What if...

...when Anthony was sick at home maybe he was surfing the net and saw videos and pictures of the stuff I've done with other girls? And that's why he doesn't seem to like me anymore? Perhaps he's disgusted by it. Or he thinks I'm some complete slut. Should I feel regretful?

NO. I refuse to. Oh I don't want to go to work tomorrow...

I thought that by tangling with adult men I would avoid all this angsty, awkward crap. Maybe it's just me. Of course it's just me. A completely one-sided freak out over some man who I had a lot of fun with but has now lost interest in me. After one night. Do I smell or something? I take really good care of myself man. Did I say something in my sleep? He was pretty sweet in the morning really. Oh I don't want to go. This is so unfair. I am not a child!

Home early...

Why is it that the first thing I do when I get home is sit down and turn on my laptop? No assignments as an excuse; everything has been handed it already. Nope, it's to get on this blog and talk loudly to the ether. I have one reader, the Fat Controller. That alone makes it worth it to keep posting this public diary.

I'm boggled. This afternoon has cracked my head open and lightly scrambled the insides. I skipped second class to hang out with other students from the first. The lawn was crowded as always with pockets of students laying about on the grass probably discussing some complicated philosophy or chemical formulas. Alicia, a small, dark and pretty girl in my class who generally I do not like called over a passing friend to join us. Horror of horrors but I found him pretty attractive. It's one thing to find fellow female students attractive, but boys my own age is something else altogether. Dan is tall, broad shouldered, skinny. Long mop of light brown curly hair, greyish eyes, ears that stick out a bit. Like a stretched fairy tale elf. Tolkein-ish. Don't call me a nerd; I am a student of literature afterall. He dressed as most boys do these days: too tight jeans, loose t-shirt with colourful graphic that looks like it has been slept in. Huge shoes, meaning I suppose huge feet. A lazy looking face with a wide mouth and quite a long nose. What is it with me and noses. Completely not what I'm into. Usually I want to be possessed by the men I like. This was the total opposite; I wanted him in the way that I always wanted a puppy when I was a kid, seeing it as something cute to be owned, controlled and loved. I don't know what to think. I'm certainly not going to pursue it. It looks as though Alicia is pretty interested anyway, the way she leant against his shoulder and kept flicking his hair out of his eyes. Adorable and sickening. I doubt he noticed me at all. He doesn't suit my lifestyle anyway. But it's definitely a thought to save for later.

Who used all the hot water?

So much for a bath! I turned the bloody water on and it was hot for all of 5 seconds before it just kept coming lukewarm. Yuck. Just had a rinse off to at least get rid of the stale sex smell before I head out again. Brr. I have paid the water bill. Who is using my hot water? It could well be either of my two best friends using my facilities because they hate the disgusting shower in their respective share houses. If you two are reading this CALL ME FIRST. Yup there is a damp towel in the hamper. Hang it up to dry first you twat!

I'm digressing. So I had this date. Is it obscene to call a night out with an older man a date? It sounds like such an adolescent word. Charlie. Screw the identity protection thing today. It's not like he actually lives here. Charles, actually, but why wouldn't you call him Charlie? He flies in, I get a call, I always say yes and he takes me out for minimum one night, maximum three. He's never in town more than a week. He has been a constant in my life for four years, since I was 19. Sort of a dream-guy, but he doesn't belong to me. He doesn't say, but I know very well there are other girls in other countries where he does business. Import Export etc. Clearly I pay attention to their very serious careers. Tall and wide shouldered and '40' (I'd wager 47 more like). Total silver fox with blue eyes. Like a pilot from an ad for Pan Am in the 60s (I saw this in Cultural Studies). Surprisingly long but narrow cock and very fuzzy with grey fur all over. For some reason he loves standing positions, though it must be a strain on his back. Always comes with presents! Rope sandals from Egypt, smoked salmon, two babushka dolls. I suspect these are things he deals in, but I love them all the same. He picked me up in a hired car and took me to town. Dinner at Bistro Vue, my choice! I wore a short black sleeveless boat necked dress, good for showing off calves, collar bones and tattoos. Ballet flats (I can't walk in heels. I make a terrible girl.) and a necklace he bought me years ago. We were seated in a very plush booth in the corner. I was worried that the staff would hate us because there were only two of us on such a large table, but they didn't seem to mind. Especially later when the bill was paid, already a hefty amount and a very large tip to boot. They would have had a fun night after knock off. Typically we were stared at. Sure I could have passed for his daughter. Or grand-daughter for that matter. If he wasn't big and white or I wasn't small, Asian and still get very suspiciously asked for my ID because no one seems to bloody well believe that I'm of age. Plus the hand on my thigh. That's the clincher. Not talking about food because I won't have a meal like that for a long time and that's sad!

