Naive London Girl

Are You Lustful Tonight?

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 23:58:00 +0000

Are You Lustful Tonight?

The past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about infidelity; why men cheat it and what causes it.

Men cheat because of a combination of sexual boredom, lack of attention from their wives, needing their egos stroked, poor communication and an unwillingness to confront issues head-on.

Unless the guy’s a complete sociopath, which in the London dating scene is definite possibility, cheating never happens for just one reason alone.

For instance, a typical cheater is the guy who hasn’t had sex with his wife in a year, but because of poor communication and an inability to confront his wife with the issue, he sleeps with someone else. Although his infidelity provides temporary sexual relief, the underlying issue of why he and his wife aren’t having sex still remains. Until that issue is confronted, it will almost certainly be preferable for the man to continue cheating.

Another example of a cheater is the guy who has sex with his wife a couple times a month. Even though the sex is regular, he needs to feel sexy and wanted by the opposite sex. Maybe his wife is too busy with work and kids to take care of his emotional needs. Or maybe the wife is turned off by his neediness. Whatever the case, this is a guy that needs his ego stroked. He’ll probably spend a lot of time flirting with other women before he actually goes through with the infidelity.

In my previous post, Contemplating Adultery, I wondered why a woman would stop having sex with her husband. After much thought I realized that the answer is so easy! It’s also sexual boredom.

Women get bored with just sex. I get bored with just sex. Am I feeling lustful tonight? That depends. I need the wooing; the romance; the gifts; the expensive meals. I need to feel like I’m being chased. I need to feel appreciated and not like I’m being taken for granted; or that I owe the guy sex – or worse that I just want to get it “over with.” I need to feel special and wanted in order for me to give my best in bed.

During the course of a marriage men stop trying to impress their wives. To a certain extent this is natural and makes sense. If a man is already married in theory he doesn’t have to work to hard to woo woman in order to win her over. She, by definition, is already his. Still that goes against the basic human need of wanting to feel desired.

When a man stops trying to impress a woman, a woman stops feeling desired. When a woman stops feeling desired, she stops feeling sexy. When she stops feeling sexy, she stops having sex. When she stops having sex, the husband gets restless. When the husband get restless, he (wrongfully) looks into cheating.

It seems like such a vicious cycle and makes me wonder if marriage is even worth it?

Contemplating Adultery

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Sun, 10 Aug 2008 12:31:00 +0000

Contemplating Adultery

As a women who has slept with many a married man I am fascinated by the question, “Why do men cheat?” I’m even more perplexed that I haven’t been able to find a satisfactory answer.

As far as my own fidelity goes, I’ve never cheated on anyone. And, as far as I know, no one has ever cheated on me. Let’s hope that karma’s not a bitch!

Out of the 6 or so married men I’ve been intimate with there seems to be a common theme when I ask them why they’re cheating. The unanimous answer is, “My wife doesn’t understand me [like you do]” and “I haven’t had sex with her in [X number of] months.”

Men are quick to put the blame of their lack of attention and lingering horniness on the wife. Or course, this is convenient to do that as I’m never in the position to question the wife. But perhaps that’s where I should be looking? I know that it takes two to tango, but what happens in a relationship when a man decides to cheat? Is it always the case that wife has stopped having sex with him?

Sex is great. Orgasming is great. Sex makes you feel fulfill, sexy and adventurous. If you stop having sex with your husband, you’re denying yourself the pleasure as well. Why would a woman stop having sex with her husband? A couple theories have been suggested to me:

1. That when women are single, they pretend to have high sex drives in order to reel in the guy and get married. Once they’re married and things settle down, the woman goes back to her real sex drive which presumably is lower. The husband feels cheated. Sort of like the same feeling you get when you see a movie preview that you think looks great; then when you see you movie, you realize they put all the best bits in the trailer. The husband grows resentful of this and ultimately cheats

2. Once women have children, they make their children their number one focus and the husband has to take the back seat.
The husband grows resentful of this and ultimately cheats.

So as single women, if we know up front (i.e. before the wedding) that our potential husbands need sex regularly to stay happy how is this forgotten once we’re married? Is there something that happens to women once they’re married that makes them want to have sex with their husbands less?

One married guy that I slept with said that it had been 8 months since he last had sex with his wife. The obvious question I had for him was, “Well, have you discussed that with her? Have you said, hey honey it’s been ages since we’ve made love. Can we be more regular about it?”

Two things emerged after I put that to him: 1. He’s uncomfortable about talking to his wife about sex. He’s afraid to have the awkward conversation with her. Huh? How can you have a fulfilling sex life if you’re afraid to talk about sex with your spouse? Also, with all the lying and betrayal that’s involved with cheating are you telling me it’s harder to have an “awkward conversation” with your wife? I think men see cheating as an easy alternative. But really, it shouldn’t be an alternative. If a man is not having sex with his wife he needs to have a conversation with her.

And if he does have a conversation with her but it turns out that she’s no longer interested in him sexually, what should he do? What if everything in the relationship is great, except the sex, what should a guy do? I would advise that the guy needs to come to an understanding with his wife that he has to have sex on a regular basis. I would see if the wife were open to the idea of you taking on a lover.

Afterall, it’s rather unfair of her to say, “No, I’m not going to have sex with you, but I don’t want anyone else to have sex with you either.” That’s a bit selfish.

