Cherry Blossom Madness

2009-11-25T16:52:00.003Z

Shay's excellent S-Spot blog, which I read fairly often and highly recommend, just put up an article about The Sexiest Smells, or smells that turn you on. It's an interesting topic, and one that I haven't really dwelt on very much, but it plays such an important role in my memories of boys I've been with.

After all, I go crazy for perfume. Crazy. I could wander around the Perfume department of Selfridges all day, and I can think of three scents I would happily bathe in. All of those three have an element of vanilla, which greatly appeals to me because it's slightly musky, and ever so slightly exotic while being comfortingly familiar at the same time. It's a versatile element in a perfume, too: for the perfume that I go really, really mad for, the vanilla is mixed with smoky undertones and heady - but not heavy - floral notes. If I put it on, I feel utterly sexy.

My other favourite perfume is French, and smells of vanilla, pears and musk. I put it on if I feel like something sumptuous, a little touch of luxury to lift my mood. I'll wear it for a first date, or to meet friends. A special occasion. But enough about me - the boys now.

For the boys, it seems to be about smoke. My overriding memory of Boy #1 is of the second time we kissed. We were at a party, and people had been smoking spliffs; I remember how the smell of the smoke clung to his clean hair, and how I had loved the greenness of the smell, that peculiar lilt to it.

Boy #2 sometimes used Chanel's Allure Homme, but it was really when he wore Kenzo Homme that stirred me. I remembered it when we met each other after that two-year gap, and breathed him in again, Kenzo plus the smell of fresh smoke from his cigarettes. It suited him. Sometimes, if I'm shopping or if I'm in the duty-free section in an airport, I'll pick up a bottle and sniff it hopefully, as if it could bring us to life again.

As for Boy #3 - meh. I know all boys use Lynx, but he used it so often that it was virtually his calling card. And for the real 'special occasions', he'd spray on some sort of generic cologne that was synthetic and inoffensive - or rather, plain boring. I know that sounds snobbish, and I do realise that not ever boy can afford a personalised scent designed for him specially by Serge Lutens. Scents that don't bear a designer name are not automatically tacky and horrible - not at all. As a child, I used to use solid lotus perfume from Nepal, scraped from anonymous little copper jars. The smell of a particular Body Shop perfume is still the only scent that will stop me dead in the street, because that smell is of my mother. But I want a boy who wears something with texture, with a little more soul to it than something that's so blatantly mass-marketed.

TA smelt of hair conditioner - his hair usually had a tropical, holiday-y sort of scent that was unapologetically artificial. It was pleasant, though. And most of the time, I didn't get to pause and think about what sort of cologne he wore, since we were busy removing each other from our clothes.

I can't quite remember exactly how Will Turner smelt, but I know it made me hungry for him. I know I saw a bottle of Paco Rabanne somewhere in his living room, although it could have belonged to one of his housemates. I have a feeling that it was him that I smelt - the essence of him, the faint and not-unpleasant smell of sweat, and then that night that he'd stood near a bonfire.

Back it goes to smoke, and it has all gone up in smoke now.

2009-12-07T13:13:00.002Z

What I didn't say was that I can't live here anymore. I can't. I want my old life back. I need it back. I want the life where I used to have friends, I used to fuck beautiful boys, I used to have fun whenever I wanted and I didn't have to account for it, I didn't have to report back home at a certain time. I want to be in a place where I don't have to worry so much about being attacked on the street. I want to be allowed to go wherever I want on my own two feet, and I don't have to worry that I'll bump into something and crash and damage.

Know what else hurt? Having to admit that I haven't done what I was expected to have done. But can't you see that I'm scared and I don't know which direction to go in, and I've been waiting, waiting for someone to show me in the right direction but they haven't, and I'm beginning to think I should have figured it out by myself and I knew that all along but I didn't do anything about it.

I am going to go fucking insane if I have to stay here. Once, I lived, but now I'm nothing.

2009-12-01T03:12:00.002Z

Dear Will Turner --- last night, I dreamt that we fell back into bed together again, no questions asked and no accusations made. The feeling of pressing our bodies against each other, your weight on top of me, having you bite me in exactly the right places once again, felt as right and inevitable as the crashing of waves against a rock.

