Cold hard cash

In this industry things move fast, first thing i was browsing through seeking arrangements and well i guess you could say I’ve moved to the next level. I’m not addicted to drugs, alcohol or sex but i am addicted to money. In fact I’d say my appetite for cold hard cash is almost insatiable, the more i make the more i desire.

My hunger for money exceeds the value most people tend to place on it, no amount could ever be enough to fully satisfy me. I suppose it might not be the money itself I’m hooked on, rather the thrill of the chase in receiving it. This is not a new sensation for me, the only new thing is the way I’m earning it.

I’ve always been fascinated with the sex industry whilst never expecting myself to dabble in it, i’ve enthralled myself in every documentary about prostitution, trophy wives and the sex trade. I’ve read and researched on almost every element of this subverted section of society without a shred of disdain. The funny thing is that the thought of entering it myself never crossed my mind when my love of money, entrepreneurial mindset and carefree attitude towards sex meant that i was perfectly organised to fall into it. And fall into it head first is what I’ve done.

I’m continuing with my first-born, sugaring. Personally i can’t understand the taboo of this activity when apps like Tinder are so main stream and accepted in society. In my mind it’s entirely a beast of the same nature – the only difference is that money changes hands. Sugaring to me is exciting, the thrill of not knowing the person you meet, yet understanding that you must become everything they desire in order to earn your pay. Going home with strange men, keeping secrets from my inner circle and most importantly counting the cold hard cash on the journey home in the back of a taxi. I love the fact that i can browse the sites looking at all the profiles of all the men each purporting to be something different, the sugar daddy with the perfect arrangement, gods gift to women when all i see is dollar signs. At present i have 3 consistent sugar daddies, but i prefer to refer to them as clients. There is seldom difference between me and an escort, except for the important ones such as the fact that i work independently and that every client wants the girlfriend experience.

I love the moment I walk out the door, claiming to be off to another meeting with friends; a concert, a bar or merely their houses when in reality i am off to be dazzled, admired and paid. Of course not every experience is wonderful nor glamorous, but i like to think of myself as a high-class sugar baby. I don’t work for peanuts, i have a short and exclusive list of clients with each i share a level of chemistry. I refuse to beg for money, and why should i have to. I know what I’m worth, and i am only worth men with the right means to treat me how i wish to be treated, i look innocent and appear sweet but i am a business woman down to my core, every transaction is business not pleasure but they’d never know it.Whilst Madison is the name i choose, she can be anything you want her to be for the right price. I am exceptionally good at reading people and situations alike, i can scan rooms and take temperatures in a heart beat and that’s what makes me good at my job.

My newest indulgence into this world is the art of sensual massage. I work with a cluster of girls in the city, operating out of 5 star apartments and catering to the city’s financially elite. Although the company takes a percentage of our earnings the real money is to be made in tips. I thouroughly enjoy this job and it is easy, runs to a tight schedule and reaps huge rewards. I love my body and i figure i may as well be admired, complimented and rewarded whilst i still have it, it’s like heroin for the ego. During these sessions i have clients boast about their high paying jobs, flash their current bank balance in my face and talk down to me like i could only dream. I find this highly gratifying and amusing because when it comes down to it, i earn more in a week than they could ever come close to. It’s my little secret and my little box full of money, and nobody suspects a thing.

Xoxo, Emeline.

 

 

The sugar bowl.

It’s been a year since I’ve last posted, and in this time, things have changed drastically for me. After becoming increasingly disillusioned with the lack of money I’m able to make within the constraints of my retail job whilst studying, I have become somewhat of an entrepreneur.

They say sugar makes you sweeter, I say sugar makes you richer.  I stumbled across a site called Seekingarrangements.com and my life instantly changed. They call me a sugar baby which in vanilla terms means that I seek out arrangements with wealthy men on this site. In this context, an arrangement refers to a mutually beneficial relationship between a young woman and an older man. Of course, the site insists that it does not promote sexual services or anything of an explicit nature but naturally this is not the case. Some girls on this site whom I’ve had interactions with explain naively that there is a huge difference between a sugar baby and a prostitute or an escort, but the reality of the situation is that i am a whore. I am paid for sex, and that is what being a ‘sugarbaby’ boils down to.

I am relatively new to this way of life, they call me Madison and the further i go down this rabbit hole the more she becomes a part of me. I’m still not entirely convinced of my emotional state regarding this whole affair, I swing between moods frequently half of me feeling empowered whilst the other part slut shames myself. I’ve never conformed to societal expectations and moralities however even for me, this is a beast of a different nature. I find that writing my feelings down helps me as it is a way to diffuse my emotional state into something far more logical, i would also intend a blog like this to be a useful tool to any other girls considering going down this path as I’ve found there is not a large conversation to draw knowledge and empathy from which can make you feel isolated and intimidated.

