Sexy Plot Twists

Wow, how has it been over a week already? Time flies when you’re stressy and a little bit messy.

With 1 assignment down, I have 1 to go before Christmas, and even though I’m wearing wooly jumpers and forcing joyful music onto myself, I’m unmotivated and sleepy.

So, what did I do to cure this mood of mine? I procastinated of course!

So much so, that when a friend tagged me in an article about sex writing, I decided to have a go. Basically, I took a line from each story and wrote on from there.

Be warned, this is not for the faint hearted.

(Side note: I wanted to credit the article, the journalist and the original sex stories, but the link has broken and I can’t find it.)

So, without further ado,

1. “Empty my tanks,” she begged breathlessly, as once more she began drawing me deep inside her pleasure cave. I’d never met a mermaid before, so her statement surprised me. They were obviously a lot more forward than us mere humans. I slipped my fingers into her wet tank, the darkness of her cave swallowing us. I freed the fish from the tank inwhich she had trapped them, and watched them swim free. ‘Fuck’ she whimpered as I left. The evil bitch.

2. ‘Cum inside me.’
‘Cum inside me’
‘Cum inside me’
As much as I tried to ignore the haunted house and its incorrect grammar, I had to, indeed, come inside it.

3. He drops the bra to the floor.
‘You little shit.’ She says. ‘How many times must I remind you to put the washing away and not on the floor?’

4. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. If it continued, I worried, I would be completely emptied out.
Yuzu slept deeply through it all without making a sound, her breathing even. I wish she could stop this.
I scream and I pant as he devours me. My crumbs fall onto his beard. My dust covers his fingers and he licks them, one at a time, before moaning: ‘I love Wotsits.’

5. She shuffles her head closer to his cock. ‘Cockadoodle-fucking-do’ She whispers as she raises her cleaver and cuts of it’s head. ‘That’s for waking me up.’ She frowns and turns to Dave. ‘Keep your birds under control.’

6. I had imagined what they would feel like, read about them, seen them represented on toilet walls and magazines. I almost felt giddy as I lightly stroked the Devil’s horns. I asked permission before moving onto his tail. ‘I can’t beleieve you look just like your cartoon.’ I say. He shrugs his boney shoulders. ‘Still watching cartoons as an adult, Sandra? No wonder you’re in hell.’

7. He wanted to cry like a baby. He felt helpless, as though his body had come undone. So many men had experienced that same pain, the one that comes with being kicked in the balls.

So, there you have it. That’s how I avoided writing (by writing?)

I’m sorry I don’t have more to say this week, but I’m genuinely surprised I’m still alive.


Why I avoid mornings.

Let’s kick this off with a story from 8am yesterday. I am not a morning person, but I still decided to get up early and do some chores before lecture. I hoovered, mopped, did the washing and…

I emerged from the flat hesitantly.

I could feel each tiny stone stick to my odd socks as I took a step, one foot at a time. I only had to make it around the corner to Ian’s work, but it seems like a trek up the Himalayas. I could feel the eyes of passing drivers burning into me, but I decided to hold my head high and pretend I was proud of the fact I locked myself out of my flat in nothing but a pair of shorts and a bra.

When I had heard the door click shut behind me, I just shrugged, sat down and told myself: ‘Okay, so this is my life now.’

I spent twenty minutes accepting my fate as a half-naked hobo before I came up with a plan.

I had gone outside to hang the washing up, so shoved a wet top over my head. It was still see-through, but at least I wouldn’t be arrested for public indecency.

This is the struggle I face, I make disasters happen every single day. It’s a miracle I’m still alive, I guess I have Ian to thank for that.

After what seemed like forever, I arrived at Ian’s work (and my dental practice.) I took a deep breath before I knocked on the door. I was hoping Ian would answer but instead I was greeted by the receptionist. She didn’t say anything. She just gave me the once over, sighed and yelled ‘Ian. Your girlfriend’s here.’

I heard him mutter ‘For fuck’s sake. She’s done it already. We’ve only lived there two days.’ But when he saw with my transparent top, odd socks and frankly revealing shorts, he couldn’t help but laugh.

He gave me his keys, and I went home, got changed, and hated myself throughout the whole of my lecture.


As in Prologue. Problog. Get it? Nevermind.

So, you clicked the link that bought you to this awfully girly, pink site. Well, let me tell you, I’m not here to post in-depth analysis’s (analysi?) of the world, or preach about stuff that matters. No, if I did that, it would give you the idea that I know what I’m doing.

The entire idea of this blog is that I have no clue about anything. I just like to stumble about pretending I know how to do life.

Now, if you’re young and wild and free, good for you. It won’t last. It seems like only yesterday I was at the pub turning seventeen, (Wow, I sound like a granny.)

But when adulthood hits you, it hits you hard. You are thrown into the dark chasm of being a grown up, and as soon as you learn to navigate, a rock lands on your head and you have to start over. And then there’s the people that seem to be perfect at every god damned thing. The only thing I’ve been able to master is the art of making a milkshake.

So, this Blog is for those of you who have disasters follow you around and can relate to my pain, and for those people who just want to point, laugh, and say ‘Hey, at least that’s not me.’

Screw it, this blog is for anyone, I’m wholesome enough to have enough love for you all.

Hopefully my misadventures will bring joy to someone.