Back to Charlie's room at the Westin Hotel. Could have walked but insisted on taking cab again. Indian cab driver quite disapprovingly silent as Charlie blatantly stroked my thighs under my skirt and brushed his hands against my breasts. He took off very fast when he dropped us off and did not say goodnight. More curious looks in hotel lobby full of people at the bar. Fantastically large suite as per usual. Led to large couch and gently pushed over arm, bottom in the air, head cushioned on the seat. Charlie generally gets straight to business. Usually I remember to bring a spare pair of panties in my bag, but forgot this time. He always has to rip them off, leaving them in two pieces and unwearable. Even after all this time, I still jump when he does that. Felt the scratchy stubble of his cheeks and chin graze my bum cheeks and against my thighs, cool breath tickling at very moist lips that had been tempted and teased in that naughty cab ride. Teeth bit gently at my clit, which I go crazy for, and he sucked hard and I came wetly all over his face. I would have liked to get up and lick my wetness from his nose, but his trousers were down and his surprisingly super hard erection pressed against my entrance and he popped the head in. Charlie knows well to go slow at this because I can be too tight and it takes a while for me to open up. He pinched my nipples through my dress as he slowly rocked in and out. I was making embarrassing sticky wet sounds but he didn't seem to mind. The feeling of being stretched open is always such a revelation, as though I haven't been fucked in a long time and don't remember what it feels like. Gradually he worked his way deep inside. I could feel his head push very insistently at my wall and I felt over-full, almost unable to talk from the puzzling fullness. I suspect Charlie takes viagra. He would have to I suppose when his appetite is certainly larger than male physical capacities should be at his age. He fucked me slowly at first and I would have been noisy if I hadn't had my face muffled in cushions. My still sensitive clit rubbed against the couch arm as he fucked faster and faster. I wondered idly what the cleaners would think of the large wet stain I was leaving on the fabric. The cushions were making my face hot and it was hard to breathe but that just made me feel more delirious and I screamed as he pumped harder, balls slapping my wet mons noisily. He groaned a delicious masculine groan as he came. I love hearing it, and that combined with the rubbing couch arm sent me coming again.

We were both a very wet mess, me especially. When he pulled out my vagina made totally embarrassing noises as the air pushed in during hard fucking escaped. My face was burning. It doesn't happen that often. He bent down and gave the area a good suck and the sound stopped. I think I giggled stupidly into the cushions and was there for a little while.

After a few sips from his brandy glass I curled into the large white sheeted bed and he joined me there.

Oh fuck I'm going to be late for class if I don't run for the tram. And now I'm all horny remembering last night. Please no one smell arousal in me, I don't want any of those boys to think I'm interested in THEM!

Back to it!

Back at work yesterday with no trace of cold (not like I was super sick anyway), ah..but who should turn up? No prizes for guessing. I was fairly put out by Anthony's behaviour today. He did drop round the usual number of times for his coffee and lunch. I sold a piece of my pride and tried to draw him out every time with flirtation much gentler than usual. Received little more than some tight smiles and shrugs. What did I do? Feel very red faced and stupid. I'll admit I'm generally an easily hurt vengeful sort of girl. Lunch time came round and when he came in with a group of male co-workers I diverted all attentions to his mate who I had not really registered till now. Older, greying, proper tailored suit with old boy's tie. Very English looking actually, like someone who would play the PM in a film. His hair was probably blond once. My attentions drew a large smile from him and noting his surprisingly even, white smile, I almost felt I could go him instead. Bad bad bad bad Gina! Actually I don't even know his name. Received much return flirtation and maybe a terrifying bum graze though that could have come from anyone. I will absolutely not screw him. Anthony looked generally unhappy and finally made eye contact which I had trouble holding. Got an excellent tip anyway but resolved to give it to the other boys and girls for drinks after work as I had my own date.

I'll tell you about it after a bath I think I even have enough time to review it myself in the water. Just got dropped off in a cab little over half an hour ago.

After that I'm off to Uni.

I have a cold

The bug that was going around has come around and I'm curled up in bed with my laptop today. No work for me. I had the foresight to call last night and say that I had a fever, which I haven't at all, and now have a whole day to myself with pay. Love it.

I've been reading other people's sex blogs but am slightly disturbed by it all. Even some personal blogs seem so commercialised. Half the time when people add comments they're just ads for different porn sites or their own 'blogs' that turn out not to be blogs at all but a group of people posting up a whole lot of porn links that just connects into this maze of unrelated smut. Boring. Boring Boring Boring! There isn't even anything terribly fun to read. Except maybe the Suburban Sex Blog. That guy makes me feel a bit hot. I'm considering staying in bed all day and having a nice long self-pleasuring session. I still have videos on here from those porn shoots with other girls. That was the best website. All natural, no makeup, in our own homes in (and out) of our own clothes. Is it narcissistic to watch a video of yourself masturbating with another girl, touching yourself as she pushes you against a wall and laps at you from below? Whether or not it is, it sure gets me off fast.

