Tag Archives: breaking up


Sunday morning we’re both awake before sunrise and the banter is light and easy. The Cockaholic’s eyes sparkle and she says, “I’m sorry, but please forgive me for doing this,” and pushes the covers off of me and starts sucking on my morning glory. Not a bad way to be woken, for sure, but I would much prefer it to be with a women who is crazy about me and not crazy at me.

I feel it’s too risky to cum in her pussy; I don’t want to get her pregnant, so I cum in her mouth. As always The Cockaholic happily swallows my load without a break in her rhythm. She is the happiest cock-sucking, cum-swallower I’ve ever encountered. I think there are men who would put up with her for just the phenomenal blowjobs.

A little later I’m licking her clit and fingering her g-spot. Suddenly The Cockaholic lifts her head, looks at me and says, “You have a fucking gorgeous body.” Yes, it’s nice to hear, but I’m surprised at her timing of this declaration of undying lust. Where did that come from? What is she thinking about as she lies there? I don’t think I’ll ever understand the workings of any one woman’s mind, especially after this one’s cold, aloof behaviour of last night.

After breakfast we speed off in her sports car to a nearby town to visit the Christmas market around the cathedral. She’s a speed-freak and takes unnecessary risks, swearing at any other motorist who dares hoot at us. In this moment she reminds me of Pretty Teacher. On the drive over she starts snapping at anything I say. After a while I’m reluctant to say anything. The Cockaholic has become hard work again. Sitting at traffic lights I decide to tell her how I’m feeling, that she’s changed and I don’t know why. She responds angrily with, “Do you want me to drop you off here?”

That killed my feelings for her – stone dead. The fact that she was willing to discard me like a bag of unwanted rubbish at the side of the road is a gross insult, laced with disrespect and contempt. We see out the rest of the day in muted hostility. I can’t figure out what has brought on this attitude. I’ve said and done nothing to deserve it.

We silently walk around the Christmas market, there’s the smell of warm, mulled wine and sweet frying onions in the air, children’s laughter serenades us as a contented buzz envelopes us, but it all feels like a straight-jacket to me. My stomach is clenched tight and my brain is racing, my heart is filled with familiar bitter feelings.

I’m going off The Cockaholic and find my thoughts wandering over to finding a way to say goodbye to her. Instead of staying over like I do every Sunday night, I make polite excuses and go home. Although I can’t wait to get the hell away from her, I make a point of leaving in a civil fashion, to keep my options open. I now have enough experience to not make any rash decisions, but to take a moment or two to think things over before taking irreversible action.

Monday night I phone her, hoping to have a civil chat, but she starts fretting over trivial things and making mountains out of molehills. I become exasperated and simply say her name in an attempt to calm her down, to which she becomes indignant and we essentially put the phone down on each other. I don’t understand why she’s pushing me away, constantly being at odds with anything I say, quick to take offence, constantly feeding back negatively. Until recently she was so positive, letting nothing phase her. Whatever her reasons, I frankly don’t care. I don’t need this. I just don’t feel enough for her to take on board and work through this shit.

I’ll say goodbye to The Cockaholic this week.

As far as I’m concerned I’m totally single again, so out of curiosity more than anything I re-install Tinder on my phone and start flicking through faces. My search area is narrow so it doesn’t take me long to spot a profile that I’m convinced is The Cockaholic putting on a disguise. She’s wearing a broad beach-hat, has a large scarf draped around her neck and the photo is taken from a distance in low light. Nevertheless I recognize The Cockaholic from her distinctive body shape and hint of a smile. The distance is two miles further than her home, but that would place her at naughty best friend’s place. Has this friend been influencing her, given that she’s an expert at sneaking around? I don’t actually care any more.

The Cockaholic mentioned on Monday night that she was having dinner with someone on Tuesday night. The way she said it made me suspicious. I suspect that it’s a date and, quite frankly, I couldn’t care less. Neither of us make any attempt to communicate with the other on Tuesday. I phone her at 9.30pm on Wednesday night, knowing that she’s always home by then, but my call goes to her voicemail. At lunchtime on Thursday she sends me a text message saying that she only got my message then. I suspect that she was out again, perhaps sleeping over at some guys place. She was very quick to jump into bed with me, so why not someone else?

The Cockaholic promises to call me tonight; I’ll say goodbye to her then.

11th December – Thursday
I’m expecting this break-up to result in one of three responses: 1) She’s shocked and disappointed 2) She’s not shocked nor disappointed 3) Tells me that she’s met someone anyway. My instincts tell me that’s it’s most likely the latter.

I’ve just got off the phone from The Cockaholic. I said to her, “I’ve come to the conclusion that we’re not right for each other”. Her initial reaction was a curt, emotionless “Okay”. That was it. I pry for further words, but she didn’t want to discuss it or say anything else. It was option 2 – she wasn’t shocked or disappointed. The Cockaholic didn’t seem upset at all, more blasé and indifferent. I said a few nice words to be civil and soften the blow in case she was upset in some way. My words seemed to have zero impact. Less than a minute later we said goodbye.

Despite everything I think she’s a good, decent person, but just devoid of the appeal and magic that I want, expect and need from a relationship. I think her insecurities will wreck any relationship. I know that I have my own trust issues, but I’m aware of them and I try to keep them in check. Experiences like this are not helping soothe them though.

The more I think about what happened between us and her sudden change in behaviour, the more I think she had started seeing someone else. It would be churlish of me to be indignant, after all I wasn’t exactly honest with her in the beginning. It seems almost fair that she wasn’t honest with me towards the end. There’s an irony there that amuses me somewhat. Easy come, easy go – Tinder hey-ho and heave-ho.

The very next night, a Friday, The Cockaholic sends me a text message just after 10pm that simply says, “Hahahaha.

At first I thought that she sent this to me by mistake, but then I see another angle. The way I know The Cockaholic, it’s her saying that she’s having the last laugh. I take that as final confirmation that she has been seeing someone else or has just met someone interesting for a date or a shag. Good luck to her…and him.