The second thing to emerge from my chat with the married man was that he wanted his wife to find him sexually attractive. He didn’t want to have to “talk my wife into wanting to have sex with me. I want her to want me. “

He didn’t want to have to coax his wife into having sex with him. I suppose, as a man that can be quite demoralizing.

The Cheat Factor. How likely is your husband to cheat on you?

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Sat, 09 Aug 2008 21:56:00 +0000

The Cheat Factor. How likely is your husband to cheat on you?

Men are quick to put the blame of their lack of attention and lingering horniness on the wife. Or course, this is convenient to do that as I’m never in the position to question the wife. But if I was, I would give her this quiz.

1. When was the last time you had sex with your husband?

Yesterday [5 points]
Within the past week [4 points]
Within the past month [3 points]
More than 3 months ago [2 points]
More than 6 months ago [1 point]

2. How many times per week do you have sex with your husband?

Everyday [5 points]
4-5 times per week [4 points]
2-3 times per week [3 points]
1 time per week [2 points]
I sometimes go weeks without having sex with my husband. [1 point]

3. Do you feel sexually satisfied when having sex with your husband?

Yes [5 points]
No [1 point]

4. Are you hour husband’s best friend?

Yes [5 points]
No [1 point]

5. Do you feel emotionally connected to your husband?

Yes [5 points]
No [1 point]

6. Do you know all your husband's female friends?

Yes [5 points]
No [1 point]

7. Are you still sexually attracted to your husband?

Yes [5 points]
No [1 point]

8. Are there any life-changing experiences that may have caused a shift in your relationship with your husband, i.e. pregnancy, birth, death?

Yes [5 points]
No [1 point]

9. If you knew that your husband required a certain amount of sex to feel adequate (e.g. not restless & not willing to cheat) would you be willing to have sex with him that much?

Yes [5 points]
No [1 point]

10. Are you open to indulging your husband sexual fantasies.

Yes [5 points]
No [1 point]

Now tally up your score.

41-50 Points. Fantastic. You have a great sex life and most-likely an excellent relationship with your husband. Chances are he won’t chat on you. Where would he get the time? You’re too busy having sex with him.

21-40 Points Proceed with Caution. You’re in the middle zone here. You’re sex life with your husband is irregular which gives him plenty of opportunity to stray. The good new is at least you’re still having sex, you just need to have more of it.

10-20 Points. Danger. Are you sure he’s not already cheating on you? Sounds like you’ve both grown apart emotionally and sexually. Why bother staying married? Is it for the kids? You need to get your sex life with your husband back on track or you may find him straying.

Phil Petrol and His Massive Cock

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 12:57:00 +0000

“Oh my God, you’re naked!” I exclaim.

“Shhhhhhh!” Phil Petrol urges me to be quiet. I enter the board room and close the door behind me.
He gives me a big bear hug. He kisses me gently and sweetly. It doesn’t seem like the kiss of a desperate married man wanting to get laid; but rather the kiss of a smitten teenager.

Then he turns out the lights. It’s completely dark in this windowless boardroom.

“Nice thick cock!” I say to him.

He reaches for my shirt and raises it just above my left breasts. He moves my boob out of my bra and kisses it. He sucks on my nipple. He switches to my right boob, sucking on it ever so gently.

I return the favour to him. I gently bite his man-nipples. He winces. I can’t tell if it’s in pleasure or pain, but since he doesn’t say, “Stop,” I continue.

I take off my shirt, bra, trousers and panties. I press my naked body against his. It occurs to me that if the night janitor walked in, I would be in a fairly compromising position. I put that thought out of my head and tell Peter Petrol that I want to lay down.

I hadn’t realized how uncomfortable the carpet in the board room was until it was time to lay down on it. Phil lays next to me.
“Now I want you to lick my pussy,” I said to him, as if I were schooling a naughty kindergartener.

He positions his head between my leg and starts licking the area around my vulva. He’s obedient. I like that. He’s not exactly hitting my clit.

“Down, more, “I direct him. “Now to the left. Yes, right there.” He keeps licking me. “Now put a finger in me.” He sticks a finger in my pussy

I compare Phil Petrol’s pussy-eating style to the Shark’s. The Shark uses his whole mouth when he eats me out whereas Phil Petrol just uses his tongue which leads me believe that either he doesn’t know what he’s doing or he’s really not into it. And there’s absolutely no point in getting eaten-out by a guy who’s really not into it.

Then suddenly he gets a rhythm going. I feel hornier and hornier. I can tell when a guy is doing a good job eating me out, because I crave his cock inside me.

I push his head away from me.

“I want you to put the tip of your cock in me. Don’t go in all the way. Just the tip.”

“I can’t do that or I’m gonna cum,” he says.

“You won’t cum. Just the tip.”

“Are you on the pill?”

“Yes,” I lie Oh my god, why did I just lie? “You won’t cum, just the tip,” I urge.

He obediently purses the tip of his cock on my pussy. He pulls away after a few seconds. He sits back. He takes a few breaths.

I place my hand on his cock. I move my hand up and down. He moans and sighs in pleasure.

“Don’t cum,” I say to him, “Now I want you to eat me out again.”

He moves his head between my legs and furiously licks my pussy. It feels amazing. His slow rhythms build up faster and faster. I’m screaming at him, “I want your cock. Fuck me now. I want you to stick it in me.” But he keeps licking. I cum loudly. He covers my mouth. He keeps licking even after I’ve cum, but I push him away.