So far, I’ve been out with 6 different men and I’ve slept with two, one was a pleasant experience the other makes me want to crawl out of my skin. The biggest aspect I struggle to cope with is acting, I’m not myself during these dates nor do I want to be, I feel like I’m keeping the real part of me separate when i become Madison, she is the one that does her nails the way she is told too, she is the one who agrees to be blindfolded on all fours and be fucked from behind by a man 16 years older than her before walking away with a wad of cash. I’m growing to like Madison and beginning to accept her as part of me but the scary part is trying not to lose myself the closer i become to her. It’s almost as if I’m dissociating myself from the experience but i can’t see another way of continuing.

I have had a perfectly stable upbringing, i have everything going for me in life, with a large circle of friends and family. I’m studying whilst holding down a regular job, I’m not addicted to any substances and i don’t NEED this money. But i want it. I’ll write further in depth about my experiences throughout this process in the near future.

XOXO, Emeline.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do it like a dude

So basically we all know girls love the guy who drives them crazy, and such level of crazy is normally achieved through the good ol’ method of playing hard to get. These days playing hard to get is a complicated technological game of leaving the exact right amount of time between replying to messages so as not to let the other person make wild assumptions that you might actually want to see them or whatever. And this is one area in life where sadly men and women are completely unequal with slim chances of closing the gaping divide.

Men have one up on us here girls, and i for one am embarking on a mission to turn the tables and give them a taste of their own faux cherry flavoured medicine. I have spent many a night sitting up bored out of my mind trying to forcefully resist the urge to text a boy living in fear of being labelled a clingy girl. But this is no more!

I’ve been sleeping with this one guy for roughly a year and in this time he has perfected the art of leaving me hanging and choking on my own fear of rejection after sending him a risky drunken message at 2am. I have also noticed that the more often i text him the less keen he seems, and whilst i know this is a fucked up charade and the epitome of silliness but i feel like we all know this silly bit of social etiquette ain’t going anywhere.

So the last few weeks i have begun my own social experiment, which started when he messaged me out of the blue and i suddenly grew into a strong independent woman and refused the lure of replying. And damn it pays off. He has been messaging me like a crackwhore trying to find a dealer in the middle of the atlantic ocean. Basically my method to treat them mean and keep the keen is as follows:

1) Only reply to their texts on their third attempt.

2) When you reply make it something vague and do not exceed two lines.

3) Resist the urge to get clingy and add in a little bit of ‘when are we catching up!?’

4) Be blunt, as in they text you something sweet and you literally just reply ‘I’m busy’ or ‘nah sorry’

5) Kick the fuck back and enjoy the satisfaction of wearing his balls as your sparkling new earrings.

Ciao bambinos, em.

How to be a harlot

You meet a guy, enjoy a casual flirt, get a little connected and decide he’s exactly the type of guy you want in your bed, right this minute. And then he drops the crowd pleaser… ‘i have a girlfriend‘ and you feel the stinging heat of humiliation/overwhelming sadness slapping you in the face like a sack full of fat cats.

And thus the internal battle of angel vs devil ignites deep in the pit of your stomach as you start a mental sliding scale of exactly how bad would it be if you went there. You keep your filthy morality a secret from your friends, living in fear that they will catch you out as the adulterous harlot you really are until you have a few too many cosmos on a night out and spew the ugly truth everywhere. To your surprise they respond with empathy and you have a good old chuckle about how danger and infidelity spice up the sex, and so your concerns have been neutralised and you set out on a plan to seduce said boy. Not to condone such behaviour ever *wink wink*, here is how you become the savviest other woman out there and the Queen of all bitches.

1) Establish how much of a bitch the girlfriend is, if she rates between 6-10 on the devil’s barometer you’re good to go.

2) Understand how miserable she makes his life and how so.. i.e does she complain about the colour of his socks, write death notes to his mother and so on.

3) Figure out how hot she is and if you’re in with a shot. Sadly unless you rate a solid 2 points higher than her on the looks scale or she’s got a couple points on you on the bitch scale you’re out of luck.

4) Get flirty and hinty, you are trying to create a fabulous vision of why you are such a great human, do this even if you are only creating a mirage for the hell of it but be prepared to comfort him when he tries to dive into that fabulous pool and ends up with a mouth of sand.

5) Try and initiate alone time together and have at least 7 different topics to bring up randomly whenever he mentions her name, after all we are trying to erase all memory of her from his mind.