Oh, how sweet and wonderful it was to be with you again. I'm terrified now - I'm scared that fucking any other boy will never feel as delicious as it was with you that first time, when I could only respond in open-mouthed delight as I discovered that you thought exactly the way I did in bed.

I woke up hungry for you and aching, realising that our time together was almost definitely over, largely by my hand but then again, also because of yours. Yes, I miss you too. I miss the Will I knew before you cut off my breathing. I miss the scrape of stubble across my stomach and against my thigh. I miss the Will who would kiss not only my lips but my wrists and forehead, and I miss the way you would look at me with those wolfish grey eyes to tell me that you really, really meant business and that you were either going to kill me or fuck me into next week.

I would like to think that our minds still work in tandem, and that across the world where you're lying in bed right now, you're dreaming about us too.

2009-06-07T17:46:00.003+01:00

Funny how a day can pivot on its axis and do a complete turnaround. I was feeling so down in the early afternoon that I was listening to Billie Holiday and weeping a bit. It was grey and dreary, and it seemed that summer was well and truly gone.

Then I started watching the French Open, and was trying to stop hyperventilating when I suddenly noticed that TA - of all people! - had tried to Facebook chat with me fifteen minutes ago. So, I picked up the thread, and we had a decent conversation, albeit a fairly distracted one:

TA
what u doing over summer?

Cherry

going back home

it's the end of my course now, so i'm moving out of the UK

TA

when u going?

Cherry

very soon :(

TA

gotta make sure i see u before u go

Oh, TA. I swore I wouldn't. I was thinking of texting you goodbye, but even that seemed like a bad idea. I don't know if you know how much I love you. I reckon you certainly have no idea that knowing you has enabled me to write two of my most important pieces of writing. And no boy has ever given me that same thrill, that rush that I felt when our eyes met the second time round. I count myself lucky to have been able to experience that.

And I promised myself the third time would be the last time. But if you want it, I think I do too. Sleeping with Boy #20 means nothing in this light. But with you, it can never be so easily dismissed.

And Will Turner has invited me round to dinner again tonight. Time to primp, I suppose.

2009-11-02T16:37:00.003Z

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.

2009-10-16T13:52:00.003+01:00

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.

2009-10-30T16:41:00.002Z

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.

2009-10-19T13:51:00.000+01:00

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

2009-06-08T05:52:00.005+01:00

In one of Sex and the City's episodes, Carrie says something along the lines of 'A girl will always remember the first time she has sex; the first time she has good sex...' - and I don't remember the rest.

But I think last night was it, with Will Turner. Good sex, I mean. Or at least, the best I've had so far. Sure, it took a while to actually get to - he went on and on about postmodernism to the extent that I came very close to whacking him about the head with an art house cinema DVD, but I finally grabbed the bull by the horns and we ended up getting very heated on the couch.

Things started off slow and slightly awkwardly, and I remember thinking, 'Oh brilliant, he's so shy that he's probably going to stop after he's undone my top button,' but suddenly my bra was on the floor and we were heading upstairs.

After shooing the cat off the bed, he quickly finished making the bed while I casually examined his CD collection, then stroked my arm and murmured, 'Now didn't I leave you more undressed than you are now?' And woah.

I quickly discovered that we have very similar preferences in terms of where we like to be touched - ears and neck. Only Boy #2 has ever gone for the ear thing, but he was never so responsive as Will Turner. Even stroking his ears and running my fingers along his neck - never mind touching below the waistline - was enough to seriously distract him from any discussion of surrealist sculpture. 'So it's the ears and neck that do it for you, then?' I whispered. 'Would you not agree?' he asked. 'Yes,' I replied, 'Oh, yes.'

The way he touched me was marvellous too - happy to go down on me for ages and ages, although disconcertingly, very into his 69s. And he'd do those little kisses along the length of my arms, on the base of my wrists where my pulse beat, on the skin of my thighs, all those touches that I realised I've taught myself not to expect from boys anymore.

There was that moment where I asked him if he had protection and he looked at me apologetically, and said, 'Ah... I don't think so. It's just that I haven't had a girlfriend in a long time.' Which implies that he either sleeps around without protection (sound familiar, Boy #3?) or is fairly discerning about who he gets with. Hard to guess these things, I suppose. Anyhow, I had slipped one in my purse just in case, so we were alright.

