It’s not love.

7 May

I’ve been DESPERATE to write earlier, but have been conflicted. What happens when you like someone enough that you don’t want to shout it from the rooftops, or tell every single little detail to the world? What do I do? Do I continue writing and wax lyrical about how I have the BIGGEST grin on my face ever, disclose the down and dirty details, tell the world how when I get messages that say: P.S You’re a babe and it’s spelt right I literally cream my pants, but then actually just want to fall asleep on his chest? WHAT DO I DO?!

I still don’t know the answer but I also can’t not write – that would be dishonest. I just want to state: I am NOT in love, and I am NOT falling for him. Not now, not ever, not no how. If I say it enough times, I might even believe the truth.

He came over on Thursday with flowers, a DVD and rubbed my feet. I had a migraine, I was tired, I was a little grumpy, but I also wanted to just see whether or not there was any real spark that wasn’t alcohol related. I answered the door and I swear it was like another boot in the guts. I didn’t quite get the sweaty palms and the embarrassing red flush and flustered speech, but I did have the biggest smile ever. Not a smile, a grin. A huge, facing aching, chemical reaction based, shit eating grin.

We sat and talked for hours, we watched trashy TV, he rubbed my feet. There were moments where the atmosphere was massively charged and our eyes would meet and my heart would rise into my chest and I’d have to look away, SHY. We put some shite film on, I lent into his chest, he looked at me, held my head, and kissed me. You know that scene in Princess Diaries (I love that film, I’m not even embarrassed by it. I’ve been uncool all my life.) where her foot ‘pops’ at the kiss with the hot man? If I hadn’t have been on the sofa, I would have done that. I am so embarrassed at this.

Anyway. Some hours later, after coming up for breath and discovering that A) I had broken my vow by simply kissing, B) I was literally panting like a bitch in heat C) JEEZ, he was so manly and took the lead and it was so hot, I decided that actually, I’m okay with falling to temptation, I am so totally okay with doing this. He asked and asked again, was this what I wanted, he could wait as long as it took. I straddled him, hot, horny and an actual mess, stating that this was most DEFINITELY what I wanted. He was like every girls’ wet dream. I am not even close to exaggerating: white Calvin Kleins, blue shirt half unbuttoned showing off this amazing downy haired, broad, sexy as fuck chest, with the dirtiest look in his eye. When times are hard, even in my eighties, I’ll relive that moment. H O T.

Anyway. All I’m going to say is: mind blowing. Stars, explosions in the sky, earth shattering, whatever. The best bit of the night though was when he stayed over, and we went to bed and couldn’t stop touching. I cuddled into his chest, my hair well and truly in his mouth, he probably had a dead arm, and in the dark we kept looking at each other, grinning. I can’t describe it.

Waking up and going to work was the hardest thing ever. He went on a stag weekend and left his car at mine. He text me the whole weekend.

Last night he came over, pretty shattered, we snogged on the sofa for hours, ate my terribly cooked food, talked about rubbish, sat and grinned and each other, went to bed, and he left at 0430 to go back to camp.

I’m not saying I like him, or that he’s made it this far, or that I’m seeing him at the weekend, or that he’s so utterly adorable I want to get back into bed with him and sit and grin and have a bruised face from so much kissing. I’m not saying any of that because I think you already know.

I’m in trouble here. I don’t know if I’ll write again about him. I really like him. Shit.

Flora x


Purr, purr, purr.

28 Apr

I’ve had the most amazing weekend, ever. I’m sitting here typing with the biggest smirk on my face, butterflies in my tummy, and it’s so fucking out of this world. I feel like a teenager, like a school girl in fact. Like when you used to exchange illicit notes with the object of your affection and they reply and it’s so exciting and new and you start thinking, wondering, what exactly it would be like to hold their hand, to have a chaste kiss, the whole shebang of innocence and I haven’t exchanged even the most basic of bodily fluids with him. Nope, I am like this and I haven’t even kissed him yet.

So, the weekend. On Friday I ended up walking over hot coals for charity. I was supposed to be doing the filming and after one of the volunteers backed out, I was roped in by SS who kept calling me a wuss. It was him who was nervous with sweaty palms and a white face though, not me.

We did some terribly cringy team bonding exercises where he was my partner and it was all fun and games and I had a really, really great night. If I can walk over hot coals, I can do anything, right? Booked my driving test today – I am so going to pass that bad boy!

However, yesterday was the source of this embarrassing grin. I’ve probably met my husband. I can’t even type, it’s so cringy and corny and so bloody inappropriate and I don’t even know if I’m just being crazy.