Still no call from Anthony. There is a chance that it was all leading up to me being entertained and used once to be disposed of. It's nothing new. I certainly not hurt by it. But it's a bit unfair being shown what you can have and tasting it only once.

And another thing...

I forgot to mention something sort of disconcerting today. When I was clearing the outside tables a little group of business men having an impromptu meeting stopped at watched me until I went back inside. I looked out the window and they were clearly talking about me. One of them was pointing at his own body, the places where I have tattoos. Not just the visible ones either. I have this feeling that they might be customers of that website where I've done a bit of nude work. Nude work? How about full sex with another girl sort of work. The kind of work that is incredibly fun and amazingly well paying. I've not done any for ages, so I haven't really thought about it.

Googled my alter-ego name and lo and behold there are bloody pictures and videos of me everywhere. You don't even have to pay for it! God damn it guys have been downloading all that stuff off the site and reposting it on other pages for people to view for free. Bloody hell. It was all right thinking that no one I know would download stuff you had to pay for, but if it's out there for free, whole other story all together. I loved those photo shoots and the other girls were amazing fun, but I feel funny about the whole thing.

I wonder if Anthony might have seen my stuff already. Maybe that's how he knows how I like to be fucked! Though I wonder if you can gauge that from watching a girl do it with another girl. Hey...for that matter I wonder if any of my customers have seen my stuff. That would be...inconvenient. It's a bit of a disadvantage if they know what I look like with my kit off and legs wide open. Plus it leaves nothing to the imagination so I might not get a look in because they already know what it's all about. Things I did not consider at the time. We're not supposed to ever meet the website customers, though we chat to them on the forums. It's mostly marketed to America and the UK too, so local boys don't tend to buy into the site. Though I did hear about one girl whose tutor at Uni wrote on one of her marked essays that he liked her work on the site. She didn't bat and eyelid though. Wish I could say the same for me.

No love for Gina

I've been attentive on the floor all day, but Anthony hasn't come in at all. It's really weird. He's usually one of the first one's in the door for a morning latte. Maybe he's sick or something. I hope he didn't catch it off me. A cold I mean. It's been going round and it's not as though we have enough staff such that anyone could take a sick day. Hate it. I don't want to get sick. The only good thing about getting a cold is how your voice goes all croaky and husky as you recover. Quite sexy. Maybe it's a weird personal taste. Not a total loss though. Flirted outrageously with genuine man-of-dreams material: early forties, dark hair greying at the temples, big nose, brown eyes that crinkle up when he smiles. And tall and broad in a wooly jumper. Local gastropub owner. Always offers me 'a place at my pub should you ever want a change'. I would, but that would seriously overcomplicate my life. One of the best thing about my work is that it's mostly girls. Sure my bosses have some yummy looking friends, but I would never ever touch. Unless they did first, which would entirely not be my fault. Gastropub owner who we shall call Richard gets a coffee and a pastry in the morning before heading to his own place to oversee lunch set up. It was so quiet for a Monday that I had enough time to pretend to be wiping down the communal table, staying close to his end. Nothing like a few appreciative gazes to cheer a girl up.

I love Fridays

Friday was madness. It's like a dream, the kind where wake up grinning stupidly and are unspeakably wet between your thighs, but you can't tell anyone what it was about. I love being a waitress. It's a skilled job, largely unappreciated, except perhaps by those favoured gentleman customers who come in for coffee and a bit of a flirt. There's always time for flirting - it begets bigger tips - and there's never a shortage of men to banter with. The number of times daily flirting has spawned into a phone number, or an after work drink...I can hardly remember them all. But it's when it sparks an after work something else that is amazing.

This guy had only been coming to our cafe for the last couple of months. I think he started with the accountancy agency down the road. At first it was only once a day with a bunch of other guys, just for morning coffee. Now he comes in for lunch and a couple of afternoon coffees as well. What he does with all that caffeine...

I love big dark haired and eyed, olive skinned men. Like Anthony LaPaglia but without his weird blending of Australian and American accents. I'll call him Anthony. He must be in his early fourties. He always wears suits without ties and the top button undone, which I generally hate, but was willing to accept for the visible abundance of curly black hair on the broad barrel chest.

Fridays are usually flat out, with loads of people in for a pre-weekend breakfast, and business people seem to love splashing out on a good late lunch on Fridays, replete with many bottles of wine. He was there of course, with a couple of office buddies, sharing a bottle of Barossa Shiraz.

They'd had several rounds of small tapas and I'd sneaked them a little bowl of marinated olives. Anthony gave me a long gaze as a placed it on the table in front of them. I 'accidentally' grazed his arm with my breast as I turned to serve another customer.

