Diary Of A Sex Fiend Read online

  ⋆ The name-dropping route? ‘Hi Graham, I’m Abby. I used to work with Kevin at EMI; you know him?’

  ⋆ The blagging route? ‘Hi Graham, I work in film. Ever thought of acting? I could put you in touch with the right people.’

  ⋆ The egotistical route? ‘Hi Graham, I think you’re great. I’d love to shoot your next video. Here’s my card.’

  ⋆ The chat-up route? ‘Hi there. I just had to come over and say hi – you have lovely eyes, you know. Can I buy you a beer?’

  ⋆ The totally unrealistic, yet I can always dream route? ‘Hi Graham. I think you’re a superb guitarist, but I’m not sure who would win in a contest between yourself and Justin Hawkins from The Darkness. Perhaps you should bring him over to my place and then I’ll be able to decide which of you is the most skilled musician.

  ‘Of course it’s not obligatory that you are naked whilst you play, but it will give you extra points and assist me with my decision. The winner of the contest gets to shag me; the runner-up, wins a blow job. If it’s a tie, you’ll just have to simultaneously share me, I’m afraid. Best of luck!’ Obviously I did none of the above. After finishing my wine and saying goodbye to Fiona, the only bit of Graham I got close to was his voice, on high volume on my iPod. Oh well, I can but dream.

  Wednesday 12th January

  This desire for sex … it’s starting to interfere with work. It’s getting harder to focus when I keep checking out my colleagues’ arses. I should be concentrating on cleaning camera lenses but I’m getting distracted by the thought of cock, and if I drop such an expensive piece of equipment, no one will want to hire me.

  But films crews are largely male, so I’m surrounded by men all day and this is playing hell with my current sexual frustration. I’m beginning to fantasise about shagging some of them. It’s not good; you can’t mix business and pleasure. I’m the only woman in my department and I want to be taken seriously on the film floor.

  Still, I’m bored of having no action and there’s so much out there to tempt me. Surely being single means I should be having lots of fun?

  Friday 14th January

  Finally I got a chance to perfect my flirting skills; last night I met up with Blog Boy.

  God, was he handsome. Well over six feet tall, dirty blond hair and a huge grin to match the sparkle in his bright blue eyes. Yum. As I’d expected, and hoped, he was every bit as smart and warm as he’d come across in the blog; I found myself laughing out loud at his jokes. When he went to the loo I couldn’t stop myself having a good look at his arse too. Very nice.

  Five hours zipped past and I was completely relaxed and enjoying myself no end. I was doing well – even though we’d talked non-stop and got through plenty of booze I’d managed not to mention sex once. I was worried he’d be able to tell that all that was running through my head was hardcore porn images of me and him fucking, but I don’t think he caught on, thank God.

  With some regret we had to end things at midnight because I had to get up for work at 5 a.m. today. It was so annoying; I just wanted to know if he was as attracted to me as I was to him, and if he wanted to see me again, but as luck would have it, as he walked me to my bus stop our arms kept touching and that made us both giggle self-consciously. I held my breath, hoping we might snog before my bus pulled up.

  As if he’d read my mind, Blog Boy leaned in to kiss me and gently rested his hand on my back. I had my answer. I finally knew the attraction was mutual: we snogged for over half an hour. Sod the bus.

  He got me so heated up I found it very difficult to just leave him there – I could feel his erection pressing against his jeans – and I wanted him so badly. But I had to go so that I could get some sleep before work today. Happily, we arranged to meet up again next week – just before I go away to New York on holiday, and yes, as I sat on the bus I had a big smile all over my face, and sopping wet knickers. I didn’t sleep much for thinking about him, which was a bit inconvenient after a 15-hour day on the set.

  If he’s as good in the flesh as he was in my fantasy, I think we’ll be having some fun together.

  Saturday 15th January

  I can’t stop thinking about Blog Boy; it’s like being a school girl again, and that’s making me feel all nostalgic. It reminds me of my first boyfriend Danny and what a huge crush I had on him too.

