SlutIntheCity

Follow me on the musings, hoorin' and tourin' throughout Dublin City.

Let’s Talk About.. One Night Stands Vol. 1

This post is very much NSFW and kind of horrifying so if you’re squeamish, very conservative or easily emotionally distraught look away now, friends.
This post is also very much the opposite of my previous post about myself and the Little Chef.

Settle down, friends and let me tell you about the most disappointing sexual experience I’ve ever had. I should start off by saying that the fact it was a one night stand was not what made it disappointing, the casual fuck aspect of it was actually what I had been craving. What made it so disappointing was complete lack of sexual skill or technique and the fact he possessed none was shocking to me. Let me explain why..

The man in question whom the one night stand was with was a guy about 4 years my senior whom I’d been out on one date with a year previous. The sexual chemistry was very much there but I was fresh out of a long term relationship (more on that later) and not at all ready to jump into bed with this fella. He also worked for one of Dublin’s best known sex shops. So for now let’s call him Dildo Baggins.
Fast-forward a year and there I was sitting in one of Dublin’s best known sports bars. Exactly my kind of scene: good beer, good food, there was always a match on the big screens. This was shaping up to be a great date/prelude to sex.

4 hours of cheap beer, kamikaze shots and electric sexual banter later I was ready to find out what I’d passed up a year ago in a bid to keep my nose clean. As it turns out, not much. Back to the hotel Dildo Baggins and I went and immediately he brings up the subject of splitting the hotel bill. Now I’m no princess when it comes to pulling my own weight financially. In fact, financial dependancy makes me hugely uncomfortable but this was uneasy. Could he not have brought this up when we were still in a haze of lust and 10€ pitchers of beer rather than in front of the hotel concierge? After some faff with splitting a bill between two cards he ended up paying with me promising to get the cash to him by the weekend (fyi this all happened on a Thursday).

I want to be very coquettish and say that my desire was ‘suitably dampened’ but in reality my libido had left the building and hailed a cab back home as soon as I was shamed in front of the concierge. Why didn’t I leave, you ask? By this stage I has an ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ attitude. After coming all the way over town I may well get my bit. Gritty but true.
Then we get to the sex. FINALLY. The kisses alluded to something much more promising. A man who works in a sex shop for a living is a sure bet for a good fuck, right? WRONG! So very wrong. After 20 minutes of stellar head from me (tooting my own horn here yes, but it’s my favourite kind of foreplay fyi) he runs his hands through my hair and I hear a gruff ‘come up here to me’. He pushes me onto my back, finally a bit of dominance out of him things are starting to look up, and then he grips my ankles and puts them on either side of his shoulders. Now, I love a bit of dominance and 9/10 times I have sex I am every inch the submissive but this was painful. Too much, too soon. After a solid 15 minutes of this it got the the stage where I wished I’d ditched him and went home with some Supermacs instead. So I try to coax him into fucking me from behind. No such luck. His exact words were ‘this is great but can we go back to doing it my way’. Cringe.
I got so fed up with wincing and him hammering away that I faked the urge to pee just to get a break. Once I got back he seemed to want to try the foreplay thing again. Good sign right? WRONG! Heavy handed is not even the word for this guy. This is what I was talking about when I imagined other girls in my position having a soliloquy in bed
Does he think it’s a lucky-dip? This is not low budget porn. I find it hard to take more than 2 fingers now get your hand away from there!?
As it happens all of this heavy handed hand action was part of him seeking out the tip of the condom which was inside me. Because it broke. I was unaware of this meanwhile he was rummaging around in my poor vagina. This was traumatising on many levels:

  1. He didn’t tell me! I discovered the tip myself the next day in the bathroom. I was still wallowing in self loathing as it was as the previous night was my first casual sexual encounter but to have to deal with the added sexual health concern as well as that? Panic stations!
  2. This is a good looking guy who’s a bit of a charmer. I doubt he’s squeaky clean to begin with.
  3. I knew myself that he was a real jack the lad but I didn’t know he was so much of a git that if he’d found it he would’ve been happy enough to let me go on my way only to text me in 6 months letting me know about the surprise he’s left me.. IN MY VAGINA.