6) Stalk his facebook profile consistently in the hope of seeing a newly single status hanging on his wall. Chances are slim but damn that false hope is warm and comforting.

7) Bake for him, after all the way to a man’s heart is his stomach ladies. Just make sure they’re space cakes (pot brownies) so he’s high as a kite and mistakes you for her. Alternatively spiking his water with a touch of the Russian poison can be just as effective.

8) Wear all of your perfume at once and rub up against him any chance you get so that he’ll go and see her stinking of your favourite brittany spears scent and she’ll dump him for you.

9) Confuse him, print out cardboard copies of her face at office works and buy a cheap wig from the two dollar shop. As long as you don’t speak he’ll never know and you’ll both be happy.

10) And lastly lure him back to your den and swap out the lube for a bottle of trusty super glue, and babe that man will be yours forever and always (for or against his will).

Lastly, if you do not follow all of these tips in this exact order your chances are slim to none, so i’d take my advice with an extra dose of seriousness.

Over and out, Emeline.

Dirty, filthy standards

Firstly, i must admit that i am a walking contradiction – i hold impossibly high standards and criteria to which every guy must conform to before i give them a chance.. and then constantly complain about being single. And you know what? I blame disney! Ever since we’re small snotty faced children we are presented with an idea of what a man should be and how they should look and treat us. We are taught to go after to bad guys, because they are a project and we can change them! right ladies? Wrong. This never works and we never learn, we complain then  never lift a god damn finger to do anything about it and we friend zone all the good guys and get hurt by all the bad guys. And lastly, and most importantly we will never admit to ourselves that we are in fact the cause, the problem and the solution to our depressing, miserable, lonely, cat obsessed love woes.

But all hope is not lost girlies, do not despair the first step to recovery is admitting that we have a problem and i will be the first to stand up and say “Hi, I’m Emeline and i am addicted to bad boys”. Now i hope you all just introduced yourselves to your collection of stuffed animals using the above statement with me. and now it is time to begin the 10 step program of how to recognise a good guy and let go of those damn sexually prohibitive high standards of ours ladies.

1) Tear up that list of physical attributes your dream man must have, and i mean all of them… Tanned skin, green eyes, that perfectly sculpted facial hair… There is no place for shallowness here. And i do not mean you have to settle for an obese man with the body odour of a packet of cheese and onion chips. Rather that if he has a couple of the things you’re after and you feel the attraction stop measuring him up against the bloody ken doll image in your mind.

2) Ignore his nationality. Now here i’m touching on a touchy subject where most people begin to perform the awkward song of “I’m not racist but….” Now firstly and lastly let me say this, we’re all a little bit racist. Now get over yourselves i’m not accusing everyone of being card carrying members of the kkk, rather i’m referring to the statements that i’ve heard come out of the mouths of every single girl i know, things like ‘oh, i’d never date a muslim’, and ‘this asian guy is in to me but i’d never be satisfied with 3 inches’. We’re all guilty of it however, if the chemistry is there our pre conceived ideas are only sabotaging a possible shot at happiness.

3) Dress sense. This may sound like a silly thing to mention, but i kid you not the amount of times i have been into a guy and then have slowly felt the cold breeze of ‘i’m about to fuck you off’ blow against the nape of my neck when i’ve been stalking his facebook photos and have come across some unflattering outfits. I mean for gods sake, this is the most shallow reason to blow somebody off that has ever occurred but it is not uncommon. Let go of the way he dresses, this is one of the actual tangible things you CAN change about a fella.

4) Dollar, dollar bill y’all. Ah yes, good old hard cold cash ay. Most of the lovely ladies i associate with are by no stretch of the imagination gold diggers however money still seems to play an important role in which guy we choose to spend our time with. Valid concerns for this issue are the thoughts that maybe he won’t have enough money to go out and do fun things together (even when you are paying your own way) like holidays, nights out and the rest. The other more silly idea for the year 2015 is that having a smaller bank account somehow makes him less of a man. But really, if you’ve both got enough cash to have a good time together here and there don’t let this concern put the brakes on something fun. And as long as they are engaged in work or study or actively looking for ways to improve their current situation that shows you that they have drive and motivation and that is far more important than if they can blow their nose with a bank note or if they have to settle for a regular old kleenex.

5) Their mamma. Oh yes, this problem comes up often. Traditionally it has been demonstrated in modern culture that it is the guy who is shit scared to meet the girls fambam, but honestly i don’t think guys put as much thought into it as what girls do. The idea that you may not like a guys family and therefore he loses some of his appeal is laughable. I mean just do your best to cut visits and contact time with them down to a minimum and thank the stars those people who scare the living daylights out of you created a man so perfect for you in every other way.