This encounter has left me a hollow feeling inside. I know that my intent was bad, that The Cockaholic was supposed to just be a one-night stand, but I liked her, well, the initial her. I guess I got literally sucked into a so-called ‘situationship’ with her. Then it quickly turned sour and I think it’s because she developed suspicions about my whereabouts which led to her choosing to pursue a course of action which was not warranted. Perhaps it was for the best.

I’m surprised by how little I feel about this, it scares me.

Is it because I wasn’t that taken by her to start with? Is it because I’m starting to expect all encounters to end in failure? Is my heart hardening? More importantly, am I capable of love any more? I don’t know.

All that coupled with the recent revelation of The Saffa’s duplicitous actions while I was still interested in her has reinforced this hollow feeling. I understand now that the source of her self-induced drama was exaggerated by guilt from her sneaking around too.

I find myself sitting listening to Robbie Williams’ ‘Feel’ over and over again. The words are about me and I don’t know what to do about that.

Who or what am I going to meet next? I’m developing a sense of trepidation…

Lessons learned: 1) Beware a jealous, insecure woman because she’ll make your life hell and ruin the relationship. Don’t make excuses for her behaviour, they don’t change, don’t be a diaper for her issues, just move on. 2) A mutual lack or erosion of trust kills a romance quicker than acid. 3) No matter how good the sex, it’s only a matter of time before it all ends. 4) Some women are ‘anacondas’ in their relationship style. At first they’re all sweetness and light, but slowly they tighten the noose and try to control their man. 5) When a woman’s behaviour suddenly changes for the worse, then something serious is going on, perhaps another man. Passive-aggressive behaviour might be driven by guilt.

Robbie Williams- Feel

The Saffa’s end

The Saffa sends me WhatsApp messages on the Monday night, but I ignore these as I’m being pleasantly distracted by The Cockaholic’s oral fixation. Over the course of the week The Saffa and I speak only once a day, either in the morning or the night, not three times a day like we used to. It’s all very civil, tinged with a sense of nervousness; where that comes from I don’t know. Is it from my sense of guilt? No, it’s her demeanour. Does she suspect something? I don’t think so.

She’s right, the romance is over, which is a shame because I love the romance. It might be fair to say I live for the romance. I hadn’t got enough of it with her and now it feels like the hard, steady grind of loveless, pointless relationship is all that awaits. The wheels have spun off and this cart is on its rickety chassis, sliding down a stony hill.

The Cockaholic has gone off to Spain with her mother for a week, I know in that time I must end things with The Saffa. I want a cleaner conscience as matters progress with The Cockaholic. On the Sunday morning I meet The Saffa at my station for what I expect will be he last time I’ll see her. After everything we’ve been through I think I owe it to her to let her down in person.

It’s dreary Autumn morning, rain is imminent, which adds to her sombre mood. We kiss hello, but its feckless. We end up back at my place, intent on going to visit another nearby town, but we don’t. After less than an hour of preparing a curry for lunch, her sipping wine and two episodes of Californication, she’s frisky. Her period is due in the coming week and I’m learning that, like most women, the week before her period is when she is horniest.

It isn’t lost on me that this is just like when I wanted to break up with Busty Czech in that sex got in the way. One last fuck, why not? Yes, I’m doing it again, caving in at the merest whiff of pussy. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m a satyr.

The Saffa complains of a trapped nerve in her right shoulder, so I get my massage oil…and the tube of KY jelly that she had left behind previously. My mind conjures up a naughty idea.

I give her a decent back massage and minutes later she’s sucking on my cock. We strip off in my lounge, try a bit of conventional sex, but I’ve got anal on my mind. She seemed up for it in the past and I never know when I might get another chance to do it properly, so I start talking dirty about it.

“Do you like sucking on my cock?” I begin.

“I love it,” she replies.

“Imagine feeling it in your pussy,” I continue, warming her brain up.

“Mmm,” she mumbles with my cock in her mouth.

“Now imagine feeling my cock in your arse,” I say, planting the idea in her head.

She doesn’t say anything, but just looks at me with her baby-blue eyes and smiles whilst maintaining suction. The Saffa ‘s almost as good a cock-sucker as The Cockaholic, but the latter still has the edge.

“Imagine feeling my cock pumping and squirting cum in your arse,” I say, going for the kill.

“Oh, fuck…” she utters.

“Imagine feeling my hot, sticky cum in your bum,” I say, hoping that this closes it.

“Oh, ja, let’s do it!” she says, dropping my erection out of her mouth and standing up.

Ah, she’s up for it, so I get the KY jelly and lubricate her arse with one finger. I smear some over my cock and we try doggy-style. I slide my cock into her anus slowly and and give a few gentle thrusts before she complains of the pain. She suggests missionary position which is weird to me, but we’re so close so we try it.

It works. After about thirty seconds of gentle ass-fucking, she’s relaxed and enjoying it. After about another minute she’s quite happy to parrot, “please fuck me in the arse” repeatedly, exactly as I tell her to.

“Please choke me while you fuck me in the arse,” she blurts out, throwing her arms up next to her head.

I oblige and The Saffa closes her eyes in utter satisfaction.

Choking during sex
Choking during sex
Anal on the brain
Anal on the brain
How not to suggest anal
How not to suggest anal
Anal prep is important
Anal prep is important
Anal lube is vital
Anal lube is vital

The Saffa’s arse feels like the tightest pussy I’ve ever penetrated, yet so smooth from the lube, thus giving me an exquisite sensation. My hips speed up and I can feel the lubricant wearing thin. I let myself cum, exploding ejaculate into her rectum, while still choking her. It’s difficult not to tighten my grip at a moment like this, so I let go for her own safety.

After a few seconds my orgasm subsides and I want to pull out, slowly edging my cock out of her arse.

“No, don’t. Stay. I want to feel it some more,” she says, snapping out of her own world and looking me in the eyes again.

For half a minute I press my fists into the sofa either side of her head as she savours whatever she’s feeling. She starts stroking my arms and chest, gripping various muscles, just like Krazy Girl used to. It’s nice to feel appreciated.

