How bloke-ish. How refreshing.

I have a rather insidious method of having him at my beck and call. Like all beings with a vagina, I give the wide-eyed, damsel-in-distress expression which never fails to incite the awwwww element in him.

And of course, never forget to shower him with praises, no matter how trivial they can be. It’s basic dog training- reinforcement by reward.

“K you’re sooooo good with the technical stuff, thank you soooo much for fixing my car..”

“K I’m so lucky to have you – my lawn would be a jungle without you mowing them so often.”

“K you smell so good I can’t stop nuzzling your neck.”

“K you made me come so hard that I can’t stand up properly now.”

I’m the passive alpha bitch and I know it. So shoot me

End of the chapter of Mr W and I have yet to start a new sealed section of my life. There are a couple of potential segues- Mr P, Mr C, Mr D and Mr G – but I have lost the ability to be recaptured back into the flaming throes of lust and if i may say, love.

Of course, this hasn’t stopped me from having a rather eventful series of nocturnal activities.

In the living room of a dead quiet suburb two nights ago, he had to put his hand over my mouth while I gasped and cried involuntarily during tight spasms of  an orgasm. It was 2am, his housemates were asleep and we came back from a late night drive. There was a momentary flash of bright lust when he was driving and I knew I had to have him there and then. Came up with 1001 excuses why I need to take a look at his house before he realised what I needed and succumbed.

For a first-timer, he did magnificently. Despite the spectacular debut, there wasn’t any reason to see him again. He thought otherwise- choosing to text and call everyday to ask me out. This time, I succumbed. I was his date on Fridays for clubbing, his cheerleader on Thursdays when he went gambling at the casino, his passenger on Tuesdays and Wednesdays when he wanted to go for a drive.

There are questions, of course. “Why don’t you be with him?” most asked. It was difficult to reply. His age, perhaps? Merely three years older than me, full of childish antics and innocent dreams. The continual aching emptiness from the abyss of my emotional health was not filled when we were together. There was laughter, there were conversations and they were quite pleasant. Yet, they were never sufficiently intense or spirited enough. It  felt like I had to settle for something less than what I truly wanted.

It took me this long to confront this harsh reality – I have to go through a lifetime of mediocre relationships because of my strange preference. I wish it is as easy as how they said it.

For now, I’ll teeter on the edge of the cliff before someone kicks me down.

*Thank you for your comment, Sophia. I love Snape too.

I like how you plant mini kisses in a row on my back, before pushing my neck down when I started arching in pleasure. Your firm hands, mixed with an apprehensive glance and shuddering breath turned me on. With a final culminating effort resulted from the urging need for pleasure, I managed to get on top of you.

You, on your back, while I assumed the dominant position. Your muscles tensed up when I run my tongue from your abs to your neck, before giving you a deviant smile while licking my lips.

Sometimes, when I feel an overwhelming animalistic urge to mark you as mine, I clamp my jaw on your neck before sucking hard, letting air suction and my teeth do the trick. You recoil in pain before you realised it was an act of uninhibitedness.

But like pleasures, you are but a fleeting point of my life. When I told you I don’t want to see you anymore, I meant it. Because some bites do heal, because permanence is merely an illusion of what will end.

Do they have a name for this syndrome? I like to call it the *OMG IT’S GONE I DIDN’T EVEN REALISE IT I WAS STILL FANTASISING* syndrome.

What happened to the brief touches before the deviant smile, the exchange of glances with twinkling familiarity during a private joke, the stealthy forward movement to smell the scent of perfume and cologne, which resulted in a sharp intake of breath with a neverending tingle of excitement?

I can’t put my finger on how it happened. Before I know it, your name doesn’t bring a microsecond stop to my beating heart. Before I know it, I want to see something other than you. Before you knew it, I went away and retreated to where I was when you found me.

I don’t have a reason for it either. Don’t push me for it, i don’t know how things work in the abyss-like cockles of my heart.

Hello Samantha, Hello Brian and Hello Anna. Of course, a gigantic hello to my old friend Elizabeth.

Update of sex life: big fat ZERO. any longer and I think I’ll start evolving in to an amoeba. During random periods of extreme boredom, I will engage in binary fission and divide myself into two Miss Teleiophilias.

Update of love life: surprise surprise, Zero as well. It’s strange how my infatuations come and go- I would read previous entries of my blog and think to myself: OMG was I THAT into him? How in the world did I fall for him?  (insert cliche ramblings here “blablabla there are many trees in the forest and plenty of other fish in the sea blablabla”)

Now now. Miss T has turned good. Very good, in fact. I have a religion now- BOO!