“That was very nice,” I tell him

“Now, I want to give you a blowjob that you won’t forget. Don’t cum in my mouth.”

“OK,” he says.

“I mean it.”

I put my mouth on his cock. I flick my tongue against the tip of his cock then I take as much of his cock into my mouth as I can. I bob my head up and down. I use my full lips to provide the ultimate suction. He moans, which indicates to me that he’s enjoying it.

I stick a finger up his asshole. He moans even louder. I keep sucking,

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!” he yells.

Then I pull away.

“Wait, where are you going?” He questions.

“That’s just a taste of what’s in store.”

“Baby, you gotta stay. At least watch me cum.”

“Next time,” I say casually.

I quickly put on my clothes. I turn on the light. He’s standing there with a enormous hard on.

“See you tomorrow at work,” I smile and wave goodbye.

And So I Waited…

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 19:22:00 +0000

And So I Waited…

Phil Petrol, the VP of Ad sales was supposed to call me 8:30 PM yesterday. Although I had the chance to save my dignity and abscond, I actually ended up staying in my office, perusing though PerezHilton.com for gossip. Every fibre of my being said “Go home, don’t wait for this idiot,” But part of me was curious, why had he suddenly asked me out?

At 9:00 PM I got tired of waiting. So I left my office in search of something to eat. I told myself, “If he doesn’t call by the time I eat, then I’ll just get on the tube and go home.”

I headed off to McDonalds and bought a happy meal for £1.99. Whenever I buy a happy meal I pretend that it’s for my non-existent kid which seems less embarrassing than admitting you’re a cheapskate. The cashier didn’t take the bait, hence I didn’t receive a fun, yet useless happy meal toy.

After I ate, still there was no call, no text, nothing from him. So I thought to myself, “If he doesn’t call by the time I get to Chancery Lane, I’ll get on the tube and go home.”

I got to Chancery Lane. Not a word from him. I got on the Central Line and headed to Bank. I changed trains to the DLR. It seemed to take ages for a train towards Canary Wharf to arrive. I passed the time by playing Breakout on my Blackberry.

As soon as the train surfaced above ground I received a text message from him. He says he’s on his way and that he’ll meet me in Covent Garden in 30 minutes. Damn, not enough time to go home. Too much time to go directly there, but whatever. For once in my life I was ridiculously early.

I arrived at Covent Garden and watched a street performer play an acoustic version of Blondie’s “Call me.” Out of sheer boredom I played a few more games a Breakout, beating my all-time high score. I called, the Voice-of-Reason in New York. I called a friend in Spain. I called another friend in LA.

While I was on the phone I got a text from Phil Petrol saying that he’ll be 10 more minutes and he’s on his way. It was past 10PM now.

What the fuck am I doing? It’s 10:30 on a school night and I’m waiting here in Covent Garden like an idiot. What did I really think was going to happen.

15 minutes later he arrives. He looks good. He’s wearing a light blue Armani shirt and dark trousers. He has a posh yet difficult to place accent. Apparently he’s a child of the world, having grown up in 4 different counties. At times he sounds English, then mildly Australian, bizarrely Canadian cross ed with posh American boarding school type accent; think Julianne Moore in The Big Lebowski.

He apologize for being late explains that he was at a business dinner with some folks from Nintendo; that he’s negotiating to get a free Wii and a Wii fit, for his own personal benefit. My God! I’m playing second fiddle to a piece of exercise equipment!

We go to one of the many pubs in area all the while I’m trying to figure out his agenda. I want to know:

What does he want?
Is it appropriate for me to be hanging out with a married man past 8PM in the evening?
Does his wife know where he is?

He buys me a white wine and orders the same for himself. We talk about work stuff. It’s nothing out of the ordinary except that it’s nearly 11PM. Surely, he could have talked about work stuff at work, no?

The pub calls last orders. We finish our wine then search for another pub. We end up at the Walkabout – ugh! For those of you not from London, the Walkabout is a cheesy Australian-themed pub. Young crowd. Party atmosphere. Loud music Faux Australian culture. Basically everything I detest in a pub. But we had little choice. As the Voice-of-Reason would say, “Any port in a storm.”

We order a bottle of white wine and take a seat in the back. Phil Petrol keeps mentioning the low-cut top I wore during the Christmas party. I try to visualize what I was wearing, but I can’t quite remember.

“I’m sure I remember you telling me at the Christmas party that you were gay,” he says to me.

“No, I’m not. I must have been joking if I said that.”

“It just weird’s me out, man. Cuz, well, you know…”

“No, I don’t know,” I say challenging him.

“Cuz, well, I, um, well, I was looking at your breasts that night. And I had these thoughts.”

“Like thoughts that I was gay?”

“It’s this top you were wearing. So low cut. And I kept looking at your breasts.”

“Well, yes. They’re there to be stared at,” I say jovially.

“But, well, after that night. I put you in another category.”

“The gay category?”

“Just that category where nothing would ever happen between us.”

I sense a slippery slope here, but I pursue with the questioning. “Shouldn’t I have always been in that category?

He seems nervous; tongue tied, and a bit frustrating at me for not being able to understand him. He takes a deep breath.

“I fancy you,” he states, “There. I’ve said it. And when you wore that low cut top I thought about what it would be like to suck your nipples.”