We takes turns going to the bathroom and end up watching more Californication with the slightest hint of excrement and ammonia in the air.

It’s getting time for her to go back, I start making noises about this, but true to form, The Saffa starts sucking on my cock. I don’t care if she gets into trouble at work; she doesn’t, so why should I?

She diligently sucks me off while I look down at her, thinking to myself about my cock having been in her arse a couple of hours ago.

Her train departs my station when she should have been reporting for work.

On the Tuesday night she phones me and within minutes we’re embroiled in a pointless argument about her work. Again she is rubbing her employers up the wrong way over a new issue and it shows her callous disregard for other people. Her psychopathic lack of empathy reminds me of my Exgf far too much. It’s especially the “fuck them” attitude that bothers me. It hints at what she’s like in a relationship – it really is all about her options.

The conversation gets heated, she keeps talking over me and The Saffa yet again abruptly hangs up on me. I decide that it’s for the last time, so in the morning I send her this email:

Sorry, but we clash far too much for my liking.

For several weeks now our relationship has felt like a clash of wills and not a romance.

I want the latter and convinced myself to give “us” time.

I’m going through a bit of a rough patch in my life at the moment and a roller-coaster relationship is the last thing I need right now.

I need to be with someone who lifts my spirits and is easy company – sadly, to me, you are neither of those things. I want a harmonious relationship – for you that would be boring because it seems to me that you court drama.

I’m having to put this in writing because, as last night proved, you won’t let me say my piece. I have to tell you that you have an annoying habit of talking over people. You have not learnt that there are times when keeping quiet is the best thing to do. You won’t do this because you like the drama – I hate drama.

If I were to try to have this conversation with you in person or over the phone, quite frankly, it would be impossible. It would only end badly.

So, despite the best of intentions and purest of hopes, it has become clear to me that we are just not right together.

We don’t bring out the best in each other. Outside of the bedroom we lack magic. At times it has felt like we are two draught horses pulling in opposite directions. That’s not how it should be.

We can’t even make pancakes together.

All you had to do was be nice to me. Instead, at times, you’ve treated me like the enemy.

I then realized that you’re just not going to open up your heart to me.

I just don’t have time and energy for a relationship like what we’ve had. It’s not what I want or deserve.

The time has come for us to go our separate ways.


I wish you all the best for the future.

After sending it I sit there with a heavy heart and I realize something. My transformation into Hank Moody from Californication is now complete because this scene springs to mind:

I find it interesting that The Saffa was on her best behaviour and most keen when she was trying to win me away from Busty Czech. As soon as she felt a sense of commitment or security from me her behaviour changed for the worse and her true colours came out. In the beginning she was compliant and agreeable to everything, but that quickly morphed into a battle of wills. I started to wonder if she was getting off on mind games, the silly, nasty power games that turbulent relationships are characterised by.

The Saffa wasn’t The One, despite my having some hope that she was. Our dalliance lasted little more than a month. I have learned some lessons from it, hopefully they stick in my psyche.

The Cockaholic hasn’t proven herself either way so I need to give it time with her, despite her being somewhat enigmatic. It’s a few days after saying goodbye to The Saffa and I’ve just developed doubts about who The Cockaholic really is with in Spain which is causing my Trust Demon to be stomping around.

Again it’s beginning to fade to grey, all so fucking grey.

Lessons learned: 1) Women are more competitive than men, especially in the romance stakes. Some women like a challenge by way of wooing a man away from another woman. I guess it partially explains why some women are attracted to married men: it makes them feel more of a woman if they can get a man off another woman. 2) Most woman like to have a sense of power in relationship. If they can bend a man to their will, then it makes them feel powerful. However, it’s a poisoned chalice because after a while her respect for him will erode and with that any sense of love. 3) Drama queens like the excitement that comes with drama, not caring how destructive to a relationship it might be. If there isn’t drama, they’ll create it. A passionate fight is better than being bored. 4) A sense of security for some women gives them the idea that they can treat a man badly because he will always be there. A little bit of insecurity certainly keeps bad behaviour at bay. 5) The way to deal with drama queens, megalomaniacs and challenge-seekers is to treat them badly. They respect a man then, they fear his strength and that excites them. It’s fucked up, but it works.

Visage – Fade to Grey

Bye Busty & hello Saffa!

“I was just starting to fall for you,” Busty Czech laments in reply to me telling her that we won’t be seeing each other any more. It’s been a long Monday and I’ve spent it checking my thoughts about her and The Saffa one more time before deciding that I get a much better feeling from being with The Saffa.

I make the phone-call I’ve been dreading after 8pm. I find the usual string of words I’ve used with other women to let down Busty Czech as gently as I know how. I say what I have to as slowly and compassionately as I know how.

“I’m in shock. I didn’t see this coming,” she says as I scrunch myself up emotionally on the other side of the phone.

“Are you still coming on the trip with me on the weekend?” she asks.

“No, I won’t be. I’m sorry,” I say with a heavy heart.

“So I suppose you won’t be taking me to the airport either?” she continues, the true implications of my words still not having sunk in properly.

“No, I won’t be doing that either,” I reply, biting my lower lip.


“I think I know you well enough to know that you won’t change your mind,” she says.

I keep quiet. Why add to the damage?

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you can come on the trip but on a friend’s basis?” she asks.

If she knew there was another woman on the scene she’d go ballistic. I think it best that she doesn’t know because why add anger to the mix? There’s also no way I can go away on this trip because then I’d lose The Saffa for sure and she’s the one that I want.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I counter. If we did go away it would probably lead to loud screaming sex, our hearts in turmoil and an even more complicated situation for us both.

After a few moment’s contemplation “Oh, okay,” she says, seemingly resigned to our new fate.

The call takes a more practical route by way of me suggesting alternative logistics for her to get to and from the airports involved and dealing with her luggage that would be too much for her to handle by herself.

Her tone subsides to that of pained acceptance as I end the call. I know she’s going off to cry her eyes out on her bed now.

I have to stop doing this to women.