Possibly the most surprising moment was when I was waiting for him to just jump in there like most boys have done in the past, usually with minimal concern for my own comfort or pleasure, but he continued to touch me. When I pressed him to go, he told me gently, 'No, no, you can't rush these things.' Oh my God - a man who finally 'takes his time and does everything right', as Salt 'n' Pepa would say. Hallelujah.

When he did, it was pretty good. The only thing stopping me enjoying myself was myself, really, but nothing I can help at the moment. Size wise, near perfect - not too massive, not microscopically small. Even when I started crying, as I often do, he proved himself to be the only boy who has ever asked me - with genuine concern, too - 'I'm not hurting you, am I?'

Amazing night. Amazing. I can't stop feeling like I want to tell every single person (parents and relatives excluded, of course) just how fucking fantastic we are in bed together. Perhaps it will wear off - I hope not - but for now, I'm beaming.

N.B. After quite a lot of searching, I finally found the specific SATC quote: 'In a single gal's life, there are three important firsts. The first time you have sex; the first time you have good sex; and the first time you see a guy-you-just-started-dating's apartment.' (Carrie, The Perfect Present) I personally don't know about the third 'first time' being that important at all, but then again, apart from Boy #2's apartment - or rather, his parents' apartment, but it was still so unbelievably amazing that when we broke up, I was more upset about not being able to go back than the death of the relationship - it has mainly been a rented student room.

2009-09-29T16:22:00.000+01:00

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

2009-09-12T18:53:00.003+01:00

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.

2009-09-14T18:39:00.002+01:00

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.

2009-09-11T14:12:00.002+01:00

I suddenly remembered that second dinner - or was it the first? - when you asked me if we should make lightning. How you poured a little milk into a glass, put a light bulb in it, then turned the microwave on.

When I watched the same experiment in Physics class all those years back, I swear I'd seen the bulb turn purple. This time, it shot fine threads of light around the metal interior, as if you were some kind of Zeus-figure. What shame, what a shame I turned out to be your Leda.

2008-09-11T08:58:00.003+01:00

One apparently regains a sense of innocence after spending a long period at home. Back in my second city, which seemed to be practically dead apart from a few worried-looking international students and elderly locals, I caught up with those of us who had returned earlier than Freshers Week and headed down to Metropolis.

After a while, two girls - one of whom had the cutest cropped blonde haircut, enough to feed my current penchant for Agyness Deyn - asked if they could sit at our table and started up a conversation with Iana, who will chat to absolutely anyone, so before I knew it, she was up on the dance floor with the other girl, who wasn't quite as model-y cute, but knew how to dress well in Topshop. I didn't get to chat with them at first, because they were sitting on the other side of the table, but I did smile at them whenever they looked over, partly because I was still so taken with the blonde girl's haircut, and partly because I had a double vodka, lemonade and blackcurrant in my hand.

I was talking to FB about something when I suddenly felt a hand brush my back. I looked right and found Topshop Girl standing there. 'Heya, could I buy you a drink?' she asked. 'Oh honey, no, it's okay - I should buy you a drink!' I exclaimed (I am given to being unusually generous when drunk). 'No, no, I'll buy you a drink,' she insisted. 'What are you drinking?' 'Erm... water, actually,' I said sheepishly. She nipped off to the bar in a flash.

Iana leaned over the table towards me. 'You do realise that those two are gay, right?' The penny dropped; you would probably have heard the cogs grinding in my head if the music hadn't been so loud. 'Seriously?!' I said. 'Why else would a girl buy another girl a drink?' Iana reasoned. 'I thought she was just being friendly!' I hissed. 'Shit, Iana, how do I get out of this one?' 'Just accept the drink and say thank you, but that she isn't your type.'

'Are you sure you want water?' Topshop Girl had reappeared again. 'Erm... Tell you what, I'll come with you,' I said, and went to the bar with her. I actually had a great conversation with her and her - unbelievably - Agyness-blonde twin sister. It was really very flattering that Topshop Girl was hitting on me; I suppose this is the first time that I've ever openly been approached by someone of my own gender, and honestly speaking, I'm still open and willing to experiment. After all, I often think the female body is far, far more beautiful than the average male body. And since I'm such a girly girl, perhaps it would be easier to have a relationship with someone who doesn't have worship Jeremy Clarkson and shares my passion for dancing and shopping.

