Oh dear.  Last week’s offerings apparently found their way to the computer screen of that post’s unfortunate subject, a character named Ben.

Whilst I understand fully premature ejaculation and finding out a woman faked an orgasm on you aren’t necessarily the kinds of sexual mishap you’d want in a public forum. Particularly so when it’s a close friend that brings it to your attention down the pub with a pack of friends. Still, I’m told it was taken in reasonably good part, though the now-married survivor of sand bunkers and sexual ineptitude did, I gather, feel a little stung. Via a third party through the medium of text we exchanged a friendly enough ‘hi’ and I received confirmation Ben expressed some degree of…. I’d love to big it up and say remorse but that’d be pushing it.  In any case, there was at least a modicum of regret over his behaviour towards me which of course is like shutting the stable door after the proverbial horse has done its thing.  Ten years or so previously. He’s married now as I say (lord knows what their sex life is like given my experience) and I’m loved up with someone that delivers multiple orgasms at will so all’s well that ends well – no hard feelings between us.

For the record I didn’t write to be bitchy, merely to entertain, but the feedback did heal a little hurt of my own.

Some of these dicks are now getting uncomfortable though as readership of this blog expands. Waiting for some kind of deliverance of verbal pugilism which seems strange given they were almost all one night stands. It’s amazing how on earth they even know about me.

Facebook. It’s got to be Facebook.

Only last week I received a curt message, unpleasant in tone, from one of my hundred saying – I’ll paraphrase here – he didn’t wish to receive any further promotional messages regarding my blog and did not want to be the subject of a post.

Rewind. Originally he’d asked to be my friend on that wretched site, because he wanted to ‘plug’ his aspiring music career. In fact he also harassed me to have sex with him again, this time as part of a threesome AND (if not up for that) a one-on-one repeat of our previous excursion because of my…..’sensuality’ I believe was the quote de jour. I immediately refused. Once had been quite enough for me (and I’ll say why in a second). He hadn’t even registered on my blog subscribers’ list, but he’s bought himself once more to my attention now.

I advised him the easy solution to his dilemma was to de-friend me – simples. He has, so hopefully he’ll never get to read this.

Everyone wants a famous fuck. Not all of us get it. I worked in theatre for five years and shagged a handful of Z-list celebrities (you know – the types that have been an extra on The Bill or starred in a pilot for American TV that then failed to get commissioned), but there’s occasionally one that most people would think ‘ah yeah I remember that’.

For me it was one the Baha Men (Boys). The what? you might ask. Well, they were the guys who sung ‘Who Let The Dogs Out!’ And let me tell you it seemed uber harsh having fucked one of them that L and I once went to enter a club spontaneously one night and the bouncers, as we approached, sung the refrain: ‘Who Let the Dogs Out? Who? Who? Who? Who?’. Not only were they mocking us in the cruellest fashion, but a song by an artiste with whom I’d been intimate was being used as a weapon to taunt me. Incidentally it worked – we fled, retreating immediately home.

Baha Boy and I met over the internet.  Which seemed a bit strange, his using that method to meet women. I mean, he certainly wasn’t unattractive and every girl loves a musician (especially singers, which he was).  Additionally of course, anything to do with fame and fortune increases a man’s attractiveness, irrespective of physical appearance.

In fairness to both of us though I didn’t actually find out about the Baha bit until we were in bed getting ready to get down (oh and he wasn’t singing it to get me in the mood in case you were wondering).

At this point in my sexual career I was going through a ‘try everything’ phase – and mixed-race guys appealed to me (and still do).  There is of course a common racial stereotype that black men have big cocks. A previous experience had confirmed this but then, I’ve found white guys with huge cocks as well so….who’s to say.

Sadly though, genetically, my Baha boy’s tackle was not heavy on the aforesaid stereotype being more Caucasian in its dimensions. Acceptable but not exactly abundant, though this has never featured prominently in my list of priorities unless ridiculously stunted.

There was however something extraordinarily curious about this one that made the event particularly memorable. It had a curve.  A bend.  And by this I do not mean a slight one the required closer examination, or even one that you notice but which doesn’t really interfere with proceedings. It really was like an especially curvy banana…well lady finger to be more precise, almost mutant in aspect.

Getting it inside me, in the traditional missionary position reminded me of my first attempt of putting in a tampon without an applicator. It was in there, but you just know it isn’t in right, and sitting down feels distinctly uncomfortable. Only when the thing’s attached to a person how do you say to them ‘can you straighten that out a bit please, it’s pressing at angles that are making this a wretched experience. I can’t focus on giving you any pleasure or even enjoying myself because all I can feel is a stabbing at the side of my inner wall’?

To make matters worse, he thought his technique was a smooth as his beautiful skin. He kept gyrating his hips rhythmically like Mr Lover-Lover and doing soft porno talk – oohing and aahing and ‘did I like that baby’? I wanted to yell ‘You aren’t Mister Boombastic, you aren’t Shaggy, you’re a Baha Man.’

I decided to take control.

At this stage I lived in an attic bedroom in a flat above a cafe. You actually had to climb a ladder to get to my room. While a significant size due to a very steep roof there was only a small area in the middle of the room in which you could stand fully upright. To combat the problem and maximise space I had a futon bed on the floor. Although a rough and ready attic refurbishment I did have a skylight window, which I permanently had open to air the place thoroughly.

In order to rectify the bendy penis problem I thought I’d try going on top.  That way I thought I could angle myself around it so the fuck wasn’t too bad a fit-fit. That was the theory anyway – the practise proved not so great given the open roof window. Because it was at such a peculiar angle, to get his cock in comfortably so it was a little more direct and straight in my grotto of earthly delights, I had to shift my body to the left to such a degree I felt I was on a roller-coaster taking a sharp turn. With the roof window open and me bouncing up and down almost sideways I could feel the wind through my hair and was worried I may in fact tumble out of the window. The more robust things became the more I could envisage the whole thing as a fairground attraction. I wanted to throw my hands up and wave them into the cold night air and scream – though, it has to be said, not orgasmically. The child in me had been released at the sheer spirit of how the sex had morphed into some kind of saucy unstable carnival ride, with no safety harness strapped on. Whilst my head and shoulders sprung in and out of the window, I hoped I could maintain my mass on this unbalanced mount, because I could feasibly end up a paraplegic with a single wrong move. A sex bungee jump gone wrong if he thrusted too hard and I rebounded too vigorously. It wasn’t just the concentration of the physical exertion dampening my fun but the dreadful scenario of being on a theme park ride and the operator leaving it unattended – the machine running relentlessly on and my being helpless to stop it. But this ride I could stop. The effort, the gripped thighs, well practised kegal exercises, the precarious position, the controlled yet wild movement finally bought him to a climax and me back to safety.

I don’t know who let the dogs out that night, but I have to say before being de-friended on Facebook I felt the world was a little safer seeing his status was now ‘in a relationship’. That is one particular canine that needs to be on a chain – a bendy penis is dangerous and not something that should be unleashed on an unknowing and uncoordinated woman like me.