This was not the best way to have ended the day that was my birthday.

My next morning starts with my phone having an epileptic fit from all the messages The Saffa has sent me on WhatsApp, text and email overnight. I call her from my bed and tell her that I said adiós to Busty Czech. Her silent response hints at a sense of relief on her side, but maybe I’m reading too much into it.

I’ve been thinking about how The Saffa’s been perceiving matters between us thus far. She must really want me if she’s been so patient about my getting rid of the unwelcome extra person on the scene. I don’t think I’d have been as understanding as her. Maybe she has things to teach me?

We end up indulging in sexting with us sending photos from our phones that get both of us off. I confess that I initiated this. The Saffa is sitting in a bay window at her employer’s home. The old lady she’s looking after is still asleep. The Saffa is wearing only that blue silk robe that she suggestively takes off, one photo at a time.

The Saffa’s as naughty as me, possibly naughtier. She seems willing to follow my lead. By comparison she’s a lot more fun than Busty Czech, the latter is riddled with issues and negativity.

But is this love?

Whitesnake – Is This Love

Lamb and chicken

On Saturday afternoon I arrive at Busty Czech’s home with my heart in my mouth. I have to dump her so that I can have The Saffa. I also have to kiss goodbye to a thousand Pounds for a holiday that I’m now not going to have with Busty Czech. The Saffa is patiently waiting for me to stop seeing Busty Czech so that she can have me to herself, but her patience is wearing thin. This situation has felt like a vice with me trapped in the middle. I know what I have to do and I’m not looking forward to doing it.

Busty Czech greets me at her door and she is wearing a leopard-print dress which strikes me as a bit odd. She’s all positive and bubbly, talkative and perpetually smiling at me. I can’t dump her immediately after walking through the door; I’ll wait until she’s calmed down.

She makes us coffee and we seat ourselves in the lounge. There’s a wonderful smell in the air; what is it? Busty Czech is on a rampage of telling me everything that is in her head. Her thoughts about our trip to the French Riviera in a week’s time dominate. Over her shoulder I notice a wrapped present sitting in the middle of the dining table. She’s like an excited little girl, it’s so sweet.

Our chats at night over the weeks have always had a negative slant to them so her positive behaviour now I find surprising. Why is she being so ebullient? Then I figure out it’s because she’s gone to some effort to lay on a day of treats for my birthday. She’s a Giver and definitely not a Taker. Oh shit, when is the right time to do this?

“How about you open your present first?,” she suggests, getting up to go get it for me.

Two weeks ago she asked me what my cologne was, so I told her ‘Hermes Terre’. She seemed to listen carefully to this, so I’m guessing I’ll be getting that for my birthday.

I open the carefully wrapped box to find a large, dark-blue scented candle in it.

“I simply love the smell of that candle because it reminds me of you. It smells manly,” she says with a smug smile.

I swallow hard; I’m not feeling very manly at the moment.

I can’t dump her now; best to wait a little bit longer.

Her upbeat nature continues until a buzzer sounds in the kitchen. She’s prepared a leg of roast lamb and it’s perfectly done. We sit down after I’ve carved the lamb which she knows is my favourite meat. Does The Saffa know that? Busty Czech has laid on the prefect lamb roast with all the traditional trimmings and her culinary skills impress me. I realize that I don’t know anything about The Saffa’s kitchen skills.

Busty Czech is on a roll and just keeps talking, which suits me fine. I’m enjoying the meal but my mind is nagging me. Now’s still not the right time to dump her. Am I sure I’m doing the right thing? At this moment I’m not entirely certain.

I envisaged walking in here, getting her comfortable and then letting her down as gently as I’ve learned to do, courtesy of all the practise I’ve had doing so with other women in the past two years. Busty Czech seems the least deserving of heartache. She’s done nothing wrong; she’s a wonderful person. She’s nothing like the others that I’ve broken up with.

Shit, I just can’t do it; it’s just too hard.

I have to do this over the phone.


Looking at my plate of food before me it strikes me that Busty Czech is like a lamb, all cute, harmless and innocent. She is the meek lamb and me, well I guess I’m the cowardly chicken.

So here we are, the lamb and the chicken.

My shoulders relax as Busty Czech brings me an elaborate pavlova dessert that she got up early to make. Her generosity is wonderful, but The Saffa can be generous too.

I’m not a big wine-drinker but most women are. I nurse my glass of red for an hour while Busty Czech polishes off the bottle. Not surprisingly, in my experience, the alcohol in her system lowers her inhibitions and she assails me with initially sweet kisses and then lusty ones. If I rebuff her she’ll get upset, she’ll ask me what’s wrong then I have to break up with her to which tears will be added. I can’t stand to see a woman cry.

Busty Czech gets up, disappears into her bedroom and comes back wearing a leopard-print face-mask and bunny ears. It all matches her dress. Ah, this must be part of the birthday surprise she mentioned in her text message. She looks so cute, but what’s this in aid of?

She puts some music on and starts dancing suggestively to it. Well this is a surprise. I can’t dump her now.

“Unfortunately my period started today, but we can have fun in other ways,” she says cheerily.

I’m not sure what she means. I don’t think she’s into anal and she’s not likely to whip out a bag full of toys like Tech Titan did, so what has she got on her mind? I know that some women are at their horniest while they’re menstruating; I’ll have to sit back and see for myself. Fuck it, I’m going to have to forget about dumping her and just have some fun with her tonight.

What’s with women having their periods start at times like these? This is how Life screws with me. Still got to make the best of it.

An idea comes to me and I take my phone out. I’ve never had a woman I’m dating dance for me. I want to capture the novelty of this. I start taking photos with my phone as Busty Czech cracks open another bottle of wine and pours glasses full for us.

She starts dancing again while I snap pics of her. Slowly she starts to unbutton the front of her dress. There’s no sign of a bra as her breasts push against the front of the dress. Something in my groin starts to stir.

Busty Czech strips down to her knickers, all tastefully done and in time to the music. The leopard-print mask and matching bunny ears remain in place on her face and head. I can’t believe she’s letting me take photos of her like this, but I’m not saying anything. She wants to do this for me, so I’ll let her.