It’s a step I’ve been toying with for the past three years. Now I have finally made the leap and taken refuge (akin to being baptised, I reckon?). Since my religion doesn’t expressively condemn teleiophilia (as long as it doesn’t lead to sexual misconduct??), I am allowed to be who I am.

The devil horns have shrunk back into the cavities of my skull and I have this weird fascination with incredibly nice men now.

No no no, please don’t give me another Russell Crowe. No more rugged features and toying with his unpredictable tendency of lashing out at random people or making love at whim. I’m talking about Geeky nice. Eg: too shy to think about romance.

It’s the challenge, me thinks. How do you turn on someone who thinks romance can only be found in fairy tales? How do you let him have the first taste of something forbidden, before leading him to the path of addiction? Couple that with some nervousness and bewilderment on his part and KABOOM! My loins are on fire!

I sound like a maniac.

So. It wouldn’t come as a surprise for you people that I’m infatuated with a religous figure who has taken a vow of celibacy and is 12 years older than me. (Only 12 years!! Any younger and I would have to change my username already!). This is bad, very bad. I know this will be another fleeting crush, because I’m not patient enough to hang around him when he’s impossible to sleep with. But still. I’m quite sure I’d have incurred some karmic debts as a result of my naughty, very naughty fantasies.

Elizabeth, help!

On the other news, I’m experiencing a quarter life crisis. I have this nagging, inexplicable urge to do something entirely radical to myself.

No, no travelling, stop giving me stupid cliche suggestions!

I’m toying with getting a tattoo (of my religous name and the date I got baptised), getting a tongue piercing or getting a sugar daddy. (Which means I’ll have to sleep with a wrinkly 60-year-old, and frankly, it’s rather uncool.)

Oh God that brought me to high school years.

SMSed of sweet nothings, messages about breaking up and childish flirting (Eg “Hello sweet, just wanna tell you i walked past a flower and it’s as pretty as you.” *cue puke here*)

Fucking hell I even saved an old flame’s number under “FORBIDDEN LOVER”, which caused my auntie heart palpitations when she took my phone and scrolled through the messages.

HAHAHAHAHA.

Now, I check my mobile once a day and dread fills me when it rings for it must be work or some news leads. SMS? Only when it’s absolutely crucial. I guess the stupid telcos in Aussieland, which charge more than 20 cents per sms, made me a scrooge when it comes to firing a message out.I am the world’s worst correspondent and I will only reply you in my own time, which could mean within 24 hours, three days or one entire week.

or never at all.

A l’il touch of smile,

A l’il exchange of laughter

And a fucking shitload of bloody mess I’ve got to clean up, all by myself.

You see, I’ve gotten over almost everything and finally got everything I wanted. A job, a life, a bunch of friends and a country that I belong to.

What the fuck do I really want now?

Dharma service in the morning talked about the monster of desire. How we want more, and more. How we want things we cannot get. How we would never feel satisfied, as long as there’s the monster inside us.

I’m toying with a weird, ever expanding creature. I know the consequences but this go-against-the-tide nature of mine wants to touch a smoldering coal, just to experience how the pain feels like.

And the stupid, berserk female hormones coursing through my veins meant I would start fantasising about a future with him. What should I cook for us when I get home? Would I get annoyed by him squeezing the toothpaste from the top instead of the bottom end? What would the first morning-after be like?

So much questions, so little time and opportunities. So many answers that I shudder to think what he would tell me.

Why can’t I just take the easy way out?

I said he had an old soul. The bumbling humour. The awkward expressions. Saying poetic things randomly. Being intensely focused on a task that he didn’t realise how absurd his expression was.

After everything that happened, I realised I was tired. Unrequitted love yet again. The unending cycle of liking someone who doesn’t have the capacity to do the same.

Calm down, Miss T, calm down.

Note to self: Forget about the perfect fairytale- it’s better to get anything that comes my way rather than chasing after something that doesn’t exist.

Me (Tech Dork): Huh iTouch? Sounds like a pervertic molestor.

HAHAHAHHAA

The pseudo-functional me has failed again. I think I should accept dysfunctionality as part of myself now. No use turning my back from it when it has always been in me all along.

Last week, he told me he loved me. I smiled and went down on him. I needed a good shag. He was there.

Later, he asked why I turned away from his comment. I said it was a spur of a moment thing. Because he needed me at that point of time, he wanted me at that minute. I don’t know if he will feel that way in the next hour, next week or next month.

Then I said I refused to give anyone the ability to hurt me by letting myself love him. I’m not that stupid or naive.

I am addicted to failing. Because at the very least, I know it would be constant.

Toodles everyone. Time for the next failed one.