The night ended with a lackluster cumshot and me explaining that I don’t do sleepovers.
Fast forward to the next day and I was at panic stations. I’m hyper-vigilant about contraception so I got myself Norlevo and went on my way. The next day I dropped the cash into him in his job and explained my situation and he responded with ‘Ah sure, I was locked’. Part of this is my own fault; I was expecting manners from a manwhore.
What happened next is a little more upsetting. I waited 3 months to go for my sexual health screening. I presented no symptoms, but then again neither do most sexually transmitted diseases. I waited so long because I was petrified. I had told no one about the one night stand with Dildo Baggins and I didn’t intend to.
The screening did come back clear but it still took an effect on me and I’m surprised to say it’s a positive one. It made me so much more aware sexually. I thought I’d become even more of a crazy, emotionally dead inside spinster because of the circumstance but apparently not! It just taught me to look out for more than a cheesy dick.

You may have been a bad life choice and a lousy lay, Dildo Baggins  but thanks for the memories albeit laughable memories.
Ps. Sort your chest hair out. I could make dreads for the hipsters in the Workman’s Club out of it.

**************************************************************************************

Yeah.. So, that happened. I’m glad I got that off my chest. Very cleansing!
It’s a big ask but I would actually love to hear from the people who are liking and following the blog. I feel like Julie Powell when she thinks no one reads her blog and then her mother comments.
If there is a God, please don’t let that happen. If not, Hi Mam!

Let’s Talk About.. The Little Chef

Usual forewarning here. This post contains descriptions of premarital and casual sex, emotional vulnerability, bitchy comments and traumatic memories.

 

So, there was a boy in my life. For anonymity’s sake we’ll call him the Little Chef (operative word little). I like to think that I’ll always think of a quirky little pseudonym for these boys. The novelty of that will probably wear off in a handful of posts time.

Now Little Chef and I had been seeing each other non-exclusively since November 2012 and until April there was no sex involved.. not even a little hand action. Nada. Niente. Nothing. Not very slutty for a girl calling herself the Slut in the City.
Why was this the case? Well around Date 2 I dropped the hand for a little over-the-jeans pawing. Trying to get the suss you see. As it happened, he was not packin’. For a moment I’ll go all Janet Jackson here and admit that I am a bit of a size queen. That, ladies and gents, was until I realised that size does not matter as long as you know what you’re doing. I know this may seem like an obvious revelation but the last run-in I had with a man who wasn’t very well endowed was heinous and there will definitely be a post on that later (let’s call him Little Caesar for now). After my run-in with Little Caesar I was convinced that all men with little willies suffer from little man syndrome (har har har it had to be said). The Little Chef changed this. Let me elaborate, friends:

It all started with the best date I’ve ever been on. He took me to a theatrical production of Star Wars. I love Star Wars. Love. A great start to the evening and such a thoughtful date too given I’d been harping on about my love of sci-fi for weeks. The show was fantastic though I don’t think he got quite as much out of it as I did, bless him. By the time the show finished we found ourselves in Dublin’s most popular gay bar (at my request). By the time we had hit the spirits my friends had arrived and watching him cluck around one of my best friends (who is a boy… and gay) was like catnip to me.  Just like watching fine men hold a baby… or be nice to dogs.. or old people.. or jump start a car battery. Anyways, moving on.. After seeing that I’d decided tonight was his lucky night. Both friends safely bundled into a taxi we headed back to his friend’s house in a local Dublin Suburb. Then there were the awkward introductions back at the house ‘hi, how are ya? I’m the girl Little Chef has brought back for a night of kinky fuckery.’.. or y’know thereabouts.