  I was 16 and naïve. Danny was tall and good-looking with dark brown hair, intense green eyes and a gruff voice. We were in English class together. The first day I saw him I knew. I said to my friend Kathy, ‘This is the guy I am going to lose my virginity with.’

  And I just knew I would. And that he would be mine. It wasn’t that I was super-confident about obtaining hot men, just that I had a feeling somewhere in my solar plexus that this boy and I were meant for each other.

  Within two months, we were together.

  We used to bunk off class to be with each other and hang out in the park, me smoking, him smiling. And we would kiss these innocent kisses – not like now, when I get all hot and bothered and have to adjust my clothes – but the ones where you look at each other and as your lips touch, you taste sweetness and feel a spark that is intoxicating and rejuvenating at the same time.

  And we would fumble. He fumbled. I fumbled. We were fumblers; inexperienced, but in love, so whatever he did I enjoyed. I adored him. He worshipped me. And when the time came, he was the sweetest, gentlest person on the planet, thinking of everything.

  Him: ‘Do you have some towels?’

  Me: ‘Towels?’

  Him: ‘Yes, preferably dark ones.’

  Me: ‘Um, dark? Towels?’

  Him (whispering conspiratorially): ‘You know, in case there’s blood …’

  Me: ‘BLOOD?’

  Him: ‘Um, yeah, you might bleed a little …’

  Me: ‘I might bleed? What? No one said there’d be blood!’

  Him (trying to calm me): ‘No, no, no. Just in case though, we don’t want to mess your sheets up. I’ll be careful; you probably won’t bleed anyway …’

  I trusted him, so I went and got some towels and the condoms and we got ourselves ready.

  Him: ‘Now are you sure you want to do this? We don’t have to, you know …’

  Me: ‘It’s now or never. Let’s do it.’

  And we did. Of course there was no blood, which, after that build-up, disappointed me somewhat; I felt that maybe it should have been more dramatic or something.

  But it was OK; not bad, not terrible. I think we both enjoyed it, mostly, but neither of us was experienced. He had only had sex once before and at this point, I had no idea what an orgasm was, so the experience was enjoyable but nothing to write home about.

  Not that we hadn’t tried to make me climax. Boy we tried. We’d gone in search of my clitoris countless times, and sometimes I’d be shouting:

  ‘Yes! Yes! That’s it!’

  And him (coming up for air) saying:

  ‘Sorry, where was that again?’

  And, of course, then we couldn’t find it, but since I didn’t even know how to bring myself off at that point, there was no point expecting him to be able to get me there.

  It wasn’t until a few months after we broke up that I finally discovered the pleasure of self-pleasure, which was bad timing, but I’ve never looked back since.

  Monday 17th January

  Yet again I’ve been thinking about sex all day. I’ve been rushed off my feet for the best part of 14 hours at work, so there was no chance of taking a sneaky break to try to alleviate my horniness. It wasn’t till I was driving home that I could finally slide my hand in between my legs and reach the part of me that had been aching to be touched all day.

  Not that this was easy:

  I had three layers of clothing to get through: waterproof insulated trousers, thermal leggings and a black lacy Lycra thong;

  I had to steer the car on the motorway at 70 miles an hour with only one hand;

  I was interrupted by calls and texts whilst I was driving/ playing an
d had to keep removing my hand to check my phone.

  For almost an hour I was on the brink, but I couldn’t risk orgasm-induced temporary blindness on a dual carriageway, so when I finally got home this evening, I bolted inside, kicked off my boots, dragged down my trousers and my thermals, and tugged down my pants.

  And do you know what happened? For all my randiness the 5 a.m. starts, the long day and the sleep-deprivation finally got to me, and all I could manage was a bully wank.