I barely raise an eyebrow. I’ve been down this path before with the BFE, CS, the DG, and the Shark. Suddenly, I’m not feeling so naïve.

“Cool,” I say in a confident and bitchy way that could only suggest I have his balls in my hands and I’m calling the shots.

“And I think about how great it would be to lie naked with you,”

I don’t ask the obvious questions:

How long have you felt this way?
What about your wife?
What about your kids?

Instead, I ask him more pertinent questions:

How often do you masturbate?
What are your top three things to do in bed?
Do you have an erection right now? [and I feel for proof]

He seems thrown by the conversation. He pauses for long periods of time before he speaks. As if he had been anticipating a conversation with me, but not quite this conversation.
I tease him a bit. I lean in and go for a kiss. I put my hand on his crotch. I can feel raging hard on beneath his trousers. His kisses are nice, gentle. He has plump lips; almost as big as mine, but not quite.

We spend twenty minutes kissing. We finish the bottle of wine. By then he’s begging me to set a day where he can leave work early and come over to my place.

“Why? “ I ask him. “I mean, what’s in it for me?”

But this point I was quite drunk. I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember his answer was so pathetically laughable; merely a flimsy excuse to fuck.

I’m evasive. I tell him, ‘sometime in the future, maybe.” Still, he presses me for a time, a day. I don’t give in.

We exit the walk about and walk towards Piccadilly Circus so we can both catch our respective night busses. We’re walking and then suddenly he turns and pins me against the wall. I can feel his cock pulsating against my leg. He kisses me and then kisses me some more. “I want you Anjelika.”

I feel my pussy getting wetter. I was now officially horny.

We continue walking. I realize that I need to use the loo.

“I’m walking back to the office to use the bathroom,” I tell him.

“Oh, I have to use the bathroom too.”

“Quelle coincidence!” I say ironically.

“No, really, I do,” he insists. Whatever!

It takes 20 minutes to walk back our office building. I go in first. The office is silent and empty. The lights are out in the women’s bathroom. I pee, then wash my hands and check my make up to see if it’s okay. What the hell? It’s midnight and I look fabulous—or at least as fabulous as I will look at this hour.

As I walk to my desk I past the board room. He’s standing in the doorway of the board room urging me to come in.

“I’ll be back in a couple minutes. I have to go to my desk,” I tell him.

I continue on to my desk. I had received an urgent e-mail on my Blackberry from one of our producers in California. I need to send some files to her before the end of business day in LA. I send the files that were needed. I answer a few more e-mails. I check my MySpace page. I play another game of Brickbreaker. Then, I get up and go to the board room.

I open the door and there is Phil Petrol standing before me completely naked.

And his cock is massive!

Wait

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 18:59:00 +0000

Wait

It’s 7PM and I’m sitting in my office waiting for a guy to call me. Is that pathetic or what? I should be out there living, feeling doing- not waiting. Not waiting by the phone in hopes that my plans will pan out.

I should be grabbing the bull by the horns and taking charge of my dating / social life. Instead, here I am, like in idiot sitting in my office waiting for a guy- and a married guy at that. I haven’t mentioned this guy before, He’s a work colleague. Today he asked me out in such a casual way that it could hardly classify as an event – let alone a date. I call him Phil Petrol...

I can hear Wanda now saying, “Get out of there. Go home. Go Swimming. Go look after your little doggie, but do not wait for this guy to call. Have you not learned anything from the BFE debacle?”

And yes, I’ve learned SO MUCH from the BFE thing. In fact, I'm pleased to share one of the I’ve learned. Perhaps this is common sense, and perhaps I should have probably already have known it, but last weekend I really realized it.

On Saturday evening I had net sex with a married guy. The DG, for those of you keeping track. I like the DG. I like him as a mate. I respect him as a former colleague. I like his attitude about life. I also fancy the pants off him! And the fact that he bares a more-than vague resemblance to the BFE probably helps as well. I frequent think about him tying me up and eating me out. He’s definitely someone I want in my bed. And we’ve fooled around before, but nothing major.

During our netsex session he was telling me how there are some positions and activities that he wants to try with me. I realize now that this is all talk; all fantasy. He doesn’t want to leave the safety net of his wife. To him, I’m like that one flavour of ice-cream at Baskin Robbins that you say, “One day I’m gonna try that” but ultimately you don’t because you don’t want to betray your favourite standby flavour. (Vanilla, most likely).

The thing is, I like him. I like him a lot. And to him, I’m a savoury sweet—once he’s had his taste, he’s had his fill and he’s gone. If we ever did end up having sex it would mean so much more to me in my head than it would to him. To him, I would be the girl he fucked.

I think that was my key mistake with the BFE. I liked him too much. I wanted him, and he wanted sex. Perhaps if we had a meeting of the minds things would have gone smoother. Of course I fooled myself to think that I was only in it for the sex – but as women can we really do that? Is it possible to ‘just fuck’ and feel nonchalant about it?

Men have a way of cutting off that emotion; that emotion that says, “You are a great fuck and you’re someone I could care for at some point” But I find it incredibly difficult. This is something that I am just realizing now.

It’s 7:50 now and my gut tells me to grab my Oyster card and hightail it out of here; that there is no good to come of this situation. I should go home now, while my dignity is in tact. Or I could possibly suffer the indignity of being stood up.

