I copped off with Him Indoors 15 years ago this month, when the cheeky beggar asked me for a snog in a nightclub.
Well, we were young, drunk, he was quite fit and I had nothing to lose.
Mind you, what I didn’t expect to lose was my singledom. After that fateful night on the dancefloor, the rest is history.
For my Christmas present last year, he bought a scanner, sifted through 15 years of photos, and selected the best to create an album of our life together.
I didn’t know men could be so thoughtful. He normally thinks thoughtful is picking his pants up off the floor to save me doing it.
The photos made me realise how different life is now we have two kids. When I look at the album, I find myself comparing certain events with how we would enjoy them now.
I am a West Country lass (think PJ Harvey, only fatter and less miserable) and we loved Glastonbury festival with great photos to prove it. Back then I swore we’d take our future children and parenthood wouldn’t change us.
Balls. There is no way on earth I would trudge through the mud in Michael Eavis’s fields with a whiny seven-year-old and a pushchair caked in muck. And imagine trying to take the kids to the toilet. I’ve seen “matter” down those festival toilets that even Kim and Aggy couldn’t identify.
Then there is the summer we went to Spain. There I was, in skimpy bikini bottoms, sunbathing topless. Now my boobs are out merely to pacify my bitty-obsessed son and are no longer suitable for public viewing.
We have photos from when I took Him Indoors to New York for his 25th birthday. We ice skated in Central Park, got wasted on cocktails in Times Square and ahem, made full use of our hotel room.
This year it was his 37th birthday. We couldn’t get a babysitter; I didn’t find time to cook a fancy meal at home so slung a couple of ready meals in the oven.
Him Indoors did a fake yawn and suggested “we get an early night”.
Tiptoeing upstairs, the toddler started crying for a breastfeed and I found myself torn between two males, each requiring my body for his own need.
Of course the baby won and by the time I’d crawled into bed, Him Indoors was snoring. I was deflated and frustrated.
Yeah, that night 15 years ago has a lot to answer for. But you know what? I wouldn’t swap it for all the festivals and cocktails in the world.
Monday, 7 March 2011
Thursday, 18 November 2010
Sex & The Settee - Mummy underwear
DO all men really prefer their women to wear matching underwear? I mean really?
Here I am thinking about the underwear I am currently wearing, following a random chat I had this week with one of the dads from the school run.
He told me his wife Sara was having a few quiet hours to herself and he was going to take the children shopping.
“The kids need socks and then I thought I’d buy some nice matching underwear for Sara,” he said, with a little blush, bless him.
Matching underwear, I pondered. Hmmm, I think I remember that phrase. Isn’t it what women wear before they’ve had kids, when they actually have time and the inclination to make an effort? Where the bra and knickers actually look the same in terms of style, fabric and colour.
I didn’t feel I knew him well enough to ask whether Sara always wore matching undies but he did reveal – before realising our conversation was a little below the belt (literally) – that he preferred her to wear underwear that matched because it looked nicer. Then he hastily retreated, ready to splurge on some scanties. The dirty swine.
I shudder as I recall what I am currently wearing and it’s certainly not the sort of sexy under garment I could describe to some poor desperate sod if I was a sex chatline operator.
The conversation would go along these lines:
“Oh, you want to know what I am wearing? OK you naughty boy, I am wearing a black bra which is two sizes too big and therefore doesn’t support my boobs at all. Well I say black, but actually it is a dark shade of grey as the colour has faded over the last few months.
“It is also a nursing bra because I am still feeding my 17-month-old toddler because he is bitty obsessed, so it comes with detachable cups which enable me to latch him on quickly and discreetly.
“And my knickers? Well I actually tend to call them pants because knickers are far sexier than the apple catchers I wear these days. I wear them big enough to hide my saggy tummy and copious stretchmarks. They don’t match my bra at all. Not even remotely.
“The elastic is going on them too so they are baggy where they shouldn’t be and the gusset is a bit frayed.
“Oh a G–string would cause terrible chaffing.
“Are you turned on enough yet? Hello? ... Hello? Are you still there?? ...”
(line goes dead)
Here I am thinking about the underwear I am currently wearing, following a random chat I had this week with one of the dads from the school run.
He told me his wife Sara was having a few quiet hours to herself and he was going to take the children shopping.
“The kids need socks and then I thought I’d buy some nice matching underwear for Sara,” he said, with a little blush, bless him.
Matching underwear, I pondered. Hmmm, I think I remember that phrase. Isn’t it what women wear before they’ve had kids, when they actually have time and the inclination to make an effort? Where the bra and knickers actually look the same in terms of style, fabric and colour.
I didn’t feel I knew him well enough to ask whether Sara always wore matching undies but he did reveal – before realising our conversation was a little below the belt (literally) – that he preferred her to wear underwear that matched because it looked nicer. Then he hastily retreated, ready to splurge on some scanties. The dirty swine.