I went to my mum’s as both my brothers were home, we got the Monopoly board out, the alcohol came out, I had my tiger onesie on and it was epic. I’d been messaging RS all day, but didn’t think he’d end up coming over. At a crucial point in the game, DS asked if he could buy one of my properties. I offered to swap it for RS coming over. He agreed and text him. For about half an hour DS told me that no, he wouldn’t be able to make it as RS had been working on his car. It was fine, I was a little disappointed but hey, more wine. After everyone sniggering, it turned out that he was on his way and I was still in my tiger onesie looking hot as hell. LC and AR took me upstairs and helped sort my nervous little face out. They’re good eggs.

When he walked in my stomach literally did huge backflips and forward rolls with butterflies doing the can-can. It was like all my Christmases had come at once. I’m talking full blown Christmas orgasms. I still don’t get it.

I can’t even begin to describe it. I don’t want to in case this is just me being an idiot, or in case he’s just being friendly, or in case it comes to nothing, for a variety of reasons. Nothing even happened, not even a kiss.

As the night went on, he slapped my arse twice, threw my shoe after I insulted him, gave me two foot rubs, pulled me onto his lap and stroked my lower back. He smelt amazing, takes no shit – there is no way I could get this one to take a picture of himself in a white shirt in the shower for shits and giggles. He’s manly. He’s got the most adorable face. He’s solid. I have to stop now. He can spell, he’s got… I’m stopping.

I’ve been messaging him all day/he’s been messaging me all day. He asked if he could take me out, I replied only if he threw in another foot rub. Last night after he’d pulled me onto his lap, I used the opportunity of laughing at something to snuggle into his neck, I’m so embarrassed right now. Let’s just say, if I’d had to have slept in the conservatory all night, on his lap, completely innocently, I would have had absolutely no issue with that at all.

Apparently when he was rubbing my feet, with my family present, I was purring. You know what? I probably was. I don’t care. I have to stop this. I am going to finish cleaning up, get ready for work tomorrow, and stop thinking about him. This is embarrassing. I have to man the fuck up.

I’m not going to mention him again – I do not want to end up looking like a right idiot, but on the other hand, life is too short to worry like this. I want to write more and to gush and be really girly, but I’m going to keep quiet about this one until I know for sure. Plus, I have a message to reply to 😉 *SWOON*

Flora x

Where’s my flirt gone?

24 Apr

I’m currently supposed to be pouring over some book about Google Analytics, but instead I’ve reverted to my university days of getting a degree in procrastination. It feels illicitly fabulous. All I need now are my friends over drinking tea, eating biscuits, talking about everything except what we should really be doing. I have a meeting to prepare for, an exam to revise for, and a professional outfit to plan. Yet I’m putting it off, again.

I am exhausted. I was up until 1am messaging my brother’s friend. I even replied a few times to him in work. I don’t even know why, I’m not starved of attention, I have plenty of eye candy in work to distract me, he’s not even my type. I don’t even know if he’s attracted to me or this is just friendly banter. There’s so sexual talk, no talk about doing anything together, I’m not even sure if it’s flirting. There’s a lot of edging around these subjects, but it’s almost like tiptoeing up the stairs when you’re drunk.

I told him about my celibacy vow, he said he was off women, yet I’m still checking my messages and still replying. Perhaps it’s the fact that I probably should know better, that he’s my brother’s friend and in reality nothing can really happen and that it’s a bit of no expectations, no strings attached flirting. I just don’t know. It’s pretty fucking odd.

Example: Clean bedding is the absolute best thing in the world, other than lemon cake. LOVE getting into a clean bed with shaven legs and they feel all soapy and it smells like heaven. I understand you won’t have experienced this quite the same, but trust me, it’s the best.

See? It’s nice, it’s innocent and it’s baffled me a little bit. He’s not once made a move.

In work SS and I have exchanged emails most of the week. Another weird situation. He’s mentioned his wife a few times, I told him about the MB situation, we’ve discussed Shakespeare and literature and sports and sleepwalking and bladder control and marriages and his family and my family and it’s been nice, breaks the day up a little. There’s no flirting there either – it’s all very plutonic and I seem to have stopped with the damp knicker situation. He’s still ridiculously good looking, but I think I’d prefer to have him as a friend than as someone to sexually abuse in my head.

I am feeling more calm than usual, more relaxed. It feels a little like when you realise the terrible hangover you’ve been experiencing is over and you’re fully functioning again. Empty, but in the way that you can fill up on what you choose. That’s a terrible comparison, but it’s the best I can come up with right now. Maybe the sexual predator and flirt are in hibernation? I’m not even having the urge to thrust my hips at a male with a heartbeat anymore. Is this good? Am I normal? Is there something wrong with me? Calm before the storm?