Suddenly she stops dancing and takes a seat at the dining table to drink some wine. I’m seated on the sofa opposite her and take some close-up shots. She’s sitting with her knees together in a very lady-like fashion, her breasts dangling down as she takes sips of wine. Damn, she has fantastic breasts!

Thirst quenched and under the affluence of incohol, she glides over to me, gesturing for me to stop taking photos. I put the phone down; why antagonize her?

Busty Czech starts fiddling with my jeans and shirt, unbuttoning both, splaying my shirt open and then tearing my jeans and jocks off, casting them gingerly to one side. Her eyes latch onto my growing cock.

Without a word she sinks down to her knees between my legs and in a quick motion pulls my foreskin back and starts sucking my cock. It feels wonderful.

“Have you ever seen yourself giving a blowjob?” I ask.

“No,” she mumbles with my cock in her mouth.

“I’ll take some photos, then I’ll show you later and I’ll delete them,” I say without waiting for her to say anything else.

Instead of taking more photos I switch my phone onto video-mode as Busty Czech hungrily is sucking on me like a starved lamb attached to it’s mother’s teat.

She is unaware of what I’ve just done and I’m not inclined to tell her, not just yet anyway. Busty Czech closes her eyes and rhythmically sucks away on my cock. As cock-suckers go, she’s one of the better ones I’ve had on the end of my shaft. It’s such a pity that she won’t take my cum in her mouth and then swallow it.

I move my phone to my left so that I can capture more a profile shot and perhaps get some of her fantastic breasts in the footage too.

Oblivious to what I’m doing Busty Czech is happily sucking away on the end of my cock, occasionally stopping to run her tongue around my bell-end or up and down the shaft of my penis. She seems to be in a trance, perhaps brought on by the weird gypsy music she’s playing on the stereo.



Thoughts of The Saffa are on my mind as I listen to Busty Czech on the phone telling me how excited she is about our upcoming trip to the French Riviera. I feel torn between these two women and guilty as all hell. The former is aware of the other and trying to woo me, while the latter is blissfully ignorant.

It’s when Busty Czech starts telling me on Thursday night’s call about her guardian angels and how they look after her that I decide that she’s not The One. I don’t know if The Saffa is The One, but I know that Busty Czech isn’t. I know that I have to stop seeing her, but I also really want and need that expensive holiday that I’ve already paid in full for. I feel trapped between two sexy blondes and a beckoning blue sea.

I agonize all day Friday about what to do. Shall I dump Busty Czech tomorrow when I’m seeing her and thus walk away from the trip, kissing all that money goodbye? Will The Saffa be worth the sacrifice? Is Busty Czech better suited to me and I’m too blind to see it? I’m not a hundred percent sure about what to do.

Uncertainty in any situation does not sit well with me. I like to make a plan and then make it work. If I strip out the trip then it is obvious to me that The Saffa is the one I want to go forward with. I just have to take the monetary hit and hope for the best.

Busty Czech deserves to see me face to face as I let her down. I feel my doing this is person is the right thing to do. It’s what she deserves and will probably need. Then when I see The Saffa on Sunday I’ll feel free and a more normal unfolding of events between us can occur.

On Saturday morning I wake up to my phone showing me this text message from Busty Czech:

Yesterday I had another relapse at work. I had bad muscle weakness in my arms etc. Fighting the virus obviously does not help. Still not good this morning. I’m sorry, we can’t get together this weekend. I need to rest. I’ll make it up to you next weekend. Xx

At first I feel disappointed, but this is quickly followed by annoyed. Then the doubts set in. Maybe I’m being too hasty with Busty Czech? Perhaps this is Life testing me, toying with me? Am I being too hasty with The Saffa? Impatience has always been my biggest character flaw. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been too impatient with some of the other women I’ve dated. What am I going to tell The Saffa tomorrow? I start to feel trapped again.

It’s a perfect Sunday morning as I stand outside Tower Hill Tube station waiting for The Saffa. I’m still not sure what I’m going to tell her. When she arrives, smiling at me, I struggle to kiss her hello with anything that resembles passion.

As usual she’s all chatty and positive which calms me down. I lead her to the O2 centre because she had mentioned in passing that she’s never been there. We catch the cablecar across the Thames and share a beer in the sunshine on barge that’s been converted into a floating pub. I let her do the talking and like a brow-beaten long-married husband I just make approving sounds at appropriate moments. I just hope that she doesn’t ask me about Busty Czech.

A chilly wind sweeps the Thames and we move onto the O2 centre itself where I take The Saffa to a South African steakhouse just like I have done with a few other dates. In our mutual youth this chain was a staple of our leisure-time as teenagers. She’s awed by the nostalgia brought on by the restaurant and she jabbers on about her memories. She’s a pleasure to be around; her energy is infectious.

Racks of juicy ribs are quickly devoured and favourite desserts are slowly shared. For the first time in several hours there’s a silence between us. A serious look spreads across The Saffa’s pretty face and her eyebrows start to duel.

“So what have you decided about me and your other chickie?”

Shit. I suppose her asking this was always going to happen.

“Well, things are more complicated,” I begin.

“How so?” she interjects, leaning slightly forward in her seat.

“On our second date I agreed to go away on holiday with her,” I continue.

“What?!” The Saffa exclaims.

“I know, I know. Stupid, huh?”

“When’s this happening?”

“In two week’s time,” I reply.

“Have you slept with her?” she asks.

“No, not yet,” I lie.

I lie through my teeth; it’s one of the worst lies I’ve ever told and I feel like shit for it. I’ve said enough already to scare her off. I don’t want to risk saying anything more that will cause me to lose her.

“No way! You’re going to sleep with her on the holiday, guaranteed!” she blurts out.

She’s right. If I do go on this trip then there is a very good chance that, given the environment, Busty Czech and I shall make the beast with two backs…with her screaming her head off. I can hear the screams now.

“Ag, man. This is no good for me,” she laments, fidgeting in her seat.

