1.Yes, yes, I know! I did say that perhaps it would be better to take it slow, wait a couple of weeks before inviting him into my bed.
I know! I did say that.

2. I thought that perhaps he was too romantic for me - so romantic that he would want to wait, take it even slower; a little too shy, too, perhaps too shy to be a good lover. I was a little scared to be disappointed : I like self-confidence and initiative, you see, bloggers, and playfulness. A little kink as a bonus.

3. But! on Friday night after we strolled through London, after a little pub-hopping and much kissing on street corners ...the invitation just slipped out for the following night.

4. Self-confidence, initiative, playfulness.. and a little kink.
In a romantic kind of way.

5. Wow.

1. Quick! before my daily life plunges back into autumn, work and all things grim, I am trying to develop an addiction to yoga. More precisely Bikram - the kind where they cook you for 90 minutes. Logically, I should come out of there looking and feeling like a limp leek, but no!

2. J, the Scot who can't function above 22°C, now joins me in this communal sweating, muscle-stretching venture.

3. Today our teacher is Francesca.
'I think she explains stuff really well' J declares, 'but my judgement may be biased since she is a total dream.'
How so? I ask, still in a daze myself.
'As soon as she walks into the studio, I hear the last movement of Tchaikovksy's Symphony No. 6.'

4. Fine; for the time being, this, with or without Tchaikovksy, will have to make up for our respective lack of a sex life, then.

September jigsaw.

1. Bloglanders, let's quote a TV character, why the hell not : Sexuality is fluid, whether you're gay or you're straight or you're bisexual, you just go with the flow. How do you like that my cultural references are US TV series about lesbians?*

2. ' Actually', I said, (defiantly?) pouring tempranillo into my glass: 'I haven't had sex with a man in over ten years and didn't think I would ever again'.
'Ok', he replied, smiling only a little. Then we finished the wine.

3. I thought : as much as I like this person, what if.. he turns out to be, I don't know.. a man? What I just don't feel anything, don't know what to do, get bored? What if?

4. Blogfolks, I was wrong, and that worried voice should have just shut the hell up, and gone with that flow..

5. A holiday lover, hurrah! Can't get him out of my head, boo!

6. When a friend recommends a work of fiction of a pornographic nature, said work of fiction should not be read on long, solitary train journeys, especially when your hornymeter is cranked up to the max and said holiday lover on a plane to California.

I missed you, bloglanders! Next time I'll tell you about why everyone should do Bikram yoga, if only because it's full of seriously hot people. Be well!

* Personally, I'm being extremely impressed.

Fine, here’s the predictable Valentine Disaster Post.

1. The inevitable Retrospective
Last year, on February 14, I was on a plane heading west. There was no better place for me to be than that plane. Enough said, and see previous post. I believe there was sex involved after landing. The amazing, I-haven’t-seen-you-for-over-a-month kind of sex.

Two years ago, on the same day, I received a badly spelt card with sexual innuendo from Superbutch. Later on that day, I put the last eyelet on my outfit, breathed in and squeezed my pale flesh into a tightly laced black and pink dress, then pranced and sweated and spanked the night away at the Torture Garden. Superbutch agonised over her outfit too, couldn’t chose between two identical tops, then finally decided to go topless. Tit flashing gets you in quicker, you see. I flirted with glistening naked gay men, playfully whipped friends and got my finger caught in one of the fire doors. All in all, a little pain was had by all. I believe there must have been some real sex involved after Superbutch dragged me back to her lair. The designated-roles kind of sex. All in all with Superbutch, things were quite fun when she wasn’t talking.

2. Tomorrow, I believe there will be no plane, no pain, and no sex of any kind. Oh well.
In the late afternoon, I will most likely park myself in a café and watch straight guys with bouquets walk past, and be sort of glad I’m not one of them.

3. I will wonder how many people bought this straitjacket-wearing teddy bear, this year’s valentine special, allegedly meant to convey how ‘someone might feel about their sweetie on Valentine's Day’. The ‘Crazy for you’ teddy comes with commitment papers – ‘simulations of legal documents used to force a mentally ill person into involuntary treatment’.

4. Hey, it’s not nice to make fun of crazy people. And anyway,“Mental health is very serious. We should not stigmatise it further with these marketing efforts.", said some spokesperson or another. I think they’re starting to think it was a bad, bad idea.

5. All in all, Valentine’s Disaster sucks almost as bad as Christmas this year. Please send medication.

Rewind to the pipe fixin’
Ok, she says, imagine you’re the plumber, and you’re coming over to fix my pipes.
We both laugh, because that’s what people do. Don’t you?
But she’s intent.
- I’m a bored housewife, and you’re a big buff Black plumber guy..
- I am? I say, tentative, before taking a sip of my tea.
-Yeah, and you ring the bell, and you’re wearing your big tool belt. C’mon. What do you do next?
I smile, not sure she’s serious.
-C’mon. Just make it up. Tell me what you do. Tell me what you do to me, big beefy plumber man.
I look down at the table. It’s elaborately painted with swirls of yellow and bright pink and green. With my forefinger I play with the crumbs.
- you can do this; right? Make me a story. C’mon, how do you start? What do you say to me? Or do you just bend me over the table and fuck me?
- can’t this wait? I mean, it’s.. I mean.. I don’t know what I mean.
-c’mon, don’t be such a killjoy.
- sorry. It’s just that, I have to think about it.
- No you don’t. You have tons of imagination.

I stay silent for too long.
She was intent, she is now getting angry with me.
I can’t deliver. I’m being such a killjoy, such a let down.
I try to meet her eyes with a half apologetic, half amused glance, to try and not lose face completely. I try to make light of it. Too late, I won’t play the game, I’ve blown it. I’m such a disappointment. Again. As she stands up and piles up the breakfast plates, I wonder how I can make up for it later.