I shudder as I recall what I am currently wearing and it’s certainly not the sort of sexy under garment I could describe to some poor desperate sod if I was a sex chatline operator.
The conversation would go along these lines:
“Oh, you want to know what I am wearing? OK you naughty boy, I am wearing a black bra which is two sizes too big and therefore doesn’t support my boobs at all. Well I say black, but actually it is a dark shade of grey as the colour has faded over the last few months.
“It is also a nursing bra because I am still feeding my 17-month-old toddler because he is bitty obsessed, so it comes with detachable cups which enable me to latch him on quickly and discreetly.
“And my knickers? Well I actually tend to call them pants because knickers are far sexier than the apple catchers I wear these days. I wear them big enough to hide my saggy tummy and copious stretchmarks. They don’t match my bra at all. Not even remotely.
“The elastic is going on them too so they are baggy where they shouldn’t be and the gusset is a bit frayed.
“Oh a G–string would cause terrible chaffing.
“Are you turned on enough yet? Hello? ... Hello? Are you still there?? ...”
(line goes dead)
Monday, 13 September 2010
Sex & The Settee - Netmums
Just when I thought dads were no longer getting sex from us exhausted and frazzled mums anymore, my favourite website goes and proves me wrong.
Maybe I have just been talking to the wrong people recently, but it seems that out of, say ten, of my friends, only two are having sexual relationships since having kids (and one of those includes me).
In fact one friend doesn’t even HAVE kids and hasn’t shagged her man for years. Yet when you see them together you’d never guess it because they get on like a house on fire (their sex, however, isn’t on fire. Not even smouldering).
But last night I went on the Netmums website which has been my saviour since having kids (I usually log on just to moan about my 15 month old son not sleeping) but this time my jaw hit the floor.
I checked out the sex forum which I’ve not been on for ages, mainly because I have no bloody time and let me tell you, there are mums out there who are doing far more than the school run and nappy changes.
These women are not getting bogged down with the mundane chores – they are gagging for action. I can almost hear your sighs of relief.
Of course there are still threads from mums who don’t have much sex but to be honest I have come across this so many times that it sadly isn’t a shock anymore.
The first post I came across was titled “Does Anyone Else Have an Open Relationship?” I had to read more, natch.
It turns out to be from a mum of four, apparently happily married for ten years, who wants to have sex with other men. She is intrigued to know if other women have done this successfully (i.e. kept hold of their relationship while playing away).
Ashley Cole WHY didn’t you ask Chezza if she was up for this? Might have saved a whole load of heartache in the long run, although somehow I doubt it.
How the eff this mum finds time to even think about screwing other men is beyond me. I barely find time to kiss my man goodnight these days.
Anyway, the amount of negative replies was rather unsurprisingly phenomenal. Other Netmums questioned her “perfect” relationship with her husband; one even went as far as calling her sexual desires “trampy”.
Hardly anyone believed her relationship could be as great as she let on, if they were both looking for sex elsewhere.
The post started to get a bit heated with several mums strongly opposing it and I decided to read another.
Next thread: “King-size Condoms” caught my eye. Some poor, tragic soul is suffering because her man is sooooo huge in the trouser department that she spends a fortune on massive sized Johnnies.
I’m sorry? I didn’t even know they came in King-size... (Sorry dear hubby but I speak the truth).
Apparently they are expensive and hard to find. Personally I would have thought a man who needs a king-size condom is harder to find but maybe I’m in the minority.
Mrs Well-Endowed then complains that she “can’t get the snazzy stuff that you have for ‘little ones’, like the ribbed design,”...and it’s now that I can almost hear a nation of men weeping at being typecast as having a tiddler.
Most responses are from incredulous, amused and very jealous mums.
Then I came across a mum who posted “Needing Sex But Not With My Husband”. OK, we all dream about it. Naturally. Sometimes for me, Jon Bon Jovi may spring to mind. Only occasionally mind you (Him Indoors will be reading this).
But this mum confesses to having had sex with several different men. And her poor husband has no idea. She claims she can’t control herself and feels dreadful afterwards.
Most mums replied telling her to get help. And she did, returning to Netmums to thank everyone for their support and to tell everyone she has a diagnosis and is now on medication.
The latter was obviously a more serious post on the forum but a lighter hearted post made me chuckle the most. It’s about mums who bribe their partners with sexual favours in return for doing DIY.
One Netmum offers her bloke a blow job if he wallpapers a room and does the job well. Another confesses that she offers sexual favours if her man merely tidies up after himself. They all swear it works and believe it actually strengthens the relationship by adding a bit of fun.
So dear hubby, if you are reading this, please note that the bathroom light bulb needs replacing, the cupboard door is STILL hanging off and the entire flat could use a lick of paint.
Go on. I’ll make it worth your while.
Maybe I have just been talking to the wrong people recently, but it seems that out of, say ten, of my friends, only two are having sexual relationships since having kids (and one of those includes me).