“Hold on a sec. You haven’t heard me out,” I reproach, raising a finger in the air.

The Saffa falls silent, her face still stern, her eyes darting about. It looks like she’s ready to run out of the restaurant. Whatever I say next has to be good or she’s off, never to be seen again.

“I’ve decided that you’re the one that I want. I was planning on breaking it off with her yesterday but she called in sick. I’ll say goodbye to her when I next see her,” I explain.

A look of relief then rays of pleasure transforms The Saffa’s face into a beaming smile. She lurches forward across the table, cups my face in both her hands and plants a big kiss on my lips. I smile.

I smile because it feels good to have made a decision that became clear to me as this date progressed. I smile from an overdue sense of relief. I don’t feel trapped any more.

The Saffa is almost skipping around as we tour the O2, looking at the variety of restaurants, tourist attractions, upcoming pop concerts and the scale of the structure itself.

“Hey, why don’t we go back to my place for dessert. The old dear that I’m looking after is at her daughter’s for the day and there’s something I want to show you,” she says excitedly, her eyes beaming a bright blue.

“Okay, let’s go back to your place,” I say, not sure what is coming my way now, but I suspect it’s going to be memorable.


Brazilian adeus

After fantastic sex on Saturday we indulged in pillow talk during which The Brazilian hinted that she has a fear of commitment. It stemmed from her childhood and her parent’s unhappy marriage. That’s not too unusual as I’ve met several woman on my dates with similar stories, but I want to proceed with caution and my eyes wide open. I realize that I don’t really know much about her history, so on Monday I decide to go digging. We keep repeating our history until we learn from it.

I found The Brazilian’s Facebook page and saw that her favourite male character from ‘Sex and the City’ (her treasured show) was Aidan. Strangely, that’s my second name. I read up on this character and other than him making furniture and having a kid, I am Aidan in character but less of a doormat. It’s freaky.

She listed on Facebook her two favourite movies as being ‘Out of Africa’ and ‘The Way We Were’. The stories both end in a similar fashion: the relationships fail and the woman is left feeling abandoned. I find that quite telling and take it as something of a red flag. However, I notice something about both storylines: the protagonists are separated for a while before being re-united and their romance resumes before ultimately failing.

Is this her style of relationship? Is this what she likes doing to men? Is this why she asked me on our second date what my favourite type of movie ending is?

When it got to that time of night when Busty Blonde and I would talk on the phone, a little part of me would dread it and then be relieved when the call was over. With The Brazilian I can’t wait to call her; I feel like a pimple-faced teenager all over again. I can’t wait to hear her voice, but I don’t know what we’ll talk about and I don’t really care. We’ll start off with “Hello…” and take it from there.

I have to draw on all the skills that I’ve acquired over the past two years in order to keep The Brazilian. She’s a massive challenge because of her commitment fear, something I can really do without, but hopefully it’s temporary. I don’t want it to become the focus of our relationship; I want mutual love and respect to be our axis.

I phoned her on Monday night, we had a pleasant enough chat – well, it was her venting about a bad customer mostly. I spoke to her about the Farnborough Air Show, something I had mentioned the previous day and her response seemed lukewarm at best. I then asked about getting together the coming weekend. Her response was, “Well, I’ve been invited to a birthday party on the Saturday night, so I’ll probably go to that. I’ve also been invited to a kiddies birthday party on the Sunday. I usually don’t go to those, but this one I might.”

This kiddies party was different because a customer who had stopped doing business was going to be there and The Brazilian wanted this person to feel awkward. Now if she would rather do that than see me, then that tells me loads; she’s vindictive and can be confrontational. She also doesn’t know who or what is good for her. It also tells me that I’m not a high priority. Of course I’m accepting at face value that she’s telling me the truth. Ah, my good ol’ trust demon furrows his hairy brow, his dark eyes glow as he grips the bars of his cage and starts tugging at them…

“Okay, no problem, “ I say. Of course it was a problem. I want to see her again but I get the impression from her words and their tone that she isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to see me again. I’m making that old mistake of getting too invested in a woman I liked too quickly. Old habits die hard, but I can’t help getting carried away like an excited little boy on Xmas eve. I know what I want and I want it as quickly as possible. Seen logically, the prudent thing to do is to re-activate my dating profiles and keep my options open. That way I don’t allow myself to become too attached too soon which might spook her and result in pain for me.

I ended the call on Monday night saying that it was her turn to call me. Let’s see how long it takes before she calls me. I’m going to give her time and space to miss me. I won’t initiate any kind of communication on Tuesday. If I don’t hear from her at all on Tuesday, then late that night I’ll go on to the dating sites where I switched my profiles off last week and start creating options. I use that word ‘option’ because that is exactly how I’m starting to feel to her.

I would love to have the chance to say to her, “Isn’t time you let go of an idea you told yourself to believe a long time ago when you were a little girl? We all hold on to ideas that actually hold us back from getting what we want. Your ideas about commitment are wrong and redundant. They have not served you well. Don’t you think it’s time to leave them behind and move onto something more useful?”

Tuesday and I’m writing about Krazy Girl for my blog. A part of me is becoming very aware of the similarities between Krazy Girl and The Brazilian: coming on all fiery and excited in the beginning then suddenly blowing cold and then disappearing. Is the excellent sex impairing my judgement again? I’m struck by another similarity between the two in that Krazy Girl went to great pains to keep my existence secret and, although it’s only been ten days with The Brazilian, she told me that she has informed nobody of my existence too. I need to proceed slowly and with caution, not just to avoid scaring her off, but to protect myself.

I go on to Tinder to re-read my messages with The Brazilian, looking for clues and see that she was active on it 3 days ago and had removed one photo and replaced it with another. Why do that if you think you’ve met somebody? You wouldn’t. I have to accept that her fear of commitment is a massive problem and that I should start taking steps to protect myself from possible harm. I’ll cool it with her, let her do more of the running by way of initiating contact and see what happens.

