Layered. Choppy. Shining.

Hair.
My Hair.
My one part of my body that I can flaunt without much effort.

The previous post's pictures will show that I had long hair.

It's been chopped off.
Dramatically.
I, now, no longer have long, lucious hair which cascades elegantly down my back.
Hair that makes me feel womanly, pretty... girly.

I have gone for the chop.
Texture.
Movement.
It screams out rebel.

Obviously, because the rebel in me made the rash decision to get my hair cut today.
No thoughts, no worries.
Just a decision.

I feel like I have to change my style and attitude to accomodate this haircut.
I can no longer act coy and cutesy.
It won't suit.
Maybe when it grows out a bit.

Let's hope.

***Pictures will follow***

Muchas Para Decir...

Let my vain self start by posting a few pictures of the many that I've taken with the webcam.
I forgot how much fun those tiny cams could be.



Body-concious? Me? Pffft.
LoL.
I love my legs.
Webcam shows, night after night, of kinky skirts and my lovely ankle boots..
..Oh, and flesh coloured underwear.

It's the end of the fourth week at univeristy.
Arg!
Asian-saturation.
...I end up spending my free time in the library, writing and re-writing notes to pass time by.
I still haven't taken part in any SU Event. Hmph.
All for this B'ham trip? It had better be worth it.

Last night, was the Doctor and Nurses party.
The white dress was going to transform me into a nurse.
We didn't go.
Instead we went to Old India and then Chicago Rock.
I wore my black dress, the one that can be taken off with two very swift movements.
Lots of sleazy coments, and stares filled with lust and desire.
My wanton self loved it... My body writhed and gyrated in pleasure to the tune of "Don'tcha" by the ever so sexy PussyCat Dolls.

Mi Hermana Mayor is in London, now.
Like the mendhi she did on my arms and leg, my yearning for her is disappearing.
Crumbling.

Little One won a talent contest.
Bless him.
Our little superstar..

Me and Quasi?
Hmmm, a rollercoaster.
We started speaking... lots and lots.
Nearly every night was filled with deep moans of pleasure, and frustrated gasps.
I told him...
That no one else turned me on as much as he did.
That I really like him.
That I want him to be my first...
...Then he asks me if I'd have a problem if he was messing around with another woman.
My Masochistic self told him there's nothing wrong with it.
..and he still sends me texts full of dirty words, thoughts and desires.

Am I stupid?
Surely, it's better to have a little of Quasi, than nothing at all?

Sweb came back into my life.
...and I remember why he made me uncomfortable.
His typical backward thinking.
Sex before Marriage?
Oh, goodness no! Not for you, Giti.
Although I've lost it and still take pleasure in the act of sexing once in a while.

Next weekend: Wild Trip.
Will I see l'Hunchback de Birminghame?
Will I see TrouserSnake?
Will I drink myself silly?
What should I wear?
It will definately be written about, with pictures.

Fresher.

It's been a week at Uni.
I Love/Hate it.

I've suffered Fresher's Flu, now I'm getting a sore throat.
I have a 9.30am start, everyday.
5 days a week.

There's no talent... at all.

I spend more time with Myma and Mimi...
I'm finally no longer a College Student.

I've not attended any of the Fresher's Events, and I've yet to meet someone doing Management... but, it's all good.
The people are friendly, the course seems cool.
=]

Changes in Notredame

He called me last night.
He did something about that text I sent him.

He was really... strict.
..If that's the word to use?

There was no chance for me to be cutesy.
I had to be what he wanted me to be.
I had to say what he wanted me to say.
It was scary, but, I liked it.
My lips trembled everytime his voice went sharp.

"Take your knickers off, now."
"Get in bed."
"Just answer me straight. Is it a yes or no?"

I had no choice but to answer him.
He made me describe what I'd like us to do...
...he knows it's hard for me to do that.
They're the most personal thoughts I have.
I'm at my most vulnerable when I tell him my fantasies..
..and last night?
The words wouldn't even come out...
...He clocked on... and he took over.

He became soft, and his voice took me to that magic place.
His words lulling me into a sense of security.
His soft voice nudging me to go further, that it was ok.
He came.