In fact one friend doesn’t even HAVE kids and hasn’t shagged her man for years. Yet when you see them together you’d never guess it because they get on like a house on fire (their sex, however, isn’t on fire. Not even smouldering).
But last night I went on the Netmums website which has been my saviour since having kids (I usually log on just to moan about my 15 month old son not sleeping) but this time my jaw hit the floor.
I checked out the sex forum which I’ve not been on for ages, mainly because I have no bloody time and let me tell you, there are mums out there who are doing far more than the school run and nappy changes.
These women are not getting bogged down with the mundane chores – they are gagging for action. I can almost hear your sighs of relief.
Of course there are still threads from mums who don’t have much sex but to be honest I have come across this so many times that it sadly isn’t a shock anymore.
The first post I came across was titled “Does Anyone Else Have an Open Relationship?” I had to read more, natch.
It turns out to be from a mum of four, apparently happily married for ten years, who wants to have sex with other men. She is intrigued to know if other women have done this successfully (i.e. kept hold of their relationship while playing away).
Ashley Cole WHY didn’t you ask Chezza if she was up for this? Might have saved a whole load of heartache in the long run, although somehow I doubt it.
How the eff this mum finds time to even think about screwing other men is beyond me. I barely find time to kiss my man goodnight these days.
Anyway, the amount of negative replies was rather unsurprisingly phenomenal. Other Netmums questioned her “perfect” relationship with her husband; one even went as far as calling her sexual desires “trampy”.
Hardly anyone believed her relationship could be as great as she let on, if they were both looking for sex elsewhere.
The post started to get a bit heated with several mums strongly opposing it and I decided to read another.
Next thread: “King-size Condoms” caught my eye. Some poor, tragic soul is suffering because her man is sooooo huge in the trouser department that she spends a fortune on massive sized Johnnies.
I’m sorry? I didn’t even know they came in King-size... (Sorry dear hubby but I speak the truth).
Apparently they are expensive and hard to find. Personally I would have thought a man who needs a king-size condom is harder to find but maybe I’m in the minority.
Mrs Well-Endowed then complains that she “can’t get the snazzy stuff that you have for ‘little ones’, like the ribbed design,”...and it’s now that I can almost hear a nation of men weeping at being typecast as having a tiddler.
Most responses are from incredulous, amused and very jealous mums.
Then I came across a mum who posted “Needing Sex But Not With My Husband”. OK, we all dream about it. Naturally. Sometimes for me, Jon Bon Jovi may spring to mind. Only occasionally mind you (Him Indoors will be reading this).
But this mum confesses to having had sex with several different men. And her poor husband has no idea. She claims she can’t control herself and feels dreadful afterwards.
Most mums replied telling her to get help. And she did, returning to Netmums to thank everyone for their support and to tell everyone she has a diagnosis and is now on medication.
The latter was obviously a more serious post on the forum but a lighter hearted post made me chuckle the most. It’s about mums who bribe their partners with sexual favours in return for doing DIY.
One Netmum offers her bloke a blow job if he wallpapers a room and does the job well. Another confesses that she offers sexual favours if her man merely tidies up after himself. They all swear it works and believe it actually strengthens the relationship by adding a bit of fun.
So dear hubby, if you are reading this, please note that the bathroom light bulb needs replacing, the cupboard door is STILL hanging off and the entire flat could use a lick of paint.
Go on. I’ll make it worth your while.
Sex & The Settee - The Laminate
To spice things up and to get me thinking naughty thoughts, I have introduced a very useful little office item into my life; The Laminate.
On my laminate (which is actually just a sheet of A4 which I’ve um...laminated) is a list of people – celebrities – which I am allowed to sleep with, if the opportunity arises and my husband has to give his blessing.
Now, you and I (and Him Indoors) all know this is NEVER going to happen, but it really does make me feel a little saucy.
And I often prefer to use my brain to think about who else to add to my laminate, instead of working out the logistics of the school run in bad traffic.
It’s just a bit of a laugh and beats writing the weekly shopping list hands down.
On my list at the moment are the following:
1. Jon Bon Jovi. The man is a god. I have never really managed to leave my rock chick years behind and if he even so much as dared to stroll down my Berkshire village high street with his six-string on his back, revealing that manly rug and flash of perfect white teeth, I’d probably have him there and then. Provided my daughter was at school.
2. David Tennant. I don’t even need to watch Dr Who to know how utterly sexy this skinny Scotsman is. He even looks a little like my husband which is why my man can’t stop me sleeping with him, should the opportunity arise.
3. 50 Cent. Yes, the bling bad boy rapper is third on my laminate. I don’t actually know why I fancy him. He is massive with scarily rippling muscles, wears all the wrong clothes and has tattoos scribbled all over him. Yes the illustrated man (who incidentally looks NOTHING like my thin pale Yorkshireman) could find me in da club any bloody time he likes.