On the other hand I’ve already applied my lipstick. If I don’t go out, I just won’t know what I’m missing.

What would you do?

Stuck in My Vagina

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Sun, 03 Aug 2008 18:16:00 +0000

Stuck in My Vagina - new podcast

“Between Ken Livingston and Boris Johnson the mayor I want to shag the most is Boris Johnson.” - Anjelika

“If I could get my head that close I would eat myself out most days.” - Wanda

Wanda and Anjelika chat about:

- Health and Safety
- The Myra Hindley Musical
- Smear Tests
- Condoms
Contraceptive Sponge
Promotions

Shower-head Masturbation Techniques for Girls

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 14:34:00 +0000

This week has been about stress relief and masturbation. I had gone off masturbation for a while. I’m not exactly sure why? Too busy? Too tired? Already had a fuck buddy? All of those reasons may have come into play but I think I had simply forgot how great it is to make myself cum.

In this hot summer heat I’ve been taking a lot of showers. Earlier in the week I decided to take a bath before bed instead of a shower. When crouched in the bathtub it always seems like a very good opportunity to use the showerhead massagers on my clit.

Here are the keys to a good showerhead masturbation session

Temperature:
The temperature of the water coming out of the showerhead should be on the coldish side. Even warm water tends to feel hot when it hits your clit.

Pressure:
Not enough pressure will leave you frustrated. Too much pressure will leave you sore. If you want to know how much pressure to use, the try this: Spread some softened butter or margarine on the palm of your hand. Then spray your hand with the showerhead. If the water removes the butter in 5 seconds, the pressure is good. If it doesn’t remove it at all, it’s bad. If it removes the butter almost immediately, the pressure may be too strong.

Distance:
The force of the water pressure will determine the distance you hold the shower head massager away from your clit. Personally, I like to feel the flow of the water just as it’s coming out of the shower head. The feeling of mounting the showerhead on to my clit is fantastic. If the water pressure is bad, however, you may have to hold the showerhead a few inches away.

Angle:
Angle is a tricky one. How much pressure can you take? Do you want a direct hit of the water onto your clit. Or is it better if it’s slightly indirect. I prefer to have it slightly indirect. If I take the full force of the water pressure directly onto my clit it’s too much to handle. There’s also another problem that arises with angle. At the same time your clit is getting stimulated by the, your pussy may be filling up with water. There have been so many times after I have taken a bath that I’ve gotten dressed and have been on my way out the door the suddenly, whoosh! Water had gathered in my hole and was suddenly on its way out. I imagine this is how it is when your water breaks.

Depending on how much water was stored up it may come out at different times. I’ve had occasions where up to an hour later I’ve had a few “leaks.” The easy answer to prevent this is to stick a tampon up your pussy. This will absorb all the water and prevent the leakage problem in the first place.

McGuyver it
If you happen to be at a hotel away from your normal showerhead, you may find that the showerhead in the hotel bathroom is woefully inadequate. Some hotels make it difficult to get good pressure out of the showerhead. So here’s what you do. Take the showerhead off, so that what you have is more or less a hose/ hosepipe. Usually all that’s involved is a bit of unscrewing. Once the showerhead is gone you’ll notice that there’s way more pressure available.

There you have it. So go to work. And if you found any of these tips useful drop me a line: me@naivelondongirl.com.

What if He Comes Back for His Haddock?

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 06:26:00 +0000

Hello Everyone,

I've been on holiday to the lovely United States. I spent one boring week in Georgia and I'm spending the second week in New York City.

Details about my trip when I return. In the meantime, check out a podcast I did just before I left.

Direct link to the show Wanda's Breasts

Our podcast on Meevio Wanda's Breasts

Our podcast on iTunes Wanda's Breasts

Also, I did a guest spot on my pal Suzanne Portnoy's Podcast,"It's Your Problem" So check it out

Is it Wrong to Date a Guy with Braces?

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 22:06:00 +0000

YAY! Wanda and I are back after a short hiatus!

The podcast is 30 minutes long. Yesterday's errors have been fixed.

Have Click here to listen

Or download the podcast from iTunes

Busy

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Tue, 20 May 2008 00:52:00 +0000

Apologies for not updating the blog & podcast for a while... a month? The show I'm working on is in production now so I've been extra busy. I haven't been on many dates, so nothing to report on that front.

Anjelika, the Prude

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 09:44:00 +0000

Anjelika, the Prude

Wanda and Anjelika discuss:

- Can you be too picky
- Cancellations
- Dating problems
- Online dating
- Talk is Cheap

Date #17 Charming but Chubby

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 09:25:00 +0000

#17 Charming but Chubby

Guys, do yourselves a favour! When you put a picture of yourself up on a dating site, make sure the picture isn't more than a year old. The guy I went out with last night looked way different than his photograph. As it turns out the photo of him was taken in 2005! In the years since his picture was taken he's gained 4 stone and the lines in his face have increased.

He was a nice guy, but I really couldn't picture myself with him. I want someone a bit younger, a bit cooler. Dare I say, thinner? I'd hate to think that I'm sizest. And I actually do like guys that are a little overweight. I think that's so cute. But when they're pushing clinical obesity that's another story!!!

When I looked at this guy I kept thinking, "Dang, you're old!" He was probably 45 or something. And of course I've dated and slept with guys older than that. The difference was that those guys had a youthful exuberance.

