The Walking Woman...

You wake up, go downstairs to the kitchen..
You grab a glass, running the cold water and look out the window.
She's there, in her brown clothes, with her brown hair.
Walking.

It's mid morning, you're on the phone chatting.
You clear up as you walk around the house.
Without thinking, you look out the kitchen window whilst listening to the voice on the phone.
She's still there.
Walking.

Afternoon comes and you're feeling peckish.
You look through the cupboards for something to nibble on.
Your gaze passes the kicthen window.
She's there, in her brown clothes, on her brown chair.
Eating.

Sunset, you're washing up.
Mountains of dishes, pots and pans, that old Germany football cup in front of you.
Bored, you look around.
You look out the window.
She's there, on her brown bike.
Cycling.

Night time, you have guests.
You make something small for them to eat.
The kettle's bubbling, and you get the cups ready.
You reach for a spoon, and you look outside.
She's there, in her brown cardigan, with her brown hair.
Walking.

...Sometimes, I wish we could just pretend...

Sometimes I find myself sitting back and reminiscing
Especially when I have to watch other people kissing
And I remember when you started calling me your Mrs
All the play fighting
All the flirtatious disses
I’d tell you sad stories about my childhood
I dunno why I trusted you but I knew that I could
We’d spend the whole weekend
Lying in our own dirt
I was just so happy
In your boxers and your t-shirt

Dreams, dreams of when we had just started things
Dreams of you and me
It seems, it seems
That I can’t shake those memories
I wonder if you have the same dreams too

The littlest things that take me there
I know it sounds lame but it’s so true
I know it’s not right but it seems unfair
That thing’s are reminding me of you
Sometimes I wish we could just pretend
Even if only for one weekend
So come on
Tell me
Is this the end?

Drinkin’ tea in bed, watchin’ DVD’s
When I discovered all your dirty, grotty magazines
You’d take me out shopping
And all we’d buy is trainers
As if we ever needed anything to entertain us
The first time that you introduced me to your friends
And you could tell that I was nervous, so you held my hand
When I was feeling down, you’d make that face you do
There’s no-one in the world who could replace you

Dreams, dreams of when we had just started things
Dreams of me and you
It seems, it seems
That I can’t shake those memories
I wonder if you feel the same way too

The littlest things that take me there
I know it sounds lame but it’s so true
I know it’s not right but it seems unfair
That thing’s are reminding me of you
Sometimes I wish we could just pretend
Even if only for one weekend
So come on
Tell me
Is this the end?


I really like(d?) him.
I want another chance to hold his hands, to have his arms wrapped around me, to kiss him and feel him gently bite and tug my bottom lip.
I want to feel that excitement in my stomach when he touched me, I want to momentarily lose my breath and gasp, I want to get embarassed and not have the courage to look up at him, I want him to play with my hair and speak in gentle hushed tones with me.
All this time, I've been complaining against couples and how "lovey dovey" people are.
Now, I'm the soppiest of them all. But it's because I think I may have liked this guy.
What to do?

Nothing.

Self Pleasure...

I love touching myself.
In bed, whilst watching T.V, showering, on the computer...
Anywhere...
I cream my pants at the drop of a hat, and about 15 times on an average day...

I throb downstairs more than half the day...
and I find myself either reaching down there, or moving in a way that stimulates me.

I have a problem though.
I can't get anything inside me.
The thought of penetration makes me tense up, subconciously.
I, myself, can manage to get the tip of my middle finger in... whilst in pain!
I've not had anyone elses' body parts in me yet.
Which annoys me.
Self pleasure is one thing, but having someone else do things to you is something else entirely...
It's like tickling...
You just can't tickle yourself...

Whirlwind...

Since my last blog post, my mother has come back, little brother has broken his arm, and dad's in hospital...

I've been a busy bee.
Doing overtime at work.
What a nightmare.
I hate work.
Well, retail.
I'd love to work at a desk.

I've been taking two driving lessons a week.
I think that's where I'm going wrong.
I'm taking two week's break, and then going to drive once a week.

Deep-Nessy story is finished.
Quasi likes this girl who lives closer to him, and is closer to his age group.
He knows her better, too.
I told him to go for it.
I knew I liked him, more than he did me.

Smushy and Spazzle have got closer.
I really value his friendship.
I just wish I could tell him everything.
I always end up stopping myself, though.

I've received my A Level results.
BCD...
What a waste.
I've been told not to fuss about them anymore, and to close that chapter of my life.
I'm into uni, and I can't wait.

I've just taken on hte job to interview Bengali parents about childcare.
Should result in £90 for me...
Majority of that money shall be going to my older sister, however.

I'm living on £10 at the moment.
I desperately need money.
Yet, it's all going to come in after end of August.
I need to start jobhunting.
Don't know where to start.
Might go to an agency, or jobcentre.

Yes, I am upset about Quasimodo.
I found myself really liking him.
Infatuation? Probably.
Obsession? Not this time.
Most guys that I fancy are different.
They're either charmers, flirts, Amazingly good looking, or purely emotional creatures.
He was different.
He was clever, and could turn me on by just saying "hey Nessy bitch"...
I want his brain.

Dad's in hospital...
He had an op on his prostrate.
He went in last Friday...
Nurses say he's doing really well today.
He might be discharged.
I wish I could show him how much he means to me, and how much i love him.
The most I can do, though, is kiss his cheek everytime I say bye.

RudeBoi came back into my life...
He says he "loves" me... Always has done, apparently.
He's such a typical Bengali.
I want to stay away.
But, my downstair's department begs to differ.

To be honest, I don't want Rudeboi's or Bin Walid's cock in me...
I thought that my cherry would be popped this year.
...By Quasimodo...
That's not going to happen now.
Maybe it's a sign from God?
That I should stay away from sex before marriage?