4. The gorgeous Harry from Silent Witness. He has the nicest mouth and looks like he knows how to put a woman through her paces. He can inspect my naked form anytime he likes but I’d have to make it clear there is plenty of life left in this bird.
5. Richard Hammond. I hate cars, I hate short men. But he looks like he harbours a dirty side (behind that wide-eyed innocence) and anyway, we all know size isn’t everything.
I then decided it was only fair for Him Indoors to set up his own laminate too (see, it’s addictive). He spent a few moments plotting his fantasy love life and had interesting results for me actually.
1. Kate Winslet
2. Rachel Weisz
3. Anne Hathaway
4. The blonde mum from the school playground with the twins
5. The young mum from the school playground with the little boy
Now, I already knew about his obsession with The Winslet. She had a titanic effect (sorry, I couldn’t resist) on him in THAT film and just about every other film she’s done after. And that’s fine. A bit too jolly hockey sticks for me, but then she isn’t on my laminate.
The same goes for Rachel Weisz. What red-blooded man wouldn’t find her completely gorgeous.
And I knew there must have been a reason for him encouraging me to watch The Devil Wears Prada with him. Anna Hathaway is a total babe. I could see where he’s coming from.
But the last two on the laminate stopped me in my steps.
“I thought it was a Laminate for celebrity women you would bed?” I asked him over breakfast.
He looked a little confused.
“Oh, I thought it was just a list of five women I fancied and they could be anyone,” he shrugged.
I decided to do the school run that day. It was all very well having a laminate about celebrities we will never meet. But to add women who you see on a daily basis made me feel a little...well, pissed off if I’m honest.
The blonde woman with the twins is pretty, there is no denying it. But I noticed she looked rather unkempt the other morning and that cheered me up no end.
As for the young mum, she wore a white velour tracksuit when I saw her. I kid you not. It’s like the Jodie Marsh of the village, and I can’t start feeling threatened by that.
And it turns out Him Indoors likes her purely because she smiles at him every morning. Daft sod, as if she’d actually fancy him!
But this has made me check out the school dads a bit more and I tell you something, there is definitely some laminate potential there, should mine ever need updating.
In fact, who needs to fantasise about celebrities when there are real hunks on the school doorstep?
On my laminate (which is actually just a sheet of A4 which I’ve um...laminated) is a list of people – celebrities – which I am allowed to sleep with, if the opportunity arises and my husband has to give his blessing.
Now, you and I (and Him Indoors) all know this is NEVER going to happen, but it really does make me feel a little saucy.
And I often prefer to use my brain to think about who else to add to my laminate, instead of working out the logistics of the school run in bad traffic.
It’s just a bit of a laugh and beats writing the weekly shopping list hands down.
On my list at the moment are the following:
1. Jon Bon Jovi. The man is a god. I have never really managed to leave my rock chick years behind and if he even so much as dared to stroll down my Berkshire village high street with his six-string on his back, revealing that manly rug and flash of perfect white teeth, I’d probably have him there and then. Provided my daughter was at school.
2. David Tennant. I don’t even need to watch Dr Who to know how utterly sexy this skinny Scotsman is. He even looks a little like my husband which is why my man can’t stop me sleeping with him, should the opportunity arise.
3. 50 Cent. Yes, the bling bad boy rapper is third on my laminate. I don’t actually know why I fancy him. He is massive with scarily rippling muscles, wears all the wrong clothes and has tattoos scribbled all over him. Yes the illustrated man (who incidentally looks NOTHING like my thin pale Yorkshireman) could find me in da club any bloody time he likes.
4. The gorgeous Harry from Silent Witness. He has the nicest mouth and looks like he knows how to put a woman through her paces. He can inspect my naked form anytime he likes but I’d have to make it clear there is plenty of life left in this bird.
5. Richard Hammond. I hate cars, I hate short men. But he looks like he harbours a dirty side (behind that wide-eyed innocence) and anyway, we all know size isn’t everything.
I then decided it was only fair for Him Indoors to set up his own laminate too (see, it’s addictive). He spent a few moments plotting his fantasy love life and had interesting results for me actually.
1. Kate Winslet
2. Rachel Weisz
3. Anne Hathaway
4. The blonde mum from the school playground with the twins
5. The young mum from the school playground with the little boy
Now, I already knew about his obsession with The Winslet. She had a titanic effect (sorry, I couldn’t resist) on him in THAT film and just about every other film she’s done after. And that’s fine. A bit too jolly hockey sticks for me, but then she isn’t on my laminate.
The same goes for Rachel Weisz. What red-blooded man wouldn’t find her completely gorgeous.
And I knew there must have been a reason for him encouraging me to watch The Devil Wears Prada with him. Anna Hathaway is a total babe. I could see where he’s coming from.
But the last two on the laminate stopped me in my steps.