I know one thing: I have lots to do and I need to sleep.

Flora x

Guest blog: KH.

24 Apr

I got back from Afghan in September still very raw from my break up, having no idea where to start piecing my life back together and still trying to convince myself that it wasn’t really over and we’d sort things out now that I was back. He (who I now shall refer to as Ballbag) fuelled those hopes when, as I didn’t have a car, he gave me a lift back from camp to the house that we had bought together and lived in for nearly 3 years. Of course as soon as we got back into the house his mouth was on mine, he picked me up, took me upstairs and we had amazing sex before he then left and went back to camp. I felt empty. There was nothing. I cried, ran a bath, drank two bottles of wine and cried myself to sleep.

The next week I boarded a flight from Gatwick to Rhodes, full of nervous anticipation at my first solo venture abroad. This, unbeknown to me, would be a week that helped to bring me back from the dead. The last few weeks in Afghan after Ballbag and I had broken up had seen my weight plummet from 62kg to 56kg. I looked great but ill.

During my first night in Rhodes I ventured to the hotel bar. I was staying all inclusive so decided to make my way through the cocktail menu. I was on a journey of self-discovery. I had got with BB at 21 and much like Flora, had lost myself along the way. I didn’t know what I did or didn’t like, what I liked for me and what I liked to please him. So of course the logical place to start was what alcohol do I like?

Turns out, I’m not a massive fan of vodka based cocktails… Anyway, sitting in the bar, alone, I inevitably got talking to other holiday makers who were curious as to why I was travelling alone. I sparede them the sob story and opted for the ‘my friends couldn’t get time off’ line, and threw in that I was a squaddie which was a great subject change. One of the people I got chatting to was a dark haired young lad who was away with his parents. Twenty, from London, cute, funny and intelligent.

We quickly got to doing shots of tequila. A few laughs later the obvious ‘I want to fuck you glances’ begin getting exchanged, he tells me his room number and I go to fetch a condom from my room and freshen up. While in my room I have a massive panic attack at the thought of what I’m about to do then give myself a mental slap and go find his room. Awesome sex is had, I leave and go back to my room, amazed that I feel nothing at all, not about BB nor the young lad I’ve just abused. The next day it hits me: I’m a cougar! FML. And worse, I don’t to this day remember his name.

So day one in Rhodes – massive confidence boost! I can pull a 20 year old! Even if that is incredibly wrong at my age.

Day three in Rhodes I head down to the exclusive restaurant where I’m entitled to one meal free as part of the all inclusive package. It’s amazing by all accounts – and so is the amazing Greek waiter who is seeing to my every need, literally! 23, typical gorgeous dark-haired, tanned Greek god and I meet him on the beach at 11pm when he finishes work. We have awkward and not so great sex on a sunbed on the beach – very romantic setting, sea splashing away, stars out etc, shame about the sex. Can he see me again? Afraid not, sweetie. And another confidence boost, another ego crushed, another notch on the bedpost. Lesson learned? Not really. Greek men are not all they’re cracked up to be. Another whose name I don’t remember.

The final Greek adventure: day four of the holiday I went on an island safari tour. My tour guide, Shaggy (he calls himself that), is a northern lad who works summer seasons in Rhodes. He’s very funny and quite attractive, he looks a bit like Owen Wilson. Anyway, we chat casually through the day and have some friendly banter. I’m the last one he returns to the hotel; I seize the moment and ask if he will host me around Faliraki that evening since that’s where he lives. He obliges. I spend the next couple of hours tarting myself up and making sure my ‘admin’ is done. He meets me at the taxi rank and we go up to his flat for a few drinks, he’s actually very cool and makes me laugh a lot. We head out, have some drinks, meet some of his friends then hit the dance floor. This is where it happens; some of the best sex of my life! I’m dancing away when he comes up behind me and puts his hand around my waist and dances behind me. I’ve never felt electricity like it. All at once I had butterflies in my stomach, my throat dried up and my nether regions were telling me they wanted him now! I managed about 10 mins of this flustered state before I turned round, kissed him and told him we were leaving. It was amazing, he was very, very generous, complimentary and a great shag! I ended up doing the walk of shame the next day and saw him everyday for the remaining three days, having great sex and lots of laughs.

I came home much happier, confident and determined to go back to Rhodes. Shaggy helped me see what I’d been missing with BB. My body never responded to BB the way it did to Shaggy – I was massively insecure, paranoid and unhappy. Shaggy had helped me realise that I was still young, still hot enough to pull and I had no reason to pander to anyone’s needs but my own.