6) S-E-X. So i’m the first to say that sex is a hugely important part of a successful relationship, i mean why not just have them as a friend if they can’t satisfy you right? I hereby give you permission to cut them loose if the sex is shizenhausen after a while but give them a chance! It is not an acceptable reason to go whinging to your friends that it sucked and he didn’t get you off after your first sexual encounter with the lad. Especially if you’d both sunk a few litres of vodka and had to coordination of a drunk skunk whilst doing the dirty. I mean how low would you feel if he ran back to his mates and laughed about your hilarious attempt at sucking him off?

7) Living at home. Okay, this one sucks, it sucks real bad. But there is always a way to work around the parental situation. Most advicey giving people will state ‘if he lives at home, run a mile!’ I disagree completely. Those advicey people clearly don’t understand how high the cost of living is these days! And you can always find a way around this issue, it is no reason to send a perfectly good man to the scrap heap. However i must add a time limit on this one, if they’re still living at home past the age of 25 there may be some deeper issues going on with their motivation that may need a little stalking, pinpointing and eventual running from.

8) Tom, Dick and Harry. The boy’s friends, every lad these days seems to come with his own set of ‘the boys’. Now there is no escaping your boy’s boys so suck it up laugh with your mouth and frown with your eyes so nobody notices your irritation of being around with them. Truly if one of your standards is that you have to like his mates, enjoy being single for eternity my chum.

9) Boys and their toys. Boys will be boys, no matter what you do and if they don’t still act like little versions of big boys they’re probably batting for the other team/are very good at concealing things. All guys love trains/video games/sports/watching sports/beer/being gross and ladies, we just have to accept this. Although what they do might seem dull and sleep inducing to us, remember that they’re not too fond of chick flicks/beauty regimes/ gossiping and wine. Get over it, let them have their interests and if you don’t i hope you prepare yourself well for the day your husband admits to you that he has a crush on your male neighbour.

10) Awkwardness. So guys aren’t always that skilled at saying the right things at the right times and this symptom can become apparent as early as the first date. This usually rears it’s discouraging head when they fondly recall that one time they had insane toilet troubles after eating all those tacos. I understand it is reasonable to completely repulsed by this, however if you let these untimely anecdotes write off a dude you’re doing yourself a disservice because even the most attractive lads are prone to dropping filthy stories of their toilet habits into casual conversation.

So lasses in your future endeavours with selecting a member of the opposite sex from the delightful menu of man candy please keep this steps in mind, because like my mother used to say (she never said this) High standards are the best form of contraception.

Xoxo, your hopeless gal, Emeline.

How not to be his girlfriend

I feel the time has come to provide a slight history of me, myself and i and a little insight into my cocky, hysterical ways. Simply put in the most dramatic of terms a little while back i lost my soulmate. Or rather my soulmate fucked me in the back seat of his car before proceeding to tell me that he’d met someone else and no hard feelings right?

Being the strong hold of emotion fortitude that i so deftly am (not) i pulled up my big boy pants and adapted a couldn’t-care-less attitude in order to shield my hurting feels from the big bad man who we shall call Gary who breezed into my life, destroyed it and continued to have a blast on his own watch. Before i get started on the story that was to become the eventual unravelling of me and that initiated a string of events of which i am not too proud of i must explain why i call this person my soulmate. You see i don’t believe in the cheesy classic definition of soulmate the one that says each and every one of us has a ‘the one’ floating around out there just waiting for us to come fish them out of the Atlantic. My definition more so refers to the idea of a soulmate being a person you connect with just a little bit more than the rest. And this dude who has so kindly wrecked havoc on my life was my little bit of extra connection.

And so we travel back to 2012, when i was a fresh faced innocent little sweet 16 year old. I’d had one serious boyfriend before then and once that i ended i began to explore my freedom, by this i mean kissing random boys in parks. However i soon became involved with a 20 yo boy i worked with, he was the closest i’d ever come to a man and i was spellbound. It started off innocently enough with a little bit of cheeky fondling out the back of work under the guise of having a cigarette until i made the fatal error of pursing things in the bedroom. *Disclaimer* I was no virgin at this stage, so no there was nothing sleazy about it, my precious ship of innocence had sailed at a much earlier date. But these bedroom adventures continued and before i knew it i was riding the wave of ‘friends with benefits’, alas ‘That thing that never works when feelings are involved’. During this time we continued to work together frequently which had the effect of ensuring that sexual tension hit boiling point on a recurring basis. This led stupid young me to fall head first down the bunny hole of confusing sex with feelings. Being the mature charming 17 yo i was by this stage, i felt ballsy one particular evening after work and let it rip that i had feelings for him. Of course this occurred with me yelling it through the open window of his car before running inside my house and slamming the door. A few hours later i received a text message reading something along the lines of ‘yeah i kinda maybe feel it too i guess’ and with this devout proclamation of love i was done for.