“I thought it was a Laminate for celebrity women you would bed?” I asked him over breakfast.
He looked a little confused.
“Oh, I thought it was just a list of five women I fancied and they could be anyone,” he shrugged.
I decided to do the school run that day. It was all very well having a laminate about celebrities we will never meet. But to add women who you see on a daily basis made me feel a little...well, pissed off if I’m honest.
The blonde woman with the twins is pretty, there is no denying it. But I noticed she looked rather unkempt the other morning and that cheered me up no end.
As for the young mum, she wore a white velour tracksuit when I saw her. I kid you not. It’s like the Jodie Marsh of the village, and I can’t start feeling threatened by that.
And it turns out Him Indoors likes her purely because she smiles at him every morning. Daft sod, as if she’d actually fancy him!
But this has made me check out the school dads a bit more and I tell you something, there is definitely some laminate potential there, should mine ever need updating.
In fact, who needs to fantasise about celebrities when there are real hunks on the school doorstep?
Sex & The Settee - Hot Mamas
How are these celebrity mums doing it I ask thee?
I mean how do they have a baby (or four) and then go from looking really shite to looking amazing – AND getting their sexual mojo back? They seem untouched by parenthood and it’s starting to grate with me.
I salute Ulrika Jonsson. She of the many lovers. She has finally settled down, had many a bairn and got her life back on track. Yeah she’s had a lot of surgical help, some may say, but she has the body of a teenager.
Her haggard sagginess has vanished and she’s super sexy.
Same goes for Kerry Katona. She lost that enormous bulk of weight (and once she got rid of Mark Croft, she shed some of her own too) and is looking pretty hot. Never thought I’d say that!
Why am I feeling hard done by? Believe me, I am not wishing I was the Katona. But I do feel she’s finally found the right balance for time with her kids AND sex.
I have the two most beautiful children in the world (don’t even dare to challenge me on this) and adore motherhood - but I have changed in the process.
I used to go to the boudoir armed with two things that my husband loved – my ‘come hither’ look and my boobs.
Now it’s off to Bedfordshire dressed in chintzy PJs, armed with a pair of lurid, fluorescent green ear plugs and an eye mask. I need to sleep. Also, my body isn’t looking the part these days - I can safely say I do not possess the breasts of a lithe 18-year-old, a la Ulrika.
Actually, given that I am still breastfeeding a 15-month-old, my bazookas are slowly resembling an 80-year-old’s. It’s not a good look. Yet Him Indoors still seems keen, the nutter.
Juggling between being a mother and a lover is stressful so I am flummoxed as to how these celebs give birth, never appear tired, look hot and still find time to party/shag.
My brain is nearly always switched onto mum mode and Him Indoors remarked on it last night.
He feels I give the kids more attention than I give him, which he totally accepts but sometimes finds hard.
I had to remind the needy little sod that all my attention will turn to him the day he starts: wearing nappies filled with poo (trying to tear off said nappy to smear on bedroom wall), pulling all photo frames off the shelves and stuffing the photos in the bin...you get the picture.
My attention has to focus on the kids or else I will lose the plot.
So to rekindle our passion, we’ve decided to book a weekend away abroad and leave the children with my parents (good luck to them) so we can indulge in whatever the hell we like.
Just want to make sure I take plenty of protection. The sort that avoids me having any more children I mean, not sun protection. We won’t need that; we won’t be leaving the bedroom.
I mean how do they have a baby (or four) and then go from looking really shite to looking amazing – AND getting their sexual mojo back? They seem untouched by parenthood and it’s starting to grate with me.
I salute Ulrika Jonsson. She of the many lovers. She has finally settled down, had many a bairn and got her life back on track. Yeah she’s had a lot of surgical help, some may say, but she has the body of a teenager.
Her haggard sagginess has vanished and she’s super sexy.
Same goes for Kerry Katona. She lost that enormous bulk of weight (and once she got rid of Mark Croft, she shed some of her own too) and is looking pretty hot. Never thought I’d say that!
Why am I feeling hard done by? Believe me, I am not wishing I was the Katona. But I do feel she’s finally found the right balance for time with her kids AND sex.
I have the two most beautiful children in the world (don’t even dare to challenge me on this) and adore motherhood - but I have changed in the process.
I used to go to the boudoir armed with two things that my husband loved – my ‘come hither’ look and my boobs.
Now it’s off to Bedfordshire dressed in chintzy PJs, armed with a pair of lurid, fluorescent green ear plugs and an eye mask. I need to sleep. Also, my body isn’t looking the part these days - I can safely say I do not possess the breasts of a lithe 18-year-old, a la Ulrika.
Actually, given that I am still breastfeeding a 15-month-old, my bazookas are slowly resembling an 80-year-old’s. It’s not a good look. Yet Him Indoors still seems keen, the nutter.
Juggling between being a mother and a lover is stressful so I am flummoxed as to how these celebs give birth, never appear tired, look hot and still find time to party/shag.