My date last night was nice. He was charming. But I can't imagine it going any further. He bought me a really nice expensive meal which was very cool of him.

I feel sort of bummed out that I keep meeting he wrong guys. What's a girl to do?

No Teeth and Other Dating Tips

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 07:16:00 +0000

Like this podcast, subscribe to it in iTunes.

Download this podcast

Awww, How Sweet

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 23:48:00 +0000

From: http://saulcolt.blogspot.com/

Isn't that nice?

Date #14 You Talk Too Much! You Never Shut Up!

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 07:54:00 +0000

Date #14 You Talk Too Much! You Never Shut Up!

Ok, remember this song from Run DMC? Well that was how my date was last night. We met in a pub in Soho. The date started out with promise, but then he kept talking. And kept talking. And kept talking – about himself! He hardly ever asked anything about me. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. So since I couldn’t talk, I drank, and drank and drank. And the next thing you know I’m drunk and really hungry. He still has a full pint of Leffe. He’s hardly drinking his beer because that would mean he’d have to STOP TALKING.

I finally had to grab the bull by the horns and say, “Drink up! I’m hungry!” I’m sure this made me sound like Miss Bossy Boots, but I did not want to drink anymore alcohol on an empty stomach.

While walking to a restaurant I kept thinking, “Why am I still on this date?” But the hope of a free meal kept me going.

Mr.Talk Too Much just got out of a relationship. He works in IT. He misses his old flatmate. Most of his friends and family are getting married. All of this information is good to know, however the amount of pointless shit that I had to sit through to get this was incredible!

By the end of the date, I was positive that he wasn’t interested in me. In fact, I think he’s really only interested in himself. As we said goodbye at Piccadilly Circus he asked what I was doing over the weekend. That was the first question he asked me all night.

“Nothing planned yet. Doing some revision. Hanging out with Doggums. Re-writing my book.”

“Well, if you want to do something on Sunday, let me know.”

Hmmmmm now how do I interpret that? Is he actually interested in going out with me again? Or is he saying that because it’s the polite thing to say at the end of a date?

I’ve noticed a trend in dating. Guys try to line up a second date at the end of the first one. Now that would be cool, if the second date actually came to fruition, but since it hasn’t most of the time with me, I’m wondering if it’s a throw-way line. Or the modern-day equivalent to, “I’ll call you.”

I got a text from him while I was traveling home on the DLR. He thanked me for a lovely evening. So maybe he’s interested, maybe he isn’t. Who knows. We’ll see how this goes…

Date #13 Shark Bite

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 07:08:00 +0000

Date #13 Shark Bite

I kept thinking about how badly I wanted the Shark’s cock inside me. Why do I keep thinking about his cock? I had been thinking about it all day at work. While sitting at my desk, I kept thinking, “I can’t wait until he pounds me.”

He came over to my place after work. We went straight to the bedroom. We had about an hour of foreplay, during which he spent most of the time eating me out. His cunnilingus skills are excellent. I can’t really explain what makes someone OK and someone else excellent except that the Shark takes his time to get the job done right.

He would go down on me for ten minutes or so. Then I would cum really hard. Then we’d take a break, or kiss, or I’d suck his cock for a while. Then he went back down on me. We repeated this cycle over and over. By the time he had stuck his cock in me I had already cum 6 times.

When I did get his cock, it felt great. He came on my stomach and his cum dribbled down between my legs. Somehow, I really enjoyed that.

Date #12 Man or Minivan?

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 22:06:00 +0000

Date #12 Man or Minivan?

Yay! Finally I was able to get a second date. I was starting to think that there was something wrong with me. I’m a serial first dater. Even if the first dates go really well sometimes I just don’t hear from the guy again. What gives?

So even though I didn’t exactly have chemistry with Badly Styled and Boring, he had something none of the other guys had – reliability! He called when he said he was going to call. He never cancelled dates. He wasn’t flakey. And I’ll probably go out on a third date with him for the same reasons

Now, I know reliability is something I usually look for in a washing machine or possibly a tea kettle, however, the more guys I that date, the more I realize that reliability is an essential criteria.

I don’t want a guy who keeps me waiting by the phone (although I should point out that ‘waiting by the phone’ figurative, as I have been far too busy to do that). I don’t want a guy who keeps me guessing whether or not he’s going to ask me out again. I don’t want a guy to ‘forget’ that he’s made a date with me.

Do I sound like a horrible bitch for wanting a guy to follow up on his word? Are my expectations out of line?

I went out with Badly Styled and Boring again because he had the balls to ask me out again. He had the gumption to follow through. Who dares wins.

We went to posh Chinese restaurant. Excellent meal. We talked about lighthearted things over dinner. At the end of the date when we kissed, he put his hand on my breast. Can you believe I actually moved his hand away as if I were some prude?!? He’s really a nice guy, but there are no stomach flips. No butterflies. No weak-at-the-knee action.

As pondered by the girls from Sex in the City:

SAMANTHAI totally understand. You're not getting the stomach flip. MIRANDAWhich is really just a fear of losing the guy. CARRIEMaybe I'm just not used to being with someone who doesn't do the ever-seductive withholding dance MIRANDABut there is an upside to being with a guy with no surprises. Steve is completely predictable but that's one of the things I love about him. He's just so comfortable and safe. CARRIEAre you dating a man or a minivan?