I was way too young and stupid to realise that the signs he was sending me were no good, i only saw what i wanted to and invented excuses for why he never treated me well. Until i turned 18 and the turning point came when he forgot my birthday after speaking about it no less than 2 days earlier and ended up sending me a generic text the day after wishing me a ‘good one’. It was then that doubt began clouding my mind and i started to consider the possibility that the late night meet ups and frequent periods of radio silence just maybe meant that he was nowhere in as deep as i was. I started pulling back from him which felt great until he messaged me out of the blue one night and like magic the good old trusty fuck-myself-over desire returned and we picked up where we left off.

Not long after this i started hearing an incessant beeping sound coming from my intuition that suggested that he might be seeing someone else. My fabulous stalking skills kicked in and i confirmed my own suspicions much to my despair. Now this is where the part where i lose all respect for myself occurs. I confronted him and he confirmed what i was thinking but went on to say ‘I still have feelings for you but i have feelings for her, and i’m not sure if it’ll work out with her but i’ll keep you updated and in the mean time we can just keep doing what we’re doing’ …. and i agreed. Then one particular night he was angry and we met up, he was annoyed at her. We talked for a while and then ended up rolling around in the back of his car as per usual. The minute we finished and whilst i was still putting on my top he announced that was in fact seeing her properly and what we had was over. I had never been more furious in my life, i felt humiliated, cheap and disgusted with myself and for the first time in my life i started to doubt my own self worth.

Gary was never a bad guy by intent i don’t believe, i fell for him because he was caring, sweet, funny, had a bit of a dark side and i felt attraction to him like i’ve never felt toward another human being in my life. It always felt like the air between us was electric and even one look from him made me feel a thousand different levels of happiness. i was addicted to him and i felt so high whenever i was near him and the crashed and craved him whenever i wasn’t. Until it ended for good and i was expected to go cold turkey just like that.

I decided to keep the last shreds of dignity i had and continued working with him trying to limit any contact we had the entire time feeling like my insides were about to fall out of my mouth seeing him laughing and acting like he hadn’t just killed me. But the thing that really got to me and still gets to me is watching the way he treats the girl he fucked me over for. He has a proper adult relationship with her and before anyone says anything its nothing to do with our slight age gap as she’s the same age as me . He dotes on her and treats her like a queen when that was all i craved yet all i got was constant self doubt. I’ve bounced every possible reason under the sun around to why i wasn’t good enough a thousand times without finding a definite answer and to this day it continues to grate away at my perception of who i am.

The fact that i have let a man turn me into who i am now and to have all the qualities i used to love about myself erased disgusts me. Before i met him i was confident, i was trusting and i was innocent. Now i’m level 100 self conscious, afraid of every  guy who dares to treat me well and so damn cynical i can easily question the existence of a banana. I feel like every guy i meet now (and there has been several) never measures up to the impossibly high standard of chemistry and electricity that i felt between me and Gary, it’s not fair to them and it’s especially not fair to me. I have convinced myself that all i’m good for is casual sex because there must be something inherently wrong with me for him to pick her over me and be fine with watching me suffer.

And now i’m in a predicament where i’m seeing a guy who treats me the way i deserve and who i do feel attraction for but because of the way Gary taught me to view myself i can’t help but sabotage this new venture every single step of the fucking way. It seems incredibly unfair that he is off living his own life, happy as anything whilst i’m the one who’s left with nothing feasible but all the baggage which no matter how hard i try i can’t seem to throw off a cliff somewhere.

I’m mad that he’s happy

I”m mad that i’m emotionally fucking dead, gone and buried.

I’m mad that i’m leading on an amazing guy because i don’t, can’t and wont trust him.

I’m mad that nobody understands the way i’m feeling or can make it better.

I’m mad that i was 16 and innocent full of naive visions of the world.

I’m mad that the only thing guys like me for is my looks and my reputation.

I’m mad that his girlfriend gets to experience what i wanted so bad.

I’m mad that i can’t call him and get fucking closure and tell him how mad i am.