...and my Mother and sister stood outside my door, chatting.
I had to grit my teeth to keep any noise I made from coming out of my mouth.
I came harshly.
Amazingly, neither Mother nor sister said anything.
I'm praying to God it was because I didn't make any noise, and not because they're embarassed.

He spoke to me in the same hushed tones that I've been missing these past weeks.
and told me to go to sleep.

Million dollar question : What are we now?

Fishing.

Tue Sep 18, 2007 12:26 pm

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I called Quasi last night.
He was in the middle of watching a Catherine Zeta Jones picture...
Yes, it turned me on.

I asked him what he was doing, he said that I wouldn't like to know.
He was struggling to keep his voice normal,
I heard him gasp a few times, he sounded like he was content. pleasured. warm.
I left him to it.

I woke up at 5am, my panties wet.
I sent him a fishing text.
Why?
I don't know.

To make me cringe even more, he didn't even do what i had asked in the text.

Unwanted wantonness?
I suspect so.

My Quasimodo...

wasn't ever mine. LoL.

I called him the other night.
I couldn't stop myself anymore.
..and i was so dissappointed.
He was so un-interested; it felt like he didn't care.

His voice even seemed different.

Rage burned inside me, and I needed to get off the phone.
Maybe I was too rude whilst saying bye.

I dreamt about him last night... I think.
How my hand sat.. just right.. in his hand.
How he made me giggle everytime he tugged at my bottom lip.
The way he held my body close to his.

I don't really believe in Perfect.
..and anyways, if it did exist, it would be a weird thing.
My perfect, may not be your perfect.
But... That day.
The day I spent with him, was something that I would call Perfect.

Rose coloured spectacles?
I'm guessing so.

I wanted him to pop my cherry.
I thought he'd stick around, do the caring thing.
I might act like a hoe wannabe, but really, I'm a soppy pathetic little girl at heart.
I want to be looked after.
I thought he would.

Thank Goodness I didn't get that far with him.
He's farting around with (an)other girl(s)...

I'd still love to spend a night with him.
His and my sexualism were on the right frequency.
Nothing spoken, nothing questioned, nothing answered.
Just the vibes.
From day one.

A night alone with him would result in many orgasmic experiences.
I want him to hold my hand again.
I'm not asking for much, am I?

Help...

I've realised I've made it clear to most that I'm not a practising Muslim, and I doubt very much that I am actually a follower of the faith.
(This doesn't mean I'm an atheist or a God hater...
Quite the contrary, I have a fierce belief in God...
I just don't know how to reach out to Him yet.)

Last night, as I held my hands up to pray at the table with the family (they don't know yet), the following prayer was recited
"Allah hummaghfir lana, waa li waalidayna.
Rabbir ham huma kama rabbayaani sagheera."
Now, I've been reciting this prayer over and over many times in the past few years.
It's a prayer for parents.

The thing is, I don't actually know what the prayer means...
So, I feel weird reciting a Muslim prayer.
I'd rather say the translation, which wouldn't make me feel so weird.
I mean, why recite a Muslim prayer, if you're claiming that you don't feel like one?
Weird, no?

So, that's why I'm asking anyone to help translate this for me.
I'd still very much like to pray for my parents, especially when they piss me off.
Which is more often, than not.

(It sounds weird that I'm asking for a translation of THAT prayer, and I can't just say what's in my heart.
But, I like chanting stuff, over and over again.
And, if everytime I feel like praying for my parents I have to say, "Please God, grant my parents a place in Heaven. and don't give them too much hardship in this world or the next. oh and please keep them happy. oh and ... etc etc"
Then it loses the effect.)

Blog Name...

I just realised, this blog had turned out so different to what I originally set out to do.
This was just meant to be a private diary, that I could chat about anything without being scared of being judged, of any repercussions... etc etc...
Just a place to reflect and to write...
A place of my own...

Yea, it still might be all of that, but it's turned into more of a Sex Blog, don't you think?
Maybe it's because I only read those sorts of blogs?