It dawned on me today that so far she has not said anything or done anything that indicates that she’s interested in a relationship. Over the course of the day there was absolutely no contact between us. I was determined to not initiate communication. She can make an effort too.

Relationships and effort.
Relationships and effort.

I’m wondering if she was unimpressed by my place. It didn’t fit in with her expectation. Most women have an idea that they generate in their own heads about what a guy’s place will be like, because it’s part and parcel with their fantasy of the perfect man coming along out of nowhere and, of course, he’s rich too. It’s a great fantasy and most women buy into it and many live their lives according to it. My place is basic, it’s not fancy or flash in any way. Has it done it’s job of warding off another gold-digger?

Late on Tuesday night, during the World Cup game in which Brazil was losing five nil at half-time to Germany, she sent me a Whatsapp message that said, “You do know that I’m half German?” I left it a few minutes and responded with “Call me.” She didn’t call.

I remember her saying that she wants an easygoing, drama-free relationship. I took that to mean that she has only known the opposite of this. I now see that she is the cause of the drama. This hot-cold treatment I’ve seen before and I don’t like it. I’m too old for silly fucking games.

I’m starting to think her primary interest in me is sexual. Anything else is just noise. So be it; as long as I know the score. I won’t go getting my hopes up; the likelihood of disappointment is high. A pity, because I really like her.

Wednesday and I’ve seen that she’s been active on Whatsapp over the course of the day when I’ve gone on it to chat with friends. Yes, I would check when last she had logged on too and it was as often as me at a minimum. So, no real communication in two days. I’m feeling angry and I go onto Tinder, reactivate it and get a match within minutes and started swapping messages. I go on to a few of my trusted free dating sites and reactivate my profiles. I write to two new women on PoF.

I’ve started to subscribe to the expression that people come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. My instincts now tell me that it is going to just be the first reason with The Brazilian. The fact that she had not lived with a boyfriend since 2002, when she was 26, I should have taken as a massive red flag. She clearly has issues about commitment and relationships because I think it’s only natural to want to live with somebody if you love them.

The Brazilian’s obviously not relationship material. Does she revel in self-sabotage so that she can get her kicks out of feeling scorned? How many men has she done this to and how many more will experience this?

How many more women like her will I encounter? What percentage of women are like her? The mistake was obviously mine in that I still emotionally believe that having sex with someone is an act of commitment. I should know better by now. I have an increased need to want to visit a STD clinic now.

Thursday and I resolve that if I do hear from her again, I’ll wait that amount of time to get back to her. I’ve been so bothered by her behaviour, the blowing hot then cold, that I’ve done some research on the internet about it. The common advice is to leave her be, then only contact her as often as she contacts me. An interesting article contended that physical attraction has a very short use-by date and should best be exploited as quickly as possible.

However, I have to face facts. Nobody’s that busy that they can’t call or text me. She’s just not that into me. The way I feel about her now is largely disappointment. I’m also feeling a little foolish in myself. Connecting with someone on Tinder seems to be just about the sex. If I never hear from her again I won’t be too surprised or disappointed. I shouldn’t have got my hopes up like I did. Stupid Boy. Stupid, stupid boy…

Friday drifts by and I don’t look at anything involving The Brazilian. Swapping messages with other prospects feels tedious; I’ve had the wind knocked out of my sails. On Saturday morning, out of boredom and frustration, I go on to Tinder to see who was out there. I flick over to The Brazilian’s profile to see that she had logged on at 11pm the previous night.

Monday night and to my great surprise The Brazilian phones me at 9.30pm. She tells me that a troublesome customer had really upset her the previous week and she was having sleepless nights because of it. To boot she also had a cold and spent most of Saturday sleeping, not going to her friend’s party on the Saturday night nor the kiddies birthday party on the Sunday. The conversation was mostly her venting about her bad customer and unthinking staff. I found it boring, but had mastered the art of saying “uh-huh” with other women many years ago. She seemed still keen to go to the Farnborough Air Show on the coming weekend. The conversation ended after an hour – our longest chat via phone yet – with her saying twice, “We’ll speak soon, yes?”

I was pleased to hear from her and very surprised because I thought she was lost to me. I’m sure that there’s lots that she’s not telling me. I think this period of silence between us will do me a lot of good. I am looking forward to seeing her again.

I think I’ll surprise her with my red sports car and then we’ll have a nice barbecue with my friends. Depending on the weather we’ll either see the airshow on the Saturday or the Sunday. I hope it’s the former because I’ll then have an excuse to sleep over. I don’t expect sex, but it would be nice to feel her fall asleep in my arms.

If my reading of the situation is correct, then her phoning me was a massive act of commitment on her part. The way she said “speak soon”, the almost pleading tone, which surprised me, is a sign that she really wants to see more of me. I’m very happy to oblige. I’m already thinking of taking her to the Bristol Balloon Festival.

I didn’t phone her on the Tuesday as I didn’t want to seem too keen again, but besides that, there was little new to discuss. On the Wednesday night I spoke to my friend about the upcoming Farnborough Air Show and the weather forecast is rainy, except for the Sunday afternoon. I called The Brazilian at 8.15pm and ended up leaving a voice message. I then sent her a Whatsapp message just to make sure. Then I realised it was a Wednesday night, it’s when she seems to disappear. Peter Sarstedt said it best, “Where do you go to my lovely?”

I saw on Whatsapp that she logged on at 10.15pm and saw my message. I was tempted to phone her, not expecting her to answer because I would probably hear train noise in the background or a restaurant scene. My trust demon insists that she was on a date with another guy.

I now don’t trust The Brazilian at all. This is going to fizzle out quickly so I need to make the most of what’s on offer. If I do get to spend a night with her again, I’m going to slip on a condom and fuck her in the arse because that’s all she’s showing herself to be good for. If I’m really lucky and naughty, I might film this with my phone as a keepsake. I didn’t get to do that with Krazy Girl and so badly would have loved to have a video of me fucking her.

The similarity of this situation is not lost on me. Sweet Thing was followed by Krazy Girl, almost two identical sets of relationship styles – submissive and compliant followed by unavailable and difficult. Is Life playing games with me too? Is there something that I’m being shown for a second time for a reason? Is there a vital life-lesson somewhere in all of this that I’m missing?