Up to the bedroom we went. Never in my life have a felt like I was fucking a teenager as much as I did then in a box room with The Simpsons bedsheets. Delightful. Moving on, his tongue is pierced, I know that’s a major turn off for some people but I think it’s a bit of fun especially as we’re not an item and most likely won’t be. The foreplay was excellent and the presence of foreplay at all was a bonus; so many guys think it doesn’t matter. I blame bad porn for these misconceptions! My main aim in this was to find out if a tongue piercing makes a big difference during oral sex. It doesn’t. It’s not bad but it’s not good either. It just feels like something different. Piercing aside the boy had skills! He knew where my clitoris is for one and he didn’t just prod away and hope for the best.
Sidebar: Am I the only one who’s even been lying there thinking to herself “Jesus christ would you ever get your hand out of there?!? It’s not a lucky bag!’ No? Just me?.. 
He knew exactly where my g-spot is and where my a-spot is (something I’ve only ever had a run in with a handful of times myself). 25 minutes of great foreplay later I was getting antsy and got the condom off the nightstand. He got the hint thank God. I was a bundle of nerves by this stage. I was terrified that due to his lack of endowment that it would be okay at best and maybe I’d have to *ahem* act a bit.  No need for fear, folks. I’ve found that as a rule of thumb: if you’re unsure of what his size, big or small, is going to do for you then get on top. You have more control and leverage to take as much of him into you as you want. Ding ding ding! We have a winner!  The first round didn’t last long, not that I cared; the boy had stamina. 10 minutes of lovely sleepy cuddles later I was raring to go again and luckily enough so was he. Spooning leads to forking and next thing you know you’re pressed face down into the mattress having the time of your life. I’m gonna take pause here and just say that night may have been the best night of sex I’ve ever had. He had stamina, skill, enthusiasm and he plied me with so many compliments about my technique that I was as happy as a clam. Though I will add that the amount of times he used the phrase ‘Jesus Christ you’re like a pornstar’ was beyond unnecessary. Bless him.

Thus ended our first run in with each-other’s uglies. Our second run in wouldn’t be a disappointment although it was myself who undertook all of the organization on this one.
After meeting himself in a well known bar on Dublin’s south side I realised that to pull this off I’d need some serious Dutch courage and as such we plied each other with shots of neat Jagermeister and Kamikazes.
All giddy and glowy we made our way to the hotel I had booked and while he went to the residents bar to get some beers I readied my bag of tricks (condoms, lube, cock-ring, rope etc) and without needing to elaborate on this we had a whale of a time.

The Little Chef is now in the USA for the Summer. It’s very peculiar because the brief relationship we had taught me an awful lot about myself and my interactions with people and unlike the Affair, it altered me for the better. Here’s what I’ve learned:

  1. I can have sex, good sex, without emotions of attachment issues. We had sex and I never once felt guilt, remorse or abandonment.
  2. I can still have relationships with boys my own age. The Little Chef was 21 when we met and I never thought I could enjoy his boyish transparency as much as I did.
  3. Transparency reigns supreme. He was very clear about where he stood; he didn’t want a relationship. I mirrored this and it worked better than I ever could’ve imagined because we never clung to each other for exclusivity.
  4. I enjoy being in control. We were of a similar age, both worked, he and I would’ve rated ourselves as a solid 6.5 and 6 out of 10 respectively so we were equal in attractiveness but I was more accomplished and driven than him respective of age; without being uncouth he also was not my intellectual equal. I felt this gave me this upper hand in our relationship and I was enthralled!
  5. Dating can be very fun with sex; it can also be fun without.

Thus ends the story of the Little Chef until he comes back from the USA in the Autumn, I say with some trepidation. It’s just as likely that I may never hear from him again but I’m okay with that and I’ll be damned if it’s not refreshing.

 

An Open Letter to the Man Who Broke My Heart

Ruh-roh, Scoobs. It’s about to get bitter as hell up in here. If you’re easily offended or emotionally vulnerable turn away NOW. If not, enjoy me going all Carrie Underwood on this douchebag.