However, in front of my friends, I was much more hesitant. Although they're pretty liberal, they were still homophobic enough to yell, 'Hey, it's the lesbians!' when we went back to sit at the table. The evening passed in a haze of worsening music and fights between myself and Topshop Girl to buy each other drinks - after all, it would have been horrible of me just to keep accepting them from her, but unfortunately, she fought hard and won. I also learned that it's awkward when you nip off to the loo, only to find the person who's trying to pick you up gliding out of there; for me, the ladies' loo has always been a sanctuary of (relative) calm and reflection, where you can reapply your lipgloss and say to your (straight) girlfriends, 'My God he was fugly!' or 'He's so incredibly hot. I might not make it home tonight...' Comments like these, of course, are impossible to make when a potential suitoress is allowed into the same area as you, rather than waiting outside, hopefully eagerly, having emerged from the hellhole that is the men's toilet in Metropolis.

We got dancing on the dance floor, although I also remember dancing with FB and Iana. 'She asked me if you were gay, you know,' Iana said to me when we were bouncing around to Santogold. 'I told her that you hadn't displayed any sort of behaviour in the past that would suggest that, so you probably weren't inclined that way.' Hmmm. So perhaps I give off a Sapphic aura, then? FB denied it, sweet boy. 'But couldn't you tell that they were gay?' he asked. 'I've been away for two and a half months, for fuck's sake!' I said. 'I forgot that there was anything like lesbianity in existence. What's the word? Closeted, I believe.'

And all the way through, I was still looking for TA. I briefly thought of texting him, but then thought, 'What could I give him?' and it's true - the option of another night in bed was impossible, since it was That Time of the Month. I also thought I saw Oddly Hot Lead Singer wearing an 'I <3 NY' T-shirt, but FB wisely advised me not to approach him - so uncool!

Topshop Girl and I were dancing together when she took my hand. 'Can I kiss you?' she asked. And I would have, I think. But oh, why did she have to ask me there? If only she could have taken me to a dark corner of the club and kissed me there. I smiled and her and made my pitiful excuse: 'I'm sorry, I'm kind of in a strange place right now.'

So the kiss didn't happen. I somehow walked away from them both, and didn't see them again. I assume that they went off to catch their train back home.

I do feel bad. I let her buy me two drinks, and bought her none.

If I see her again, I'll apologise to her. Girlfriend intentions or not, she really was lovely, and her sister too. And by goodness, Topshop Girl really can cut hair.

2009-09-03T11:57:00.003+01:00

And so time and time again I would surrender my love to you -
Who'd have known that in a moment you'd leave me behind?
Since we are now poles apart, east and west,
How much better if, from the start, we had never met?

- Song of Everlasting Resentment, Wang Jiaoluan

I wished for a man
With a single heart,
That we should not part
When our hair turned white,
Not a bamboo rod,
Swayed by the tail
Of any wriggling fish.
A man with a steady will
Cannot be had for money.

- A Song of White Hair, Zhuo Wenjun

2009-06-16T04:13:00.001+01:00

But in the end, it wasn't Will Turner who would be my last in this city. It was none other than TA.

And I actually rather liked it, I think.

2009-06-15T11:18:00.002+01:00

Lying in bed with Will Turner after making the beast for the second time, I was stroking his hair as his hands drifted over my body. I felt better than the morning before, even though there were still bloodstains that needed to be hidden, because things had gone much better the third time round.

'I wish I could have met you earlier,' I whispered. He nodded. Then we would have had more time together.

But then, perhaps things would be different - as I said to RM, perhaps I'd become neurotic about whether our relationship had just become based on sex alone, as so many of my relationships often are, or dreading having to meet his friends and engage in existentialist discussion. Non, merci.

It's these nights and mornings in bed that I hold out for.

2009-06-11T13:45:00.004+01:00

Message received from Will Turner at Metropolis, 23:47:

About to go to sleep. My bed is a lot less welcoming without your sexy body in it. x

My reply - time unknown.

Oh shame, I thought you were coming out? All the while I was away, I kept thinking back to that night and checking my bite marks. x

*Edit:
And then his message the next evening:

I wish I had. I would have loved to have given you more bite marks, especially in that particular place. x

So, not so shy anymore, perhaps...