My brain is nearly always switched onto mum mode and Him Indoors remarked on it last night.
He feels I give the kids more attention than I give him, which he totally accepts but sometimes finds hard.
I had to remind the needy little sod that all my attention will turn to him the day he starts: wearing nappies filled with poo (trying to tear off said nappy to smear on bedroom wall), pulling all photo frames off the shelves and stuffing the photos in the bin...you get the picture.
My attention has to focus on the kids or else I will lose the plot.
So to rekindle our passion, we’ve decided to book a weekend away abroad and leave the children with my parents (good luck to them) so we can indulge in whatever the hell we like.
Just want to make sure I take plenty of protection. The sort that avoids me having any more children I mean, not sun protection. We won’t need that; we won’t be leaving the bedroom.
Thursday, 24 June 2010
Sex & The Settee - Adult Channels
I don’t understand what turns blokes on sometimes.
I know they are more visual when it comes to all things involving sex but my god, I’ve had a real eye opener recently for what perks up some of their peckers.
The husband decided to get Sky Plus recently (allegedly for the sport) and I became a little concerned about the sex channels. I wanted assurance that if dear hubby wasn’t going to accompany me to bed, he was ONLY up watching the sport highlights.
I mean imagine discovering he would rather stay up to ogle the freeview sex channels than to indulge in the real thing with me. It would be an outrage. He’s as tight as a gnat’s backside so I knew he wouldn’t actually fork out for sex channels but I still wanted to know what he could watch.
So, one night, while he was at work, I decided to scan the adult channels to see if I had any competition. I was shocked – there was NO way he could be staying up to watch that!
One thing that totally threw me was that not all the women are fit. In fact, when I was scanning through the channels, I spotted a show called Fat Hookers. Hardly selling itself, even for the most desperate man, yet this is a channel you actually have to pay for.
With sex chat line operators (the ones you phone, not the TV ones), men believe they are talking to really saucy minxes who are wearing nothing but make up and a thong (when in reality they are probably overweight 40-year-old birds with their hair in curlers, fag in corner of the mouth and doing their ironing at the same time as telling you how hot they are).
But with the TV sex channels, there is actually one for men who love 40+ readers’ wives. And it’s not often a pretty sight. Yet these women are always on the phone chatting.
They are busy ALL the time and this really flummoxes me. More often than not they look like Deirdre Barlow’s slightly younger, chubbier sister.
One freeview channel featured three nubile babes. They had mobile phones glued to their ears and were talking to male callers who were obviously gagging for it.
It is not even erotic. They all seem to have the obligatory tattoo, tits covered in more grease than your local chippy and a pout that even Posh would find hard to imitate.
The majority don’t seem to have their own boobs and they spend as much time preening as they do chatting to callers.
To me, the whole thing looks really fake. They are acting a part and spend most of the time bent over, giving you an eyeful of their miniscule gusset, leaving little to the imagination.
They writhe and jiggle their silicone boobs up and down whilst looking at the camera seductively. Think a trio of Jodie Marshes who are doing their best to tip you over the edge. Exactly. Sexy it ain’t.
Half the time though, they are also getting directions from the producer as you can see the girls refluffing up their hair and rearranging their g-strings (there must be a No Naked Minge clause).
The non callers (AKA tight wads) have to make do with listening to crap music while the only person who can actually hear what each girl is saying is the poor sod who forks out to make the call.
But I have to say I’ve become quite adept at lip reading. I can tell what these women are saying to the callers. There is a lot of “F*** me now sexy . You are hard are you?” But they ALL seem to be saying the same old stuff (“You want it don’t you. You really do”). It gets sooo boring after about five minutes.
One girl was introducing herself which everyone can hear and was rubbing cream into her boobs while saying in an pseudo sultry orgasmic voice “So c’mon guys, call me. I am so horny right now and I might have to rub more cream into my tits.”
By this point I was laughing at the phoniness of it. Do men REALLY get off on this?
And when no one is phoning in, the women work hard at getting more callers. One woman was even licking her mobile phone from top to bottom. Classy.
The ironic thing now of course, is that my hubby really does only stay up to watch the sports channels. And when he’s not home, it’s me who flicks through the freeview channels, because even though it’s not remotely sexy, it is so damn entertaining.
I’m just dying to know what those fat hookers look like.
I know they are more visual when it comes to all things involving sex but my god, I’ve had a real eye opener recently for what perks up some of their peckers.
The husband decided to get Sky Plus recently (allegedly for the sport) and I became a little concerned about the sex channels. I wanted assurance that if dear hubby wasn’t going to accompany me to bed, he was ONLY up watching the sport highlights.
I mean imagine discovering he would rather stay up to ogle the freeview sex channels than to indulge in the real thing with me. It would be an outrage. He’s as tight as a gnat’s backside so I knew he wouldn’t actually fork out for sex channels but I still wanted to know what he could watch.