  This is where you’ve mildly got the horn but you’re tired/had a long day/been wanking all day anyway and then you force yourself to masturbate on top of all that. Of course consent is involved, it’s not like you have to coerce yourself into grabbing your own genitals – oh come on, honey, you’ll like it, I promise! - more that you feel you should have a play, even given the state you’re in, and you really try to enjoy yourself, but your heart’s just not in it. Which may lead to:

  not being able to climax

  or it taking ages to climax

  or a climax which is hardly worth it

  In my exhaustion I ended up passing out, waking four hours later with my right hand still lying between my thighs and my clit still pulsing. I was robbed! How dare I? I’d been dying for this all day and I hadn’t even had the decency to complete the task at hand. Outrageous!

  So, with some determination, it has to be said, I dragged myself out of my slumber and forced myself to endure a few minutes of extreme pleasure.

  This resulted in an orgasm that was far from spectacular, but still, it was delicious to imagine that it was Blog Boy’s hand doing the business.

  Tuesday 18th January

  I’m not sure that this diary is helping me with my sex obsession. How else can I explain sending this text to my ex, Steven, earlier today?

  ‘I want to taste you again. Lick and suck you deeply. I am so turned on thinking about your lovely cock in my mouth. Feel like something sweet to eat? I can be at yours in two hours.’

  I sent this to the man that cheated on me with a younger woman; I must be crazy.

  I quickly called Fiona to get some moral support and some sanity.

  ‘Why the hell did you contact him again, Abby? After what he did to you, why lower yourself? He’s just bad news; if you want sex that badly, find someone new!’ she screamed at me down the phone.

  I know she’s right, but just the thought of some hot cock action stopped me thinking clearly. Thankfully, though, fate dealt me a good hand: Steven turned me down, saying that he had other plans.

  So I am still frustrated but I’m very relieved that nothing happened: Steven is in my past for a good reason and I’d like him to stay that way.

  Even if he was fantastic in the sack.

  Wednesday 19th January

  I just packed my thermals and waterproof clothing for a few days’ work filming on location and I added a few extras:

  ⋆ 2 x see-through lacy pants (one black, one pink)

  ⋆ 1 x satin g-string (black)

  ⋆ 1 x French knickers (black with a cream trim)

  I threw in an assortment of condoms (plain, ribbed and flavoured) too, so you could say that I have something other than work on my mind right now.

  It’s all Tony’s fault. A new colleague of mine – with gorgeous eyes – he has been flirting with me all week. Our conversation is filled with sexual innuendo and it’s got to the point where even the slightest joke seems like a blatant come-on.

  What’s a girl like me to do? I know that fucking someone from work is a really bad idea, but I can’t help myself – I need a shag so badly! And being away from home all week and staying in the same hotel as Tony doesn’t help matters.

  It’s no good. I think I am going to have to seize the next opportunity that arises – even if it is with someone from work.

  I just wish it were Blog Boy instead, but I’ve got to wait for that until filming’s over.

  Thursday 20th January

  Got a sweet text from Blog Boy checking we were still on for dinner when I get back from filming next week. His message was like a little shot of joy: I was standing outside for ten hours in the freezing rain today and knowing I have a date with him to look forward to really cheered me up.

  Friday 21st January

  I feel like a woman again. Finally I got some sex! I just couldn’t wait any longer, despite all the texts from Blog Boy – my will power had evaporated.

  And what a shag it was.

  Last night Tony and I arranged to meet up after work in the hotel bar. We drank some wine, made some idle chit-chat about our day on set and then moved the conversation on to sex, Tony saying he hadn’t had any for a while, me shyly agreeing, my pants already drenched.

  It began to get late and with an early start this morning, we made our way to our rooms to go to bed, Tony stopping off at mine (supposedly) to ‘compare’ the room with his.

  It didn’t take long for things to happen: within minutes we were down to our underwear and were frantically grabbing at each other.

  I finally got naked with a man for the first time in months.