From there the afternoon passed busily and we sold out of food. I hadn't been able to stay attentive to their table, and someone else gave them the bill and cleared their plates. I was a little disappointed admittedly.

By 6 O'clock I'd dumped my apron and wasn't bothered to change out of my black skirt and t-shirt that made my impromptu uniform. I was ducked into the organic grocers to pick up something quick and healthy for dinner, but who should be in there idly browsing amongst the organic pasta. He spotted me before I could greet him and smiled.

'Look what's in my basket.' He said. There were roma tomatoes, basil, a tub of kalamata olives, a hunk of parmesan, a bottle of red wine, ice cream. He added a packet of pasta. I'm getting fluttery thinking about this. It can't be real but it was. Anthony just took my arm and hooked it around his and walked me up to the counter where he paid. He took me to his car, I got in, as though in a trance, yet at the same time knowing exactly what I was doing. I hardly remember the drive to his apartment but for looking at his large aquiline nose and large mouth and thinking how much I wanted to fuck him.

I don't remember what his place looked like. I know there was a large couch, which is where I ended up suddenly shoe-less. One of my absolute favourite things about older guys, is their willingness to do whatever it takes to make you feel good. The handful of boys my own age I've had, they always want you to suck them off first. They'll eat you out for five minutes before they decide you're wet enough to fuck, and another five minutes of grunting and shallow thrusting and they're done. An incredible waste. It's like hunger; why waste your appetite on a quick, fast food snack when you could have something lovingly prepared with quality ingredients?

My panties, embarrassingly soaked through the gusset were pulled off and spread-legged on the couch, Anthony ate me with ferocity. He has such a thick tongue, muscular and blunt, that laved at my folds and nudged at my clitoris enough to tingle but not over-sensitise. He wet a thick finger and slowly inserted it into my cunt as his large mouth surrounded my mons. I must have been yelling. I have trouble being quiet. He stopped suddenly and turned me over by my legs so I was now crouching over the couch. He started all over again, the point of his nose nudging my anus. I felt his teeth graze my clit and I came loudly and wetly on his face. As I was recovering he licked me clean, pulled my skirt back over my bum and took the groceries to the kitchen.

He cooked a simple and lovely pasta dish. We drank the wine. He cleared the plates and then stood me up and undressed me next to the table. I wouldn't be able to tell you where in the apartment his bedroom was if I tried. I was led by hand in a daze and shoved lightly onto the cool bed. Anthony undressed. He's dark all over with such a thick thatching of curly chest hair and a forest of pubic hair around a thick cock that skews a little to the right. A big hand stroked and fingered me, gentle and probing and I quickly wetted up again. He bent over me and sucked each nipple hard. I hate soft lapping, give me pinching, biting and hard sucking anytime. I felt so small beneath him. I reached for his erection and managed a long stroke before he slapped my hand away. He lifted me under my bottom and I felt the thick, blunt end of his cock against my entrance. I couldn't look into his eyes, I was confusingly shy. It was happening so fast. He thrust in hard and I was a little shocked. It hurt, stretching me fast, but I was wet enough. He fucked me slowly but insistently, clasping me to him by the cheeks of my bottom and I threw my arms around his neck biting his thick ear lobe and mouthing his neck as I tried to suppress my cries. He was so good, so big and absolutely sure of himself. The rubbing of his crotch brought me off again and I screamed. Suddenly he was thrusting harder and faster and I was being bounced back against the bed hard and he groaned into my hair.

We didn't use a condom; I know that's so bad. But there's something to be said for the feeling of hot sperm gushing inside you. I fell asleep a little. Later he woke me up and led me to the shower. I dressed in the jeans and t-shirt I had intended to wear after work and he drove me home. I kissed him for the first time as I said goodnight and excited the car.

I'm tingling all over from writing this and remembering that night. It was better than it sounds. This was definitely a good idea, writing this. I get to re-live as I write, and the little exhibitionist inside me loves the thought of someone else reading this and enjoying it. I know virtually nothing about Anthony, but I hope desperately that he calls or at least surprises me again. I'm leaving this week semi-free in anticipation.

Why oh why oh why...

An endless dilemma, but one I gladly accept as my own. I adore older men; I will date and mate with no one else. I've had enough of people's psychoanalysis of how this came to be. Sure, maybe I do have an Electra complex. But I can't help that. So there's no daddy figure in my life, and I go looking for it in men I meet. I know that, I don't mind. Who doesn't love a little daddy fantasy every now and again?

I plan to chronicle every date, every fuck, every little part of my young life to do with the seeking and screwing of older gentlemen. It's exhibitionism and therapy. I'll come to understand myself better. You could help me.

I'm excited to be writing this. Are you excited to be reading it?