So, one night, while he was at work, I decided to scan the adult channels to see if I had any competition. I was shocked – there was NO way he could be staying up to watch that!
One thing that totally threw me was that not all the women are fit. In fact, when I was scanning through the channels, I spotted a show called Fat Hookers. Hardly selling itself, even for the most desperate man, yet this is a channel you actually have to pay for.
With sex chat line operators (the ones you phone, not the TV ones), men believe they are talking to really saucy minxes who are wearing nothing but make up and a thong (when in reality they are probably overweight 40-year-old birds with their hair in curlers, fag in corner of the mouth and doing their ironing at the same time as telling you how hot they are).
But with the TV sex channels, there is actually one for men who love 40+ readers’ wives. And it’s not often a pretty sight. Yet these women are always on the phone chatting.
They are busy ALL the time and this really flummoxes me. More often than not they look like Deirdre Barlow’s slightly younger, chubbier sister.
One freeview channel featured three nubile babes. They had mobile phones glued to their ears and were talking to male callers who were obviously gagging for it.
It is not even erotic. They all seem to have the obligatory tattoo, tits covered in more grease than your local chippy and a pout that even Posh would find hard to imitate.
The majority don’t seem to have their own boobs and they spend as much time preening as they do chatting to callers.
To me, the whole thing looks really fake. They are acting a part and spend most of the time bent over, giving you an eyeful of their miniscule gusset, leaving little to the imagination.
They writhe and jiggle their silicone boobs up and down whilst looking at the camera seductively. Think a trio of Jodie Marshes who are doing their best to tip you over the edge. Exactly. Sexy it ain’t.
Half the time though, they are also getting directions from the producer as you can see the girls refluffing up their hair and rearranging their g-strings (there must be a No Naked Minge clause).
The non callers (AKA tight wads) have to make do with listening to crap music while the only person who can actually hear what each girl is saying is the poor sod who forks out to make the call.
But I have to say I’ve become quite adept at lip reading. I can tell what these women are saying to the callers. There is a lot of “F*** me now sexy . You are hard are you?” But they ALL seem to be saying the same old stuff (“You want it don’t you. You really do”). It gets sooo boring after about five minutes.
One girl was introducing herself which everyone can hear and was rubbing cream into her boobs while saying in an pseudo sultry orgasmic voice “So c’mon guys, call me. I am so horny right now and I might have to rub more cream into my tits.”
By this point I was laughing at the phoniness of it. Do men REALLY get off on this?
And when no one is phoning in, the women work hard at getting more callers. One woman was even licking her mobile phone from top to bottom. Classy.
The ironic thing now of course, is that my hubby really does only stay up to watch the sports channels. And when he’s not home, it’s me who flicks through the freeview channels, because even though it’s not remotely sexy, it is so damn entertaining.
I’m just dying to know what those fat hookers look like.
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Sex & The Settee - Babysitting
Lager flavoured “booby drops” have been haunting me ever since I started searching for a babysitter.
Yes, lager flavoured. Tacky or what? I shall reveal all but please bear with me on this. It really does still disturb me.
The husband and I are desperate for time together, away from the sounds of tantrums and the theme tune to Rupert the Bear, yet the prospect of leaving our four-year-old with a babysitter is very daunting.
And not because I fear for my tot’s antics. It’s the babysitter I’m more worried about.
If I choose the wrong sort, I can guarantee that instead of sitting demurely on my sofa, and listening out for my toddler’s possible cries, she may misbehave like I did.
And that is making me very nervous.
I used to babysit regularly during my youth for a variety of families but although I was a responsible youth as far as the children I looked after were concerned, the frolics I got up to are quite something.
When I was 15, a friend Mary and I babysat for one of her neighbours. The kids were already in bed when we arrived and we were bored and decided to have a look around upstairs.
And that’s when we found the lager flavoured booby drops.
We peeked in the parents’ room and noticed a bedside drawer slightly open. We then found a stash of filthy toys impressive enough to open our own sex store.
We were gobsmacked. I don’t think either of us had seen a vibrator before and here before our very eyes was quite an assortment.
And the booby drops? Well, I was amazed. The mum had enormous baps and neither my friend nor I was sure one bottle would be enough for her husband to “drizzle over and lick off” as per the instructions.
We looked at the parents in a different light when they returned that evening and we both tried very hard not to look at her pendulous tits and his mouth, for fear we would become hysterical.
After that episode though, Mary and I paired up more often to babysit other families and returned to our shenanigans.
One set of parents were really cool and laid back. We were 16 by this time and when we arrived, the kids were already in bed and the parents had left us out the obligatory tray of goodies.
But instead of tea, coffee and biscuits, they also left us a bottle of Taboo (well it was the eighties) and two glasses.
As they left the house, they handed us the remote controls and told us we could watch any video we liked “but not the ones on the top shelf”.