You know who you are,

When you did what you did you didn’t just break my heart. You broke me as a person. It wasn’t your fault entirely of course, you were just the final straw.
I’ve been close to breaking point for a long time but you didn’t just tip me over the edge, you shoved me off the cliff.
You left her for me, and then left me for her. At first I felt that I had gotten what I deserved and so I repressed it and I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and I moved on… for a while. That didn’t work because it wasn’t a clean break. You were in my university classes, you were there during my free time. You were always there. You said you never felt that we needed to discuss why the relationship never worked. You didn’t feel like it was that big of a deal. It was a big deal. You made references to us being a permanent thing. You always spoke about how your mother would love me, how your sister would love me, how I would fit so perfectly into your life. What I never picked up on at the time was all of the comments you made about the differentiation to the girl who you fuck and the girl who you marry. I never realised that I was the former not the latter. I was standing too close to see the bigger picture. I was your palate cleanser. I was a young hot fuck after 6 years of getting sex once a fortnight. Had you been up front about that fact then maybe I would be coping with all of this better but you weren’t. You said that you loved me, that I was different, that we were different. When I realised that all the arse was going to fall out of everything you had ever said to me it hurt me more than anything ever has before.

Before the Affair started you were my friend, correction: you were supposed to be my friend, and through that last hellish year of university you did a very good job of masquerading as my friend. I told you all of my secrets and my fears hoping that my vulnerability would make you attracted to me again as it had before, I whinged to you about the turmoil of dating in Dublin hoping that it would make your inner caveman stand up and take notice that I am an educated attractive woman and other people want me.
After sharing all of my vulnerabilities with you I thought you would be able to see how badly this effected me. I already had issues with not feeling good enough and you just had to go and confirm that for me. I wasn’t good enough. I was her opposite. I was tall where she wasn’t even 5 feet tall, I was blonde where she was dark, I was chubbier at a size 12 (or a size 8 to our American friends) compared to her svelte size 8 (a size 4 to the yanks), I still had questions about my faith and beliefs whereas she was supposedly a devout Catholic, my libido was very high and I was a real giver but she only gave head on birthdays and Christmas. Happy Birthday, Babby Jaysus.

Sidebar: as a chubby bunny you never know when you’ll get it next so you may as well go to town while you’re there. Isn’t that what you and your Barney Stintson try hard friend always said?

I am the girl you fuck and she is the girl you marry. She doesn’t drink, she prays,she has girlfriends, she has age appropriate mid-length hair and a fringe (to quote Thought Catalogue, fringes show commitment to shit), she doesn’t believe in abortion or gay marriage, she’s a vulnerable looking girl whom you want to protect, she gives head on birthdays and christmas and has sex with you once a fortnight to keep you off her back.. literally.
Unlike her I have had some issues with alcohol abuse in the past (the issues are under control now and I can drink without becoming an asshole), I have questions about my faith, I am a man’s girl as opposed to being a girl’s girl, I have blonde hair which is almost to my butt and I like my hair big, I have been with men and women; I believe love is love and I am pro-choice, in stilettos I verge on 6 feet tall and I’m not very graceful, lastly I love sex and I feel it is an essential part of a relationship.
I was and still am all parts resilience whereas she was very fragile and you reveled in that. Sure what harm would a bit of heartbreak do me? It’s not like I have a heart anyways. Well, I do have a heart. I am a heartless wagon 90% of the time and it’s people like you who made me that way. I hope you know that I’m so broken and it was you who pushed me to that frame of mind. Now I am overly sexual because I’m afraid people won’t like me as a person because you backed away once your lust haze wore off. Now I can’t form a lasting relationship that goes beyond 5 dates because you were the person whom I broke all of my walls down for, who I left myself open and vulnerable to and you curb-stomped my heart. Now I can’t let myself be soft because you showed me that being soft will get your heart broken. Now I realise that I threw away what could’ve been a wonderful relationship with a wonderful man who I met not long after you texted me about how devastated you were that your ex wanted to move on from you because you kept me on a hook all summer.
You didn’t just cause me emotional stress, you altered who I am for the worse.