On Thursday The Brazilian sends me a message on Whatsapp saying that she had developed tonsillitis and that it is very contagious so we won’t be going anywhere on the weekend. I texted her back asking if she would like any company over the weekend. No response for several hours. Then it dawned on me; she’s not interested in me. All the silence, the excuses were just her way of trying to brush me off. I know what a woman is like when she is interested in me and this isn’t it. I feel like an unwanted puppet on the end of her string.

I send her this Whatsapp message: “Sorry, I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake…message understood…you won’t be hearing from me again…good luck and goodbye.

It is the shortest and most brutal message of its kind I’ve ever sent, but it reflects my mood. I feel cold and numb inside, a familiar numbness that was starting to feel like an old acquaintance that will never be a friend.

Alone again…

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) It is now a fact to me that only by the end of the third date will you know if there will be a relationship. If there’s any doubt, then there’s no doubt. 2) We all have our own relationship style and for some people it is a negative one. 3) Tinder appears to be a hook-up app for people only interested in sex.

For anyone who is experiencing this hot/cold behaviour from someone then the following article will help:

Barbra Streisand – Memories (from ‘The Way We Were’)

Busty Blonde Blues

Four months have gone by with Busty Blonde and love has not materialized. I had high hopes that with patience and each of us being who we are that love would put in an appearance. It hasn’t and I don’t think it’s going to. The fault lies on my side.

She is everything I need, but not everything that I want. I’ve been writing about Baltic Babe and remember how I felt about her, how excited I was to be seeing her. That’s how it should be. I just don’t feel that way about Busty Blonde and I don’t think I ever will. I keep asking myself “why?” and the answer is the same: the magic, the chemistry, just isn’t there. The chemistry between us is more like being with a really good friend, not The One.

I find it sad that mundane things like making coffee for us are exactly that – mundane. If it was with Baltic Babe or Krazy Gal, the simplest of things would take on an other-worldly significance, so bewitched by them I was. I fear that I am making a fool of Busty Blonde. She seems so happy and content with me, but if she knew how little I felt for her by comparison, her legs would give way under her and she would collapse in a heap on my carpet and start sobbing.

I’ve done it again; I’ve hoped that a relationship would grow just the way I did with Sweet Thing.

I’m feeling very bad about this situation because I know that Busty Blonde has done nothing wrong, but I have to end it with her. Busty Blonde knows about my blog and has asked me not to write about her. I have said that I’ll keep any references to her to an absolute minimum. It’s the least I can do for her. Thus I’m only mentioning a few things that are relevant to my quest and lessons learned along this uncertain route.

Busty Blonde being made redundant has hit her hard and I’ve been hoping and waiting for her to find a new job, but this has been long in coming too. I now find myself playing the role of an emotional crutch at a time when she feels low about herself. Sitting at home alone during weekdays has slowly eroded her self-confidence. If I dump her now there’s no telling the damage I’ll do. I’m fully aware that the longer I take to leave her be, the worse it’ll be when I inevitably do so, but I’m counting on a feel-good factor from her getting a new job.

From a selfish perspective Busty Blonde has restored my faith in women significantly. Without her knowing it she halted my plummet into losing all respect for women because of what I had experienced through online dating. She is one of the most decent, honourable, respectable people I have encountered in my life. I know that I’m going to have the opposite effect on her in that she’ll be shell-shocked for a long time and might never trust another man. I fear that I might have damaged or ruined someone remarkable. I’m ashamed of that.

The dating cycle
The dating cycle.

How did I let this happen? What was the build-up to this disastrous situation? What can I learn so that I don’t do it again? We make the same mistakes in life until we take the time to learn from them.

Friends-with-benefits was toxic for me. It addled my brain with a distorted view of reality. I was wearing pussy-vision while high on a cocktail of meaningless sex, never-ending blowjobs, frustration and revenge. The latter is supposedly a dish best served cold, but for me it was red-hot (videoing a woman masturbating with a champagne bottle is emblazoned in my psyche for life now). Anal-izing women who wanted it blew my mind. I was running the risk of becoming addicted to the sexcapades and hi-jinks that online dating effortlessly led to. Double-, triple- and quadruple-dating was remarkably easy when stringing along unsuspecting innocents, but what did it say about me? I was turning into a selfish player – a monster – and opting to commit to Busty Blonde brought me to my senses.

The feeling of permanence that came with seeing Busty Blonde, fleeting as it was, felt like an emotional exhale. I became a bit of my old self again and am able to see just how far off my path of nobility and decency I have strayed. Do I miss the adrenaline rush of discovering a new lover’s sexual preferences? Yes. Do I miss the high drama of that first date? Only a little bit. Do I have a burning desire to go internet dating again? No. Do I still want to find The One? Absolutely.

How best to proceed?

I’m wanting to keep my options open with Busty Blonde. Love might finally materialize, but on the assumption that it’s unlikely to, it’s in my interest to see if there’s anyone else who might be The One.

Yes, I’m being chicken-shit and not ending it with her immediately. Not yet at least.

I’ve given myself a deadline of 1st June at which point, if I’m not in love with her, I’ll say goodbye as best and as compassionately as I know how. Heaven knows I’ve had enough experience at letting women down. In those six weeks I dearly hope that Busty Blonde finds a job. If she does before that date then a week later I’ll do the hard but right thing.

What I can’t figure out just yet: is my heart hard or is my heart weak?

I’ve reactivated my OKCupid profile just to see who’s joined the dating circus since last year and there is a stand-out profile. I find it almost impossible to not make contact…oh, and look, there’s a cute South African on MatchAffinty who has written to me too…

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) I have to get it in my head that getting involved with the wrong person can never turn out right. 2) If the chemistry isn’t there on the first date, it’s unlikely to arrive later. 3) I have to be more selective in who I go on dates with 4) I want a relationship more than I want to fuck around.

Cock Robin – When Your Heart is Weak