And i’m mad that it was all my fault, and that being mad won’t change anything yet i can’t seem to find a way out the hole i dug myself 4 years ago and i’m starting to lose hope of ever getting back the girl i used to be. I’m sad that i use games, manipulation and deflection to protect myself and that i can’t let myself take a chance on another guy. But mainly i’m sad that i lost my emotional innocence and naivety because no matter how much i manage to repair myself i will never have that back.

Living at home in your 20s

So we can all appreciate our parents and understand that they only want the best for us right? But what happens when you reach that tender age of adulthood and then continue to surpass it, and your vision of what is best for you oh so slightly contradicts that of your birth-givers.

For many of us it is not a choice to live at home, rather a necessity and it can be one hell of a challenge attempting to defuse the minefield of bombs said necessity accrues. When you’re freshly legal and roughly 18 years of age you don’t give much thought to the rules your parents half heartedly still attempt to impose on you, you’re like a puppy who’s just discovered toilet paper, but your toilet paper to tear apart and make a mess of yourself with is alcohol. Now of course the majority of people hit the trusty gin bottle a helluva lot younger than the legal age that is dictated to us, however the label of 18 signifies independence and freedom! At this particular life stage most people are just thrilled that they no longer have to deal with the parental locks on their free time habits. It’s only when you hit your 20s that you start to realise that one of the best results of alcohol is sex, coincidentally this is when you also reassess the aforementioned loosing of the parental controls and realise that the netflix of your life is still being firmly censored by your beloved guardians. And here lies the contentious issue of how to have a healthy sex life ‘UNDER THEIR ROOF!’

1. Vision: You’ve been seeing a guy/girl/combination for a while and you’re sick of going out all the time and wasting cash at skanky bars so you’re keen on having a cosy night in with the person of your affliction. But you can’t. You’re so not ready  for the awkward shenanigans of him meeting your dad/meeting his crazy uncle tom all in order to share one god damn bowl of pop corn.

Reality: You instead share bowl of pop corn with cat that hates you.

2. Vision: You’ve been having the best night out of your life, have smashed down a solid bar full of drinks and you catch the twinkle eye of a tall sexy man in the corner (this may be a side effect of beer goggles) and instantly dream of a scenario where you can bring Mr Twinkles home for a spontaneous night of aggressive romping.

Reality: You wander home alone sadly and console yourself with ordering expensive sex toys for your imaginary sex life.

3. Vision: You’ve been dating someone for a while now and it’s getting to that stage where it’s kinda awkward to have not seen each other naked and the sexual tensions built so high the Berlin wall looks like a kids play pen in comparison. You desperately need to take them home and shag their brains out.

Reality: Relationship gradually fizzles out when the both of you get buried alive under the Berlin wall of tension.

4. Vision: You jumped at the chance that your parents finally went away for the weekend and the minute you hear the scrape of suitcases across the front stoop you’re dialling that dude and waxing every bodily surface.

Reality: Parents return home early due to suspected bout of food poisoning and walk in on the fun and games. Relationship with parents is ruined forever and have possibly burned their retinas. You now have blind parents and are sexually frustrated.

5. Vision: Having a healthy sex life with someone of choosing frequently enough you can both enjoy it and get down to some kinky experimentation.

Reality: The times when you can have proper sex are loaded with so much pressure, expectations and hope that it becomes awkward, weird and strangely unsatisfying. You have put sex on a pedestal and girl, it ain’t ever coming down.

Basically it is undeniably impossible to have the kind of sex life a 20 something should have whilst living at home and sadly if you choose to live on your own you will be working so many jobs to sustain it that you will be too damn tired to have that crazy sex which defeats the entire purpose! In short, 30’s my friend, you sir have a lot of overcompensating to do.

xoxo, Em.

Cock fright

And alas the cobwebs have assumed their rightful spot… between my legs. Yes i admit i may have a flare for the dramatic but what’s life without drama hey? More to the point what the hell is life without sex, dramatic sex?

I will gracefully understand if you all deem me an imposter with all my rantings and ravings about sex and the like, but really i know what i’m talking about, i swear! Time just kinda passed by a little and then some more time went by and then bam fast forward to the present moment and surprise i’m as close to being a virgin again as my spayed cat. (It’s nearly been a year!)