This is not the part of the post where I wish you well in all you do. This is the part of the post where I tell you that I hope you wake up at 40, which isn’t all that far away for you now, look around at your life and cringe. I hope your relationship with her never changes. I hope you keep chasing girls who are out of your league around because they’re a bit of strange just like I hope she cheats on you again and again because of her ‘daddy issues’. I hope she gets pregnant and you have your three kids, two boys and one girl, who will all have very oirish names, one of which will probably be named after you and your father and your grandfather because that’s how they roll in rural Ireland, and I hope you feel trapped by it all. I hope she only fucks you every fortnight so that you’ll leave her alone and I hope that every time you fuck her she lays on her back with the lights off traumatised by all of the Catholic shame she feels in relation to sex. I hope you have to keep wanking twice a day to underage Russian girls on TeenSnow because it’s nearing the two week mark. I hope you have another 40 years of modest hemlines, sensible haircuts, non-manicured hands and general Catholic dowdiness ahead of you. I hope that at 24/25 she fails her last year of college again and you pay for her tuition fees just like you did the year before, and the year before that. I hope you have to keep paying for her petrol and her phone credit and her drinks and all of the stupid shit she wants because if you’re stupid enough to keep letting her raid your wallet then you deserve it. I hope you’re stuck doing manual labour for the rest of your life, just like you are now, because you’re too much of an inconsistent manchild to hold down a real job. I hope you keep going out every weekend with the same loser friends who are pushing thirty do the same work I do at 19. I hope that after you go on the lash with the ‘baiis’ that you climb into bed with her and breathe Smithwicks all over her while your trying to convince her to suck your pathetic limp dick, you really do have a problem with that. I hope your stag party to Vegas is just like the last one. I hope you fuck several desperate girls who drop their panties for your accent. I hope when you get home you realise how much your life sucks even though you like to think you live your life in a rap video.. a very low budget rap video. I hope you realise just how much of a dowdy, dull, virgin-mary your girlfriend is when she tells you about her ‘wild hens on tour’ weekend on which she probably stayed in the country, went to the local and drank wine out of willy straws. Most of all, I hope she reads this; I hope she realises that you’re both as bad as each other and she should really just sit the fuck down because neither of you will do any better than each other.

And when all of these things happen to you I hope you realise all that you missed out on with me. We could’ve been great but you passed up on Kinder Bueno ice-cream for vanilla. I cannot wait for the day all of the shitty things you do finally have repercussions and I get the opportunity to kick back in my Louboutins and laugh. I am tall, blonde and 19 with a B.A. behind me and you are 27 year old manchild who has no job, has a girlfriend with no job and lives with his parents. I have dreams so much bigger small-town gossip and constant insecurity about your infidelity. I will find real love and I will pour more love and fun and affection and kink into my relationship with them than I ever poured into us.
I will be enough for someone.

And I most certainly will rise above you.

Let’s Talk About.. Sexual Health

Sexual health is the topic du jour recently. Jade Goody brought cervical smear tests to the fore of everyone’s minds with her tragic battle with cancer and most recently Angelina Jolie has gone public to say that she has the BRCA1 gene which drastically increases her risk of breast and ovarian cancer. I know breast and ovarian cancer aren’t strictly sexual health issues but there is still a stigma and attached to checking for them.

I am absolutely an advocate for sexual health. I always use contraception, and at 19 I’ve been for two full sexual health screenings, a cervical smear test and I made my first payment off of the HPV vaccine.
This is the part where someone pins a scarlet-A to my chest and sends me to Amsterdam to turn tricks in a window. Here’s the thing: the amount of partners I’ve had wouldn’t be considered promiscuous, I realise that promiscuity is in the eye (japs eye?!) of the beholder and even so I don’t consider myself promiscuous; I consider myself careful.
It is impossible to take anyone’s word as law with regards to the status of their sexual health as you can’t see the physical manifestations of most sexually transmitted infections. The problem is that preventative measures for sexual health still have an awful stigma surrounding them in the same way mental health issues do. Both of these stigmas are very wrong. People will discuss any ailment they may have once it’s not from the neck up or below the belt.