I'm thinking I should blog a bit more about other aspects of my life...
except, my hornyism is quite a big thing...
Well, it has certainly been for the past demi-year, I think.

Hopefully, with university starting around the corner and job hunting about to start, I should have more things to blog about.
Rainbow in a Colourless World?
I still pretty much think that...

Ramadhan...

It's that time of year again.
I'll be doing things differently, though.

I'm not going to fast, pray etc etc.

However, I will still do my Prayer Diary.

Just because I'm having problems with religion, doesn't mean my faith in God isn't there.

Prayer for Today:
I pray that those who are worshipping you, by fasting or praying are rewarded for their efforts.
I pray that the Madeline case gets solved soon. It's not fair that I only mention Maddie, so, I hope all the lost children ou there are safe, and have somewhere to sleep.
I hope that those who are unwell are able to make a speedy recovery, and my condolences for those who have lost someone close to them...
Amin.

Realisation

The little one decided to do a runner today.
Left us all in a foul mood.

Today, we've realised why we're the siblings and not parents.
He was disciplined.
Properly.
For the first time.
Usually we take him away from the parents and tell him off.
The most we'll do is slap his arm or something.

Today, Father took matters into his own hands.
Little one had it coming all Summer.
It must take a lot to hit a child you love.
I remember Father once telling Little one, that he kept him closer to his heart than the blood that runs through it.

I've had to escape, because:
a) I know I'll cry.
b) I'll want to hug him and say it's ok.
c) I'll undo everything that the Parents are doing.

Hopefully, after today he won't walk out the door anymore.
He's done it too often.
Today was the worst.
The whole family, including Father, had to look for him.
He beat up the Little Sister.
He shouted at me all the way home.
Little one is, officially, the brat I never wanted him to be.

Maybe he needs more alone time with the Parents?
...and we need to take a step back from him?

I never want to feel how I did when I couldn't find him.
I would've, unashamed, cried openly in public, if I didn't find him any sooner.

KbW

I finally met him last night.
...and I'm not ashamed to say that I basically threw myself at him.
Not like that did anything, I'm sure he didn't even look at me.
I spent the entire evening making sure I either got rid of the impefections, or hid them.
I even made an effort with my outfit.
Red and White polka dot dress.
Black and White polka dot underwear.
Red cardi, dual clustered necklace.
Smooth legs.
White vintage heels.

I think I looked the sex.
..and he only touched me twice!
Once, when he laughed about something, the other when he slyly slid his hand near my arse.
...yet, I was all over him.
Touching him every chance I got.
How slag-faced am I?
My bottom must have glowed red.
...no, not because of Tom.

He made me laugh, so much.
...He also has nice arms.
*Oh, gawsh, how disgustingly girly girly am I? - I'm blushing and giggling whilst writing this*

I have to admit, I gave him mixed signals.
It's ok for me to touch him and stuff, but if he mentions anything, I become really quiet and tell him to shut up.
I even moved his hand away.
What a twat!
I honestly have issues, and don't know what I want.

On the tube ride back to Victoria, I was thinking about me sitting on his hand.
*ahem*
...I had some sort of sensation run through me for a nano-second.
It felt... amazing!
Like, the feeling of knowing that you're nearly there and you are going to come this time...
Nice to know that I can feel that without even having to move a muscle.
Thank you bin-Walid.

Secret Desires

Ties that Bind...