First and foremost i love sex, and i used to be known as Queen booty call (not sure if proud or sad) and my sex schedule.. sexedule was as crowded as Bondi beach on a 45 degree day in February. It was wickedly fun but like all good things it had an expiry date. The ugly sexless cloud appeared above my head around the middle of last year and i resolutely place the well deserved blame on my old favourite sex pest who will shall know as John Smith. But my lack of sex didn’t come from some terrible traumatic encounter with dick cheese or anything as distasteful as that, but rather from the fact that he was a little too well endowed. HE RUINED ME FOR ALL OTHER MEN! and this is where my problem lies, i could get in contact with him again but i like being coy so that’s out of the question. And i can’t quite bring myself to get back on my shiny horse and ride off into the sunset clad in lacy armour looking for new toys. As Holly Hagan from the artistic vision that is Geordie shore once proclaimed, i have a solid case of cock fright.

Now let me tell you, cock fright is a serious medical condition and must not be scoffed at, go and take your accusations of hypochondria to your next door neighbour who is afflicted with the mere flu and tell them to take some god damn antibiotics and stop being such a twat. But anyway back to the issue at hand, i need to get laid. I am worried for the sake of my friendships if this does not occur because i am wound as tight as a yoyo and the irrational side of me is slowly eating the normal bit of me for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I mean i have replaced sex with blogging for fucks sake! But anyway i am a woman on a mission from here on i have set myself a mission: To achieve one solid shag before my upcoming birthday. I know that doesn’t sound too hard right but i am one picky bitch sadly (man i don’t even know where these high standards have come from) and also a master in the art of self sabotage, i am the worlds worst wingman to myself so i give myself approximately a 22% chance of completing said mission.

Off to cry myself to sleep now because it is 05.21 am here in the fine land of Kangaroos and i seem to be consistently ingraining the message that i am insane to you poor people for which i apologise.

Kisses, Emeline.

Sexual expectations

Ahem, okay, super serious topic here. Fellas need to stop thinking a girl is up for sex whenever, we’re not, we’re really not. Unless that is, we have access to a shower, razor and 3 metres of lace.

So you may have figured out that i’m not talking about the illusive thing that is the human sex drive. I mean sure in theory often enough women crave a good banging just as much as any man, but dudes please… us ladies have a well rehearsed top secret prep routine that we feel compelled to initiate every damn time the idea of a frolic between the sheets is suggested, and it’s bloody time consuming. The steps we must go through to ensure a man never sees the true form that is about to engage in sexual intercourse (Oh i love pulling out that good old cringeworthy expression!) with them means that we can not just drop everything and gallop towards your bed at the drop of a hat.

Over centuries the art that is grooming the female body has been passed down through generations of women, with the number one rule being; Thou shalt never informeth the man of thy true stateth of thy female body. Or something along those lines anyway. And the most enjoyable aspect of being a women is revelling in the deceit of all you oblivious lads out there. Now i’m not rambling on about how women must bow down to men’s visions of feminine beauty and all that, i’m simply expressing the annoying side of sex from a lady’s point of view.

The female in her native habitat…

1. Will quite happily let her body hair grow into a personal garden fit for planting pretty herbs and flowers in.

2. Will eat 3 whole pizzas in one sitting and take pleasure in the tomato sauce smeared all over her face.

3. Will skip the morning shower if it means 3 more minutes in bed.

4. Will wear socks and underwear from the previous decade, simply because she can.

5. Intensely enjoys kissing her cat on the lips and will chase said cat around the house until the end of when cat does not allow affection.

6. Does watch and re-watch Bridget Jone’s diary repetitively to make herself feel better about the state of her own life, whilst pinching the fat on her thighs and wondering how they look during doggy style.

7. Will dress up in lingerie and parade around in front of her mirror in an attempt to look sexy, before failing misery and collapsing on her bed in dismay whilst trying to find that last row of chocolate stashed under her pillow.

8. Is content to forgo washing her hair daily because said hair can be just as easily hidden under a beanie where no one else can find it.

So lads, when you send that cheeky booty call and she says yes… BUT ‘I’m not home yet so i’ll be a while, I’m just gonna finish watching this movie, i must bury my goldfish first.. ect ect ect. What she really means is that she looks like a homeless person on death row with 7 different mental illnesses and operation ‘lie to men’ is under way.

The female before fornication…

1. Furiously removes every iota of body hair, goes through at least 10 razors and 18 tubs of wax. This in itself is enough to make a girl want to take her vows and join the convent.

2. Brazilian waxing, now i know this is in the above post but it is such a heroic act undertaken by girls everywhere it deserves its own dot point. Through out this time we are laying exposed on a table while an old Chinese lady is pouring hot wax on our delicate bits and biting holes into our lips while our best friend sits by our head reminding us that this shall get us fabulous orgasms later on.

3. The manic hair wash/dry/straighten/curl routine, because who feels sexy with their hair up in a bun so high it should teach it’s own gymnastics class?