I use Yasmin as an OC (oral contraceptive) but I also always carry condoms, if not for my own safety then for that of my friends who are sexually active.
I won’t lie, at 19 I thought I  would be so proactive about sexual health. I’ve gone through all of the elective sexual health procedures which I have had done alone. I got myself put on an OC, I buy my own condoms, I paid for my Cervical Smear test and my sexual health screenings privately and went alone to all of the appointments. Honestly? It was terrifying. My pain threshold isn’t very low and I don’t freak out at the sight of needles but I had to psych myself up so much to step into the Gyno’s office and get my feet up into those stirrups. I won’t lie; it was uncomfortable. For some people the embarrassment is more painful than the actual procedure but for me the smear test itself was very much the uncomfortable part. On the upside the discomfort lasts for all of about two minutes and thanks to those two uncomfortable minutes my mind is at ease for at least the next two years.
This was very much the same scenario for the sexual health screening. A little prick and god-willing my mind is at ease for the next year.. Bear in mind that it was a little prick that got me into that situation in the first place *ba-dum-tshhh*.

My whole point with this point is that as members of the 18-24 age group we are not the people who should be shooting scathing looks at the sexually proactive. We should commend them. We are adults now. We make our own choices and those choices have repercussions. Prevention is better than cure.

Let’s Talk About… Being the Other Woman

This post contains my story of being the ‘Other Woman’ if adultery offends or upsets you then please leave now.. Because it’s about to get emotional up in this bitch.

Read the rest of this entry »

Let’s Talk About.. Sex

sex

/seks/
Noun

(cheifly with reference to people) Sexual activity, including specifically sexual intercourse.

Also known as the foundation of this blog and why we’re all here. And by we I mean me. Me sitting in my bed with my dog child while eating pringles and kit-kats like the chubby little pervert I am. Sorry I’m not sorry.

It’s a wonder I have any sex with the attractive picture I paint of myself.

First thing’s first, I love sex and all it’s related activities. Vanilla sex, solo sex, gay sex, lesbian sex, foreplay, BDSM, threesomes, fantasy, role-play, I could go on forever. That being said I haven’t participated in all of these.. yet. But, I also love the feeling of empowerment that comes from being viewed as an object of sexual desire so I have a lot of dates, not all of which end in sex.

Secondly, my libido is as high as a kite and masturbation is a part of my daily routine. I don’t feel like this is self-indulgent (but then again what’s wrong with a little self-indulgence eh?) or shameful or dirty. I feel like I’m getting to know myself and in turn learning to love myself. I love the effect that I can have on my body without a man.

Thirdly, a result of a sex-only affair which then became a slightly uneasy friendship led me to have my heart broken. No, not just broken, ripped out of my chest and shattered. I am no stranger to the devastation that letting your emotions get involved can bring.

Fourthly, I am a devout advocate of sexual health. You cannot love sex like I do and neglect something so essential. Protect your sexual health just like you guard your heart from being broken.

Lastly, sex is oodles of fun! Have fun with sex. Learn to laugh at your body’s weird squelchy noises and especially learn to laugh at your own cum face. Nothing is worse than having a debbie-downer in your bed who asks you to turn the lights off and lies on her back for the whole awkward 10 minute fuck session. Not that you could call it fucking; sounds more like fornicating to me. Here’s lookin’ at you Michelle Mulherin

I can really see myself re-visiting this post to correct it or expand it.. but that’s fine. No one reads these things anyway, right? Right?

Let’s Talk About the Blog

So, after 19 months of singledom, 50 (give or take) bad first dates, 5 bad sexual partners and countless hours spent regaling my pals with cynical tales of woe I’ve been told I should start a blog. 

Several days and one major Julie Powell moment later, here I am: the Slut in the City. Dublin City. Student and sales assistant by day, serial dater and floozie by night.

Be kind, internet. It is my first time after all.