I wish I had the answer to that one.

Alcohol Makes Me Horny

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 12:06:00 +0000

I’ve Heard it all Before

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 12:04:00 +0000

I’ve Heard it all Before… I’ve Heard it all Before… I’ve Heard it all Before… I’ve Heard it all Before…

“I hope you’re in a better mood now then you were last night,” the Ex said as I met him in a bar on Upper Street, Islington.

“I am ten times worse!” I exclaimed.

“What’s wrong? Bad day at work?” He asked.

“Yes. Bad day in general. This world would be such a better place if everyone just did what I said. I’m tired of people not following through with shit.”

“Huh?”

“I’m tired of hearing excuses. You know that Madonna song, ‘Sorry’ ?”

“Since when have I listened to Madonna?”

“She has this lyric, ‘I don't wanna hear, I don't wanna know
Please don't say you're sorry. I've heard it all before. And I can take care of myself’”

“It doesn’t sound like that good of a song,” the Ex muses.

“That’s not the point! The point is between my I.T. team being completely unreliable and my internet dates being completely unreliable, it’s driving me crazy.”

“That’s why I don’t date. See, I told you this dating thing wouldn’t be all wine and roses.”

“I had a deadline today at work and the whole of the I.T. team left at 4:30. I was fucked!”

“It is a holiday!”

“It makes me look like a shithead when I can’t meet my deadlines. I’m trying to get this programme up and when the I.T. team fucks off at 4:30 and we’re due to go live at 5:00. I’m fucked! I’m totally fucked!”

“Shhhh, calm down, Anjelika."

"It makes me do mad. And do you realize I’m supposed to be on a date right now and look where I am?”

“With me,” he says scratching his labret.

“Yeah, predictably with you,” I grumble.

“You really should just date people from work and friends of friends.”

“I know, that would be ideal, but there aren’t that many single guys at work.”

“No one’s gonna fob you off if you’re going to see them the next day. It’s easy for these internet dates to cancel on you because you’re nothing to them. They’re not gonna see you tomorrow at the water cooler. They’re not going to bump into you in the lift…”

“I’m gonna stop giving out my mobile number. It’s too easy to text and cancel. I’m just gonna give out my home number.”

“Oh don’t do that!”

“If they want to cancel then they can phone me up and do so. Otherwise it’s too easy.”

“Anj, these guys are flakes. Better that they flake out in the beginning rather than later in the relationship. You’re better off without them.”

“I know. The thing is, I’m not mad at any one particular guy for canceling. Everyone has an excuse. Maybe they’re valid, maybe they’re not, but I’ve had 9 cancellations in 14 days. “

“Jesus.”

“It’s frustrating. It makes me want to quit this dating thing all together.”

“I bet.”

“You realize that the only ones in my life who have never let me down are my dad and my dog.”

“You really should see an analyst, Anj.”

“One day…”

Internet Dating is Shit, Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 11:59:00 +0000

Internet Dating is Shit, Part 2

To all the men on internet dating sites who live far, far away:

My ideal romance isn't a long distance one.

I don't have to be reasonable. I don't have to be anything because I choose not to date someone who lives so far away.

And it's not ‘just a plane ride.’ I don't ever intend on moving to America, Belgium, Holland, Algeria, Nigera, Leeds, Aberdeen, Belfast or wherever the fuck you are.

So, IF - and this is a huge if - we were to like, fall in love - or something, you would have to move over here. You would have to get your own visa as I'm not a British / EU citizen. Perhaps you're fantastically wealthy and this is not an issue. And in that case mea culpa, I'm missing out. But I'm gonna take my chances and guess that you're not fantastically otherwise women in your hometown would be throwing themselves at you.

What I want is to be able to go on dates, be romanced by, have fun with and ultimately have sex with a partner who I see 2-3 times a week. I am not the sort of person who is cool with seeing someone once a month! Even once a week isn't enough - my sex drive is too high for that.

I want a friend and confidante who, if I'm feeling sad, can be by my side within the hour.

I know how I am. I know what I want. I know what works best for me. I am also suspect that you can't find a woman in all of your home town / province / state that you need to search abroad!

You are probably a really nice guy. You don't deserve this rant I am giving you. Unfortunately you are bearing the brunt of all the guys from all the counties around the world who have contacted me. So please don't take this as a personal attack. I am not THAT bothered by you personally, contacting me.

I am just tired of dealing with guys who have some fantasy in their head that I'm going to be interested in them even though they live hundreds or even thousands of miles away.

Essentially, I am a lazy girl. And if you're interested in me you'll have to accommodate, up to a point, my lazy lifestyle. And that means if you live outside the M25 you are too damn far away!

In the Company of Women

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 23:23:00 +0000

In the Company of Women

It was the first night of the week without a date. Frankly, I was relieved. I went to some posh young filmmaker’s party in a trendy hipster part of Shoreditch.

The drinks were free, fruity and fantastic. My favorite! I made sure I was adequately drunk before it turned into a cash bar.

A lot of my colleagues from work were there as well as some budding new filmmakers from NY, LA and Paris. I don’t remember too much about it other than talking to a male friend of one of my colleagues. I was telling this guy about my dating experiences. I probably bored him but he still managed to feign interest.