As with so many others, her guard dropped as her arousal increased. He found that exciting her was the most effective way to learn more about her. Not about the mundanities of her life - what she drove, where she shopped, who she drank with after work. Such matters were of little, if any, interest to him. He wanted to know about her. The secret her. The sensual her. The sexual her. The desires that she harboured, both realised and nascent. The experiences that had pleased her most. The fantasies she hardly dared to vocalize.
In the midst of one phone call, she makes a flippant, insolent remark to him.
"I ought to put you over my knee," he growls.
There's the briefest pause at the other end of the line. "And just what would you do with me, if you were to have me over your knee?"
"That's easy. I'd pull up your skirt, yank your panties down to mid-thigh, and give your bare arse an almighty slap with the palm of my hand."
"Would you?" Again, the slight pause. "How hard would you spank me?"
There's something new in her voice, something he hasn't encountered before. Something quivering and expectant. He sits forward fractionally in his leather chair, senses questing like a predator's.
"Hard enough to leave the red imprint of my hand across those creamy cheeks of yours. Hard enough to make your skin tingle and burn."
"Really?"
"For sure."
"Promise?" There's a weakness in her voice now, and a need. A fervent need.
He smiles. Another secret revealed.
They talk, for days, weeks, months, stoking their mutual lusts ever higher. The schedules of their everyday lives conspire to limit the expression of their desires to emails and IM windows and stolen telephone calls. The elongation of time frustrates him, infuriates him. Ultimately, his fevered libido can no longer be satisfied by fantasies of vanilla couplings with her. He can't prevent himself from thinking of all the debauched ways he wants to excite and satisfy her flesh, from conjuring a catalogue of corruption. And when he finally reveals his plans to her, he finds that she's a more-than-willing accomplice to his decadence.
One day, he calls her in the afternoon, as he's pulling into the driveway after a day at the office. He knows that his own house will be empty when he steps inside, but he's taking a chance on calling her at such a time. Disconcertingly, that knowledge excites him too.
"Hello?"
"It's me. Can you talk?"
"Yes. For a while, anyway."
He turns the key in the front door and pushes it open. The parcel is waiting obediently for him on the oak floor. His eyes gleam.
"There's a parcel for me," he tells her.
"What is it? A present to yourself?"
"Very much so."
By now, she knows instantly what the tension in his voice means. She can hear the crackling of the package being opened. "Tell me about it."
"It's made of black leather, soft and supple to the touch. There's a collar, about two inches deep, maybe a fraction more. It fastens around your neck, and it's secured in place with a small padlock. There's an adjustable strap, a foot or more in length, running down from the back of the collar along the line of your spine. At the end of the strap are two wrist cuffs, positioned one atop the other. They're fastened into place with small padlocks as well." He pauses, calculatingly. "Anyone wearing it would be quite, quite helpless."
"Oh." The word sounds small and lost. "Is this something you've bought for your wife to wear?"
"No. It's something I bought for you to wear."
"It is? Really? Honestly?"
He ignores the pleading questions. "First, I'm going to undress you. Very slowly, very deliberately. Then I'm going to place you on your knees in the centre of the bed, blindfold you, draw the collar into place around your neck, and snap the lock shut. And then I'm going to do the same with both of your wrists."
"Oh, God."
"You can just kneel there and listen to the sound of me undressing. And then you'll feel my warm hands on your arse, a palm cupping each cheek, gently moving them apart, opening your cleft to my gaze, to my lips, to my tongue. I'm going to lick you from your clitoris to your rosebud, over and over and over, until you're squealing and writhing. I'll have a vibrator with me, one that I bought a fortnight ago, thinking of you. It's smooth and slender, and I'm going to oil it until it's glistening and then slowly slide it inside your arse and switch it on. And while it's buzzing and throbbing inside you, I'm going to flicker my tongue across your clit until you're literally dripping onto the bed sheet."
"Oh fuck."
"And then I'm going to spank you for being such a wanton slut. A fresh hard slap of my palm against your arse for every groan of pleasure, and another for each drop of your nectar that splashes onto the cotton sheet. I'm going to count aloud every single drop I see, and your arse is going to sting and burn each time you hear me speak."
"Oh fuck, yes! Yes! Please!"
"And then I'm going to fuck you. My pace, my desire. You're not going to be able to stop me. You're not going to be able to influence me. You're just going to be used by me. I'm going to fuck you for my own satisfaction. My cock deep inside your cunt, and the vibrator deep inside your ass. If you should whine, if you dissent, I'll take the vibrator from your ass and use another one, a thicker one, one that's at least as thick as my cock. And I'll fuck you like that until I'm satisfied." He waits. "Do you understand me?"
"Oh yes. Oh yes."
"You'll do as I say? As I want?"
"I will. You know that I will. I'll do anything." A brief silence. "Anything."
"Then all you have to do is provide me with a date…."