Now, that is like a red rag to a bull.
OF COURSE we grabbed two videos from that forbidden top shelf (in retrospect, those parents definitely got off on the fact my friend and I were going to do this).
We turned it on and were faced with a naked woman, two men (one with a ridiculously enormous appendage) and a hell of a lot of groaning.
We carefully rewound the tape back to the point where we had started watched it (a close up view of a very vigorous thrust) and sat there drinking our taboo and sniggering.
Then there is the time I got sacked from a babysitting job for snogging a boy on the doorstep for ages (the next door neighbour grassed me up).
Another family who had one young child asked us to babysit two Fridays a month. The child was about three and a very good sleeper so we earned easy money and really enjoyed it.
We discovered on the Sky channels one evening that they subscribed to porn. After 11pm, we would channel flick and find proper hard core pornography.
We were more intrigued than turned on, if I’m honest, and the one that always sticks in our minds is the one where a woman went on a skiing holiday and got horny in the kitchen.
She stripped off, opened the fridge, found a large carrot, smothered it in butter and started to...oh come on please don’t make me go into all the details. I was young and naive.
Actually, what we didn’t realise is that the couple regularly set the video to tape a film on Sky.
And if you tape something from Sky you can’t watch other Sky channels because it starts to tape what you are watching...most of their films were ruined and I still cringe to this day.
So if I do find a babysitter, I shall ensure I leave my house with a clear conscience.
It just leaves me with one vital question though; I wonder if those booby drops come in Gin & Tonic flavour...
Yes, lager flavoured. Tacky or what? I shall reveal all but please bear with me on this. It really does still disturb me.
The husband and I are desperate for time together, away from the sounds of tantrums and the theme tune to Rupert the Bear, yet the prospect of leaving our four-year-old with a babysitter is very daunting.
And not because I fear for my tot’s antics. It’s the babysitter I’m more worried about.
If I choose the wrong sort, I can guarantee that instead of sitting demurely on my sofa, and listening out for my toddler’s possible cries, she may misbehave like I did.
And that is making me very nervous.
I used to babysit regularly during my youth for a variety of families but although I was a responsible youth as far as the children I looked after were concerned, the frolics I got up to are quite something.
When I was 15, a friend Mary and I babysat for one of her neighbours. The kids were already in bed when we arrived and we were bored and decided to have a look around upstairs.
And that’s when we found the lager flavoured booby drops.
We peeked in the parents’ room and noticed a bedside drawer slightly open. We then found a stash of filthy toys impressive enough to open our own sex store.
We were gobsmacked. I don’t think either of us had seen a vibrator before and here before our very eyes was quite an assortment.
And the booby drops? Well, I was amazed. The mum had enormous baps and neither my friend nor I was sure one bottle would be enough for her husband to “drizzle over and lick off” as per the instructions.
We looked at the parents in a different light when they returned that evening and we both tried very hard not to look at her pendulous tits and his mouth, for fear we would become hysterical.
After that episode though, Mary and I paired up more often to babysit other families and returned to our shenanigans.
One set of parents were really cool and laid back. We were 16 by this time and when we arrived, the kids were already in bed and the parents had left us out the obligatory tray of goodies.
But instead of tea, coffee and biscuits, they also left us a bottle of Taboo (well it was the eighties) and two glasses.
As they left the house, they handed us the remote controls and told us we could watch any video we liked “but not the ones on the top shelf”.
Now, that is like a red rag to a bull.
OF COURSE we grabbed two videos from that forbidden top shelf (in retrospect, those parents definitely got off on the fact my friend and I were going to do this).
We turned it on and were faced with a naked woman, two men (one with a ridiculously enormous appendage) and a hell of a lot of groaning.
We carefully rewound the tape back to the point where we had started watched it (a close up view of a very vigorous thrust) and sat there drinking our taboo and sniggering.
Then there is the time I got sacked from a babysitting job for snogging a boy on the doorstep for ages (the next door neighbour grassed me up).
Another family who had one young child asked us to babysit two Fridays a month. The child was about three and a very good sleeper so we earned easy money and really enjoyed it.
We discovered on the Sky channels one evening that they subscribed to porn. After 11pm, we would channel flick and find proper hard core pornography.
We were more intrigued than turned on, if I’m honest, and the one that always sticks in our minds is the one where a woman went on a skiing holiday and got horny in the kitchen.
She stripped off, opened the fridge, found a large carrot, smothered it in butter and started to...oh come on please don’t make me go into all the details. I was young and naive.
Actually, what we didn’t realise is that the couple regularly set the video to tape a film on Sky.
And if you tape something from Sky you can’t watch other Sky channels because it starts to tape what you are watching...most of their films were ruined and I still cringe to this day.
So if I do find a babysitter, I shall ensure I leave my house with a clear conscience.
It just leaves me with one vital question though; I wonder if those booby drops come in Gin & Tonic flavour...
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