had mine.

At the door, I wished him luck. He told me a Boy Lie. I kissed him and left, and when I was halfway back to my house, I realised I had only seen him for half an hour, tops. So much in so little time.