2009-06-13T14:06:00.001+01:00

And I do like to play with fire. The excitement: unmatchable. It is only when something catches alight and the flames grow out of control that I leave the scene, and someone else has to clear the debris.

2009-06-10T16:11:00.001+01:00

Fuck, I feel stressed. It almost makes me want to take up smoking again.

2009-06-03T00:37:00.002+01:00

Today (or rather, looking at the time, yesterday), I did two things I never thought I'd do.

The first was at a pole class, where I rather half-heartedly attempted to do a Shoulder Mount - not thinking that there was much point as I have never really managed to get it - and actually did it! It was a really weird moment where I felt completely out of control of my own body, but in a good way - as in, 'You mean I can do that?!?' Such an exhilarating feeling, to realise my body is more powerful than I thought it was. Capable of almost infinite possibilities. And yet limited - as I shall proceed to explain.

Because the second unbelievable thing I did was to fuck on the first date. Oh yes. Remember Boy #20? After a hell of a lot of fussing about, during which I thought he'd basically unloaded a heap of bullshit about re-enacting the lake scene of The Notebook - actually, in retrospect, I really should have seen that one coming, but I was plastered when I met him - we finally managed to meet up for a drink.

By a drink, I mean two double gin and cranberrys on an empty stomach, and apparently that is all it takes to get me into bed. One minute, we were making jokes about skinny dipping and I was laughing coyly when he said, 'Ah, you've got all night. So have I. Perhaps we'll sleep together?', and then we really were.

But... I just couldn't enjoy it somehow. Yes, he was good looking, tall, strong, could carry me and fuck me at the same time, but it didn't work for me. Because the lights were out, I could sob and sob silently, and the tears kept coming, and I just kept wondering when he'd finish. I think I might have hated it.

I liked him better once he'd finished and the light was on. I saw he had a tattoo of a dragon on his left shoulder - a sign? Although, perhaps, whether it was a good sign or not is certainly debatable. I told him he didn't have to feel obligated to call me. A stupid thing to say, but I was tired - tired from the day, from the fucking, from the goodbyes, from not knowing what I'm doing with myself, and from those boys who say they will but never do.

Once he left, I thought - TA is not the last boy to have fucked me now. And then, the moment that nearly made me cry again: Will Turner texts, 'Hey, what are you up to? x'

2009-05-30T02:37:00.003+01:00

An average night out at Crowbar - although I did give someone my number. Eerily, he had the first name of No. #20 and the last name of No. #18. Just a leetle beetle odd there.

Not interested, though. Granted, he was older than me and knew a fair amount about my home country, but just... Thank you, flattered, but no.

On a completely different note, I am beginning to find Pete Doherty strangely attractive. Wtf? I am not usually drawn to boys with baby faces, and certainly not to heroin addicts - Russell Brand excepted, of course - so I can't understand why I've suddenly taken a liking to him. My only explanation is that he's a modern-day poet of sorts.

Time for bed, I suppose. Ugh.

2009-05-27T19:39:00.002+01:00

In a sour mood, possibly due to low blood sugar level, plus increasingly late nights. And boy trouble. Or rather, lack of boys. That's the trouble.

Or else, the ones I don't want keep coming back, and the ones I want can't seem to wait to get rid of me. And bombshells being dropped oh so casually.

Oh baby, what a shambles.

Oh and I'll never...
Sever the ties
And fuck forever
If you don't mind
See I'm stuck forever
I'm stuck in your mind, your mind, your mind, your mind.
- 'Fuck Forever', Babyshambles

20!

2009-05-20T03:28:00.002+01:00

So was not expecting that. I'm having a quiet art-deco bar glide with a close girlfriend, when suddenly, he's wearing my hat and buying me a Sailor Jerry's with lime, and then I'm outside in the cold, wearing his jacket and kissing him in a doorway.

And to think I only came out for a bit of a dance...

2009-05-18T20:34:00.003+01:00

Fuck. Why hasn't Will Turner been texting me?

Bollocks. See, this is what happens once a boy cooks you dinner - you get all dependent and start thinking that it's going to be love forever, then they don't text you and the world starts to fall apart.

I am now desperate enough to text No. 18.

Perhaps I'm just a bit tired after my all-nighter last night.

There's a horrible suspicion in the back of my mind - that during my conversation with Maisy, he was in the same cafe and overheard everything I said. Just....

FUCK!!!!