  I ripped off my pants and begged Tony to fuck me hard from behind as he bent me over the edge of the bed. He was just as charged up as me; he’d made me climax four times before even entering me. We both came together and I felt like months of frustration were relieved in one go.

  Trying to work today with only one hour’s sleep after all that action and then getting up at the crack of dawn wasn’t really the best idea. I almost dropped a camera lens and got shouted at by my boss, which wasn’t fun.

  Plus I found out that Tony has a girlfriend. I can’t believe he neglected to tell me that. If I had known, I would never have shagged him; I’m just not the kind of woman to be some bloke’s ‘bit on the side’, nor do I want to be responsible for another woman being cheated on. I know how that feels. First Steven, now Tony: why do I seem to meet these arseholes? There must be some good men out there, who want to have some fun but aren’t attached, surely?

  Monday 24th January

  After a flurry of text messages over the last few days, I met up with Blog Boy again this evening at a lovely French restaurant in Soho. He looked even more irresistible this time. I could barely stop myself from looking at the curly chest hair that peeked over the open neck of his shirt. I wanted to run my fingers through it, but luckily I found some self-control from somewhere and kept my hands on the table where he could see them.

  The thing is: I like him. I mean, I want to fuck him very much, but I also think he’s a great guy. I can’t help ticking off some of the boxes on my Potential Boyfriend Material checklist. Maybe it would be better to keep him on the backburner, for the future – when I’ve had some fun? Though given the opportunity of fucking him now, I don’t think I could say no, especially since I spent most of the meal trying my best not to imagine him naked.

  After we finished eating, he leaned over towards me and asked if he could kiss me. So I said yes; who am I to turn down a talented mouth artist who makes me squirm in my seat?

  We snogged for ages, my hands somehow finding their way down his back, his around my waist. Finally the manager asked us to leave; it was past midnight and they wanted to shut the restaurant. Spoilsports.

  We made our way to my bus stop, but got sidetracked on Oxford Street, his lips firmly pressed against mine, my hips firmly fixed against his.

  ‘God, you’re so sexy,’ he said to me, as his hands slid underneath my top. ‘You’re a sexy, sexy girl, do you know that?’

  I smiled at him shyly. ‘Thanks,’ I replied, and I gripped his arse tightly and pulled him closer to me, feeling his hardening cock against me as I did so. He grinned when he realised I could feel it too.

  It wasn’t long before his hands had wandered up under my skirt to rest on my bare arse (I do so love the combination of hold-up stockings and a thong). Thank God I was wearing a long coat – my skirt ended up hitched around my waist. We kissed and groped for ages, but once again I had to
break it off – I had to be at the airport for my flight to New York in a few hours.

  We walked on to my bus stop. ‘See you when you get back in a week, yeah?’ he asked.

  ‘Definitely,’ I replied and we kissed quickly once more, then I jumped on my bus and waved goodbye through the window as it pulled away, leaving him on the pavement.

  And now I am sitting here drunk, horny and happy. I don’t know what will happen with Blog Boy, but I can’t wait to get to know him more.

  It’ll be difficult not to tear off his clothes and fuck him senseless when I get back from the States: I want to shag him rotten and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to hold back next time I see him.

  Tuesday 25th January

  Finally on the way to New York, though my late-night dalliance with Blog Boy almost made me miss my plane. I’m sitting here scribbling about him instead of watching the inflight, but I’m still excited about going to New York, even if it means I won’t see him for a few days. It’s been years since I’ve seen my old friends in the Big Apple and I have a lot of catching up to do.

  And maybe I’ll even have a little fun while I’m over there, too.

  Thursday 27th January

  A girl never knows when horniness might strike. It could be at work, travelling on a bus, or during a business meeting. When it does kick in, you have three options:

  Ignore the feeling and continue with what you were doing;

  Postpone the feeling until you make it somewhere safe to play;

  Indulge yourself there and then until your horniness is sated.

  I found myself doing number three today in the lingerie section of Macy’s department store. I tried very hard to keep quiet about it too.