We spent a few days together when he came home for winter but agreed that was that, maybe until I see him when I go back in August. That holiday was an eye opener for me. The beast had been unleashed but I don’t care. To quote a beautiful lady, “don’t have regrets because at one point everything you did was everything you wanted”. When I got back from Rhodes I felt free – that’s the only word I can use to describe it.


Revenge of the Italian accent.

22 Apr

Many years ago, when I was a wee nipper of around 15, my friend and I had a HUGE crush on one of the coolest boys in school. Now, I was yet to experience my first tonsil tennis, saliva swapping, grope fest that most teenagers have as a rite of passage on their 13th birthday. I had never been kissed, and whilst I was as bolshy and bold as I am now, I was very embarrassed about my lack of experience. Frigid I think my generous peers called me.

My friend, KB, was a little more brave, had experimented with a few boys (so she said…) and whilst she was aware that I was as innocent as a pre-flowering maiden (got to love Game of Thrones), she knew I was good with words, accents etc, and so I became embroiled in something that will probably bite me on the arse some 12 years later.

This male, we’ll call him Andy because that’s his name, was cool, beautiful, mature and dating an equally beautiful, but more flat-chested than even me, girl. KB managed to obtain Andy’s phone number and for days we plotted how to get him to fall for KB. One night, during the summer holidays, with both my parents away, KB and I stayed at mine, raided the wine cupboard, got a little tipsy but remembered to top the bottles up with water, and decided to ring Andy. Now, if we spoke normally he’d know who it was. We didn’t have a reason for calling so employed the Wrong Number strategy. In an Italian accent. Why? Who knows.

He answered and so began the story of Matrissa, the Italian exchange student. How he fell for my appalling accent I’ll never know. We ended up on the phone for over an hour and by then KB and I were hooked. He’d been so nice and down to earth and friendly and sweet. Thus began Matrissa’s calls to him. I can’t remember what we spoke about, but it got to the point where I felt a 15 year old’s version of guilt. He liked this mysterious girl, he wanted to meet her, this was possibly a little cruel. We stopped. I think we/I told him I was going back to Italy and would miss him, or something like that. I got a new phone number and deleted his.

The addiction to him was too strong – we began texting him – another Wrong Number strategy. One day, whilst waiting for the school bus, Andy came over to me with his phone and stood and looked at me rather strangely. I ignored him whilst inside I thought I was going to puke and die from the humiliation and embarrassment that was bound to come. He’d know it was me, he’d tell everyone, I’d be so embarrassed, I’d be shunned from society and thought of as a freak. A frigid freak. I awkwardly looked in my bag for the bus fare I was holding and when I couldn’t search any more, I looked up. He stood over me and asked: have you been texting me? Assuming the teenage look of disdain I replied: Erm… No. I don’t have your number? How come?

He shrugged and said: I didn’t think it was you. Off he walked. I stopped all contact after that. The icy heat of embarrassment coupled with my stomach sinking shamefully into the depths of my watery bowels was enough to put me off any secret stalking forever.

Anyway, I grew up, stopped the accents, we all moved on, moved away, and I only ever recall this story every now and then, mainly when I’m attempting an accent whilst inebriated. My Irish one is fab, ask my friends. At least I stopped thinking about this – that is until I looked through RS’s pictures on Facebook. Now that there’s a little bit of flirting, I’ve taken more of an interest. Guess who one of his closest friends is? Oh, yes, you have it, ANDY.


Flora x

Life is GOOD!

22 Apr

I’ve had a pretty cracking day, it has to be said. To summarise:

I went to work, looking pretty damn good. I’m not one to boast, but today I made the effort. I wore a dress that makes me look and feel like a proper professional. I even wore a thong – although there were a few trips to the toilet to rearrange. No matter what pornos and glamour models may advertise, lace up your arse cheeks is not comfortable, although it did mean my arse looked pretty good. Win some, lose some.

I met up with MB for coffee. It went well. I left feeling a little strange, but with a huge grin, knowing that we made the right decision and that actually, I’m so bloody happy and relaxed compared to how I used to be. It was nice. He didn’t once have his phone out, he actually sat and listened to me – the first time in a very long time, he laughed at my witty jokes, he revealed he’s applied for his MA, that work’s going well and he looked happy. I got back to the office and felt a little sad but relieved that what we had was over and that we’d not been this laid back around each other for so long. There was no sexual tension, no lingering looks, no nothing like that. I don’t think we’ll do this again, but I’m glad we did. Four years is a long time to just walk away from.

I had my driving lesson and didn’t run any grannies down. In fact, I was calm, collected, and actually enjoyed myself. My Tai Chi DVD, however, has not arrived. FUME.