4. The make-up dilemma… How to achieve that perfect sex makeup that makes us appear like the gods themselves handcrafted us from gods…. Without looking like Amy Winehouse the next morning?

5. The search for lingerie hidden in the backs of wardrobes. This is a tricky one because we want to look delicious but at the same time G strings make our thighs look fat.

6. Clothing selection – the exact outfit that makes you look hot/is easy to take off/easy to put back on again if you need to make a stealthy exit the minute the sun rises.

7. The before sex panic meltdown anxiety attack dance routine. By this i speak of the moment where we are bouncing around like bunny’s who’ve been given some funky MDMA whilst screaming down the phones to our girls demanding pep talks.

8. And lastly the awkward moment where we walk into the dudes house and realise he really isn’t as good looking as i swear her was two weeks ago in that bar at 3am.

So Tom, Dick and harry, next time you’re in the mood for some sexy time please spare a thought to the lass on the other end of that text and give her a good few hours to get herself in shape.

Oh and don’t bother telling her she doesn’t need to do it, you love her the way she is yada, yada, yada. We do this shit because lying to men is just so damn gratifying, it sends a lovely trickle of warmness through your body when you think about the fact that the guy who saw you a few hours ago looking like Miranda Kerr has no idea that you’re now wearing yoga pants with a minimum of 25 holes in them and eating cheese straight off the block.

farewell, horndogs and hornbags, Em 😉

Future terrors

At the ripe old age of 20, i’ve realised that i’m fucking terrified about the future.

I mean i know i’ve got another decade or so before the real paralysis of fear kicks in, but right now i can already feel the goose bumps rising when i think about the dirtiest words in the English language; Commitment, stability and children.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when i realise that right now i’m in my 20’s i’m in the so – called prime of my life and the heavy weight of this makes me want to crawl under a rock for a few hours whenever i remember it. I mean what does the ‘prime of your life’ even mean? And what i am expected to do during this fabulous years? AM I WASTING MY 20’S!?!? is it wrong that my idea of a fun night is spooning my cat and watching documentaries about serial killers? The thought alone is exhausting my overloaded brain.

So far my experience of this (overrated) era in my life is shithouse, for lack of a better word. I’m constantly broke, drowning in uni assignments for a course i’m not even sure i really want to do. I’m unemployed and it’s near damn impossible to find work in this ‘delightful’ city of Melbourne if you don’t have prior experience. But how the hell do you get prior experience if nobody will give you initial experience? stupid vicious circle. Oh, and i’m painfully afraid of commitment, so of course the cause and affect of such fear is perpetual singledom.

Don’t get me wrong i’d give both my eyeballs to be able to travel more, do spontaneous road trips and frequent the best bars in the city. But slight hitch right here peoples, it all requires fucking cash. And thus lies my predicament; MUST-enjoy- 20’s – because-life-after-30-is-shit-but can’t-enjoy-20’s-because-so-very-broke.

But anyway to commitment. This is one hella scary concept folks, and i’m not just talking about committing to another human but committing to a job, to hobbies, to pretty much anything that requires anymore than my email address. I can probably trace this fear back to daddy issues and all that jaz, but i don’t want to exceed my cliche threshold at such a tender age. So we’re just gonna go with my brain is deformed and i was probably dropped on my head as a small child therefore i am incapable of experiencing true love! I do apologise i had to stifle my gag reflex re-reading that last sentence. But in all honestly even flirting with commitment makes me rather uncomfortable. *insert example*

Scenario: I’m with a super hot bloke, we’ve had a fantastic date i leave feeling elated and excited to see him again. He then proceeds to message me the next day and asks me if we can meet up again. My commitment alarm siren starts whirling in the background and i immediately commence operation ignore – quite simply i just never reply to him again and happily withdraw back into my bubble of self inflicted alone time.

So basically due to the fact that i can barely commit to a favourite pizza, i see a doubtful future laying ahead for me. Which kinda snowballs into the whole ‘children’ thing. I mean unless i just get knocked up by accident after a sleazy fumble between the sheets (likely) or the immaculate conception round 2 happens (not likely but man that would make a damn good blog post) i just can’t see myself procreating. And i’m okay with that i think.. oh fuck it i can’t even commit to the idea of committing to have kids. I’ll just have a farm instead i think with lots of fluffy animals with soft fur to absorb the tears of loneliness.

And as for stability, well hey we’ll just say thats one hell of a good subject to have a laugh about in your downtime.

Anyway, i hope you all have your shit together and your ducks in a much neater row than me. If not god bless, and you’re welcome to come live on the soft fluffy animal farm with me.

Farewell fellow spinsters and bachelors, Em.