Reminds me of Quasimodo.
Reading this turned me on, so bad.
I need a good seeing to.

Taste...

They say everyone tastes different.
You taste of what you eat.

I don't eat cheese.

I need to sort out my diet, before I let any cunnilingus happen.
Although, I did like the after-taste.

Who knew I'd be so turned on, that I'd bring my moist fingers to my lips?
If only there was a guy there, too.

Hmmm. Talking about it is making my panties wet.
...but, my room is incredibly messy, due to a tidy/clean out.
Plus, being a full time mum, you can't have your door shut for longer than two seconds.
I can't have any night time phone play times either.

All of this = one frustrated gal.
Oh well, I'm meeting Bin-Walid on Tuesday.
If I'm not that shy, hopefully he can help me.
Maybe he could taste me too.

Rambling.

Ramadhan's in a week.
I still have no plan.
Damn.

I went shopping the other day.
I've gone up a dress size.
I needed to exchange all the tops I bought.
My shoes came today. They still don't fit nicely.
Can you say toe cleavage?
Atleast they don't fly off when I walk.
Need to try them on outside.

I had bastard of a nephew and neices stay round last week.
I don't understand how my cousin didn't raise them up to have respect for other peoples' feelings and belongings.
I had to buy new shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste and an ironing board.
We had to get builders in to fill in the massive whole in the wall.
What cows.

Mum's off to Germany.
She fought with the Father the night before her flight.
She slapped his hand, and told us to call him pig, instead of Dad.
Hmmm. Nice(!)
My older sister and I are back to being full-time Mums.
She comes back tomorrow.
I have work.

I spoke to Quasimodo.
He asked me if I missed talking to him at night.
I've deleted most of my posts off his Facebook.
Gawd, I want to suck his face off.

Jivan is lovely.
He's helping me with my CV.
He also gave me advice about my esteem and confusion.
...I want to see a picture of him. I'm intrigued.
He really makes my panties wet.

I think I've decided, once uni starts, I'm going to join a yoga class....and start skipping.

I love cocky guys.
...even Rajni.

I need to buy more underwear.
La Senza are crap.
The colour runs.
My beautiful yellow bra has gone a dull snotty colour.
I want a caramel coloured set, and a white set.

Bin-Walid's baby is due soon.
I should meet him before, really.
Yea, I want this to be as guilt-less as possible.
Which is hard, because he's a married man and is a sweetheart.
Provisional date: Tuesday 11th September.
Location: St. Pauls.
Victoria line to Oxford Circus, Central to St. Pauls... Just in case I forgot.
For lunch? Coffee? Damn.
An hour? Is that long enough for me to forget about my insecurities?
I need to buy baby clothes before then.
I think it's a boy.
I hope we meet for dinner.
I want to snog his face off.
..I also want a tube ride with him. See if he'll do what he said he might.

I don't know anyone on my course yet.
Scary.

I need to write my letter of resignation.
Scary!
..but I need to do it.
I hate my work place.

Salman Khan keeps texting me.
It's nice, and he's funny and makes me want to piss myself laughing.
..BUT, he works with Mother.
I know I almost fancy him, because he's so charismatic and so cocky and confident... but, I shouldn't be so chummy with him.
Especially, after what happened after I came back form his house.
Mother doesn't appreciate.
If he wasn't Muslim, I'd love to go for drinks with him.
Maybe dance with him.
..Even though he's 40 odd.

Oh. My. Gawsh.
I like older men.
...Well, I've always known that, about 98% of the guys I've liked were over 3 years older than me.
But, I liker older older guys.
Over 9 years older.
Quasi, Jivan, Salman...?

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?

"Don't know how it got so crazy..."

Sang Brian Litrell in "Back to your Heart".

Mum's been gone two weeks.
I've been locked inside this house for two weeks.
(Except for when I have work).
I'm slowly going insane.

I've shunned my responsibilities and duties today.
I feel like crying.
...and possibly running away.

It's Quasimodo's birthday next Wednesday.
I got excited and asked Trousersnake to get his address.
I then re-read some of Quasimodo's writing, and remembered...
His grandfather passed away on the 25th...
Do I act all Spazlish? Or treat it like it's any random person's birthday?