My brother got engaged. My little brother, my beautiful, awesome brother, DS, straight back from Afghan, proposed to his girlfriend in front of all of his military friends. I wish I’d been there, but I would have shouted lewd and inappropriate things and ruined the romantic moment. On a serious note, I’m so happy and proud and made up for them both. I can’t wait for the engagement party and the wedding – any opportunity to make a speech and have people listen to me make a tit of myself. This year is getting better and better.

To top off my little week of love, on Friday one of my beautiful and amazing friends got engaged, too. Life is good, great, and amazing. If there was more love, there’d be far happier people and the world would be a nicer, kinder, probably a little vomit inducing, but greater place to live. I thought all this love and engagement talk would hurt a little, especially since I always thought I’d be at that point by now, but it really hasn’t. It just feels amazing to see how happy my favourite people are. It’s literally heartwarming.

In other news, I’ve continued with the flirtation with my brother’s friend. He seems quite nervous that DS is going to kick his ass for talking to me – not that it’s stopped him from sending me the odd message through the day. It’s weird, he’s not even my type, but he makes me laugh. I probably should stop but if it’s innocent, and it’s not hurting anyone, and I stick to my celibacy, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of flirting, right?

Flora x

How to flirt: the basics

21 Apr

The best thing about having single friends is the living vicariously through them. There’s nothing more rewarding than helping a friend with flirters block achieve their aim: a sexy, hot, naked male in their bed.

Recently, especially, I’ve had a few friends ask me for advice about texting someone. I even had my brother begging me to help him at one point. It’s just a talent that comes naturally. Flirting is simple.


I’ve spent the weekend, rightly or wrongly, flirting with my brother’s friend. I’m not even sure how this has happened, he’s so not my type. It’s gone from discussing my brother coming back from tour, to having bets where the loser is the other’s bitch. I haven’t been nice, or cheesy, or submissive once. In fact, I’ve bordered on insulting, rude and arrogant, and as with any other male I’ve encountered, he’s loved it.


If you are after some tongue action, and I don’t mean the talking type, you need to be clear. I’m not saying you have to be creepy, or corny, or cheesy, but if you want to have sex with this person, tell them. Men are useless at hints. If you want to be taken for dinner, tell them. Either way, dropping comments about food or getting laid probably won’t work, or if they do, they’ll take ages to come about. I told Punk Hunk that all I could think about was stripping him of his clothes and licking him all over.

Cheeky innuendos

I drop innuendos in left, right and centre, when I feel they’re appropriate. With SS they’ve been light and bordering on professional, but with Punk Hunk and others they’re definitely more obvious. Tonight I advised a friend to move the conversation on the back massages. I told my brother’s friend, who we’ll call RS, that he was going to be my bitch and he’d be going down. Down where, who knows 😉 (Sorry, bro).


When they flirt back, it’s acceptable to make them spell their flirtations out. Make them sweat a bit. Make them think about what they’re going to reply, whether they’re up for the banter or not. Men love it. They love having the control taken from them. Don’t ask me why, but this is from years of experience.


😉 Cheeky little winks ensure that your message is right on target. I had a great time last night 😉


I like tea, toast, and a back rub in the mornings. If I’m staying out, I expect to have this brought to me in bed. If someone is lucky enough that I want to still talk to them in the morning, they can bloody well feed me. If I don’t get fed I bite, and telling a male that gets them hot, flustered and willing to do much more.


I like to think I’m flirtatious enough to be charming. Man, woman, child, animal, book or tree, I like to make them feel comfortable. I’d like to think I am socially aware of body language enough that if someone was feeling uncomfortable, I’d stop, or even better, I’d have read the situation better in the first place. Making people, especially men, feel relaxed is easy. You just chatter, throw in some banter, insult them a little, laugh at yourself, and smile with your whole body. If you’re relaxed, they’re relaxed and then the magic starts happening, and before you know it you have your hands in their hair, their face in between your legs, and you’re in heaven. Trust me on this.


This is especially important. These things don’t just happen. Sometimes you need to hold back. If they haven’t replied, or they’ve gone quiet, leave them to it. Nothing is as off putting as a million texts saying: why don’t you like me? or Are you ignoring me? or Have I upset you? No, I’m busy, you’re evidently insecure, goodbye. Punk Hunk had no patience, he was like an eager, panting puppy, ready to spill his love and adoration and if he didn’t get a reply he’d hound me until I deigned to give him some attention. So unsexy.

Spelling and grammar

If you’re exchanging messages, make sure you spell things right, re-read your messages. Don’t over use ‘lol’. Don’t ever use ‘lol’. Know the difference between you’re and your.

If all else fails, come and see me.

Flora x