I along with Angelica and Miss Brella got ravenously hungry. We made a move. As we were walking out of the venue we bumped into our hot new Brazilian boss who was on his way in. We all giggled said hello / good bye and made our way towards Kingsland Road.

“Would you fuck him?” I asked Angelica. Angelica smiled. She thought about it for a second. “Yeah I would. Would you?”

“Of course!” I exclaimed, “but only because he’s a vice president. If he was just a producer or executive producer I wouldn’t bother.” She looked at me with mock shock. “Well, I can’t pretend otherwise!” I exclaimed.

“Would you?” I asked Miss Brella, “He thinks I’m so silly! After that big meeting we had I got so tongue tied and….” She went on and on but eventually agreed that if she didn’t have her beloved boyfriend that she would also bed our new boss.

The three of us had a such laugh. Eventually we ended up at a Vietnamese restaurant. I had forgotten how much fun it is to go out with other girls. This is something I should do more often.

Date #11 Bob Saget’s Scandinavian Twin

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 07:14:00 +0000

Date #11 Bob Saget’s Scandinavian Twin

And I thought yesterday’s date was dog poo. Tonight’s date made yesterday’s look amazing. My date tonight was from Denmark. He looked like Bob Saget’s Scandinavian twin.

He was scientist and seemed very meticulous about everything he said. He would pause for up to a minute before he would speak. At first I thought this was related to English not being his first language. But then when he would speak English pour out of his mouth almost as if he were a native speaker.

He seemed to be quite fastidious. At the pub, he inspected his glass of beer for dirt. He kept looking down at my scar. It was just really awkward. The conversation felt forced. He seemed shy and reserved so I got the feeling that he didn’t like me or wasn’t attracted to me. I don’t know. He didn’t give me that warm feeling inside.

As soon as I left the restaurant I texted the Shark and said, “Finally, it’s over. Now when do I get your cock again?”

Date #10 Badly Styled and Boring

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 00:26:00 +0000

Date #10 Badly Styled and Boring

It only takes one or two stellar dates to make the other dates seem like dog poo. Tonight’s date was dog poo but only relatively.

I met tonight’s date along Canary Riverside. Somehow he was much cuter in his picture than he was in person – that’s almost always the case. He’s an I.T. guy. And you know how I love my I.T. guys.

When I first saw him I thought “Oh god his hair is too puffy.” Also he was wearing the second most ugly coat I’ve ever seen on a man. (A fur coat being the first). His coat was a three-quarter inch light brown leather jacket. It was soooooo 70’s. Sooooo Starkly & Hutch.

Then there was part of me saying “Hey give this guy a chance. You’re insulting his hair and clothes already. How picky are you?” He was a nice guy for sure but I just didn’t feel the chemistry. I wanted to feel it but I couldn’t manufacture something that wasn’t there.

Like a lot of I.T. guys his personality was a little dull. I wanted him to say something that shocked me. Something that seemed adventurous. Something that would cast him n a new light. But the only thing he said that caught me off guard was, “Ruby on Rails in the way of the future.” Um, okay!

He was a perfect gentleman and treated me to a pretty expensive meal. I didn’t look at the bill but some quick math made the bill out to be about £140.

I gave him a kiss goodnight aiming for his cheek. Next thing I know his tongue was rammed down my through. Ugh! Then another kiss. Double Ugh! One more kiss for the road. I had to pull away early. Too much tongue! The amount of tongue I was given was in no way equivalent to how well the date went. He must be optimistic.

As soon as I got off the tube he sent me a message saying that he had a fantastic night. Lucky him.

I’m starting to grow weary of all these first dates. And to think I have to go through it all again tomorrow.

Date #9 The Fish Returns

noreply@blogger.com (Naive London Girl) — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 00:54:00 +0000

Date #9 The Fish Returns

I don’t know if you could call it a date? It was uber casual. Or even an outing? We stayed in. But I had a second meeting (if that’s the mot juste) with the guy from work hereafter known as the Shark. See Fishing from the Company Pier

After grabbing some Indian Take-away we headed back to my flat. Even though I was starving I was happy to put my hunger on hold so I could feel his tongue on my clit again.

I sent the dog packing. I closed the door to the lounge, turned-off the TV, sat on the sofa and spread my legs.

The Shark unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down just below my knees. He pressed his nose against my pink-laced panties. I felt the warmth of his breath on my clit. He took a breath and then exhaled on panties. He slid my panties over to the side and began licking my pussy.

I had spend the weekend wondering why he’s come into my life. Ultimately, I believe that everyone we meet in a significant and/or emotional way is meant to teach us something. I kept wondering what his place was in all this? What will I learn from him? What is he going to teach me? What is the purpose of meeting him?

Maybe there is no higher purpose? Maybe it’s just fucking? Maybe as a woman I feel the need to arbitrarily justify wanting to have sex with someone I’m attracted to? Maybe I’m trying to put some cause or meaning to it because I’m tired of having sex that has no meaning? I don’t know. These are just things I’ve been pondering.

I came three times before we ate and once more afterwards. Whilst eating dinner we sat on the sofa and watched The Secret Millionaire. He cried at the end and it really touched me.

Even though the Shark and I have only been acquainted quite recently it seemed that our relationship has blossomed into part friend, part mentor, part lover and part father figure. It’s all very cosy. Very nice.

Still there’s something about him that scares me, but I really, really like it. And I’ve never been one to run from danger.