I had the worst freudian slip with him last night.
He told me he'd slap me, and I called him a wife beater.
Cue the awkward silence, and eventually he had to go.
I haven't spoken to him since.

I'm dying for some emotional comfort at the moment, and I dont want to call him.
I hate calling him all the time, and waiting for his calls.
I hate not knowin where I stand with him.

Oh great, The sisters just had some sort of argument and got dad involved.
And who got the blame? Yes, me...
I finally asked my dad, on a serious level, whether I could move out next year.
He said, what's the point if you're going to live in the same city.
That answered my question, didn't it?

I've been planning a trip to London since January.. I initially planned for June.. I wasn't allowed..
The summer's going, and I'm dying for a break.

Older sister is getting too involved in my life,
and with everything, she keeps bringing up Islam.
She wants to enforce her opinions and beliefs on me.
Why doesn't she accept what I like and don't like?
She wants me to marry a Joydeep (google Star Plus - Kyunki Saas bhi Kabhi Bahu thi..)...
I don't even want to think of marriage...
I want to have fun, fall in lust, in like, and in love...
I want to feel what it's like to be totally happy with someone, and then I also want to know what it's like to feel heart broken...
I want to bump and grind with someone I like, who's not a girl and my best mate.
Us four siblings went out for a meal, and I wanted to wear my skirt, but I wore leggings underneath. She made me change.
So what if she doesn't show anything except her head. I want to flaunt what I've got.
The hijab didn't liberate me.
Everyone has commented on how I'm different without the hijab.
The minute I take it off, I feel more confident, and it shows.

I have an appointment with the Doctors about my penetration problem.
The worry has kept me up at nights...
How do I tell someone that I'm an undercover horny bitch?
That I get wet everytime I'm in a 5 metre radius of a male, or a very hawt female?
That I have playtime nearly every night?
That I'm too scared to put anything inside me, myself... but I guess I'm too scared subconciously to even let anyone else do it?
The fact that she's Asian, and I go to a surgery in my local community doesn't help.
I'm scared... and no one can hold my hand.
Because about from Bin Walid and Quasimodo no one knows...


I need lots of hugs.
Not virtual ones..
I want real ones.

When it rains...

...it pours.

Recently, I've been surrounded by illness.
My uncle from Germany had been diagnosed with cancer earlier on this year, after suffering from stroke or a heart attack.
My mum's just not recovering. She has some problem with her lungs, that doctors just can't diagnose. She also has problems with her joints, especially her legs.
I, myself, had that weird period full of temperatures and dizziness.
My little sister just isn't getting better... I also fear she's becoming anorexic. Her way of thinking is scary. She's 12, and she already worries about her weight. She never eats lunch at school, and hasn't developed yet. Which is weird, because, me, mum and my older sister were women by the age of 11 - physically.
Last night, we discovered my nani (in Bangladesh now) had a mild heart attack. Since she's been under medical care, she's been diagnosed with diabetes and also lung infection.

I can see that it's all taking its toll on my mum.
Her sister's husband, her mother, her daughter...
What does a girl, who's meant to be the black sheep of the family, do?
Pray? Give her mum a hug? Make the curry?

On top of all this, there's the on going financial stuff going on.
We've lost £10,000 due to a money transfer business going into liquidation.
I'm dreading the day my bank statement reaches my dad's hands.

I've not spoken to Quasimodo properly, still!
I think I'll just leave the whole, "does he like me? does he not". He's busy with the wedding season and all... and I've got my own shizzle too...
I just want to see him... and as corny as it sounds, I just want one of his hugs... a kiss or few wouldn't be bad either.
Then again, I've not seen my girls in a while either, and a hug from them would be appreciated just as much.

I've been meaning to clean out for two weeks.
No, not just my room... the kitchen downstairs... and my head as well.
Some thoughts and memories have gots ta go... as well as all those receipts i'm hoarding in all my 15 drawers...


...yes, Shaaf has been plaguing my thoughts recently...
Not really the best time for thoughts of him to pop up...

I need to buy a new brolly.