Prettyintelligentprincess

I miss him.
I need to kick out of this.
It's something that may or may not happen again.
It's something that I suspect will happen again...

But I am never good at patience...

I can't change that.
I can't change anything...

But the coffee is waiting still, steaming away still, giggles are bubbling still...waiting; anticipating...still.

I miss him.

Saying that, work is all consuming...on and on, driven and driving.

I've roundabouts in my head.

You know when someone knows... you know something they've said..and they know that you know...
I have realised I am working with a sad and twisted and negative and damaging female.
A female I would never consider to be so damaging: yet she is. She removes the trust and she removes the character and reputation of me.

And still...Dram...mentally stupid Dram believes her...always bloody weird..but her recent husband earns a fortune...fuck off and climb mountains is what I say.

The lovely soft toy she gave Sportacus at his Christening, six months old....it's away..hidden...she contaminates him; his bed with her ridiculous mediocrity ...her assent with the dissent: her narrow awfulness...her narrowness.

I need more.
I need to feel more.
To give.
To live.
To love.
To inspire.
To achieve.
To be beautiful for someone....

To cry in their arms.
To expolde and to melt and to yield knowing they hold me.
I have friends.
I have support.
I have...well ..I have shared much and probably so much more in the flickering candle light amidst the table-setting of breakfast and the shadows falling from Jack V... yet to presume and assume would leave me empty with fear. Therefore , I do not.

I do miss him. Yet...my passion simmers and I agonise for human touch...

Need it...

Insist on it...

Crave for it...

Know it...

Want you
Need you
Miss you.

The tour rambles on...and slows and stops...so far away.
This is more news...from nowhere in particular.
Until next time...

She turns...and falls into exhausting sleep...no rest. No peace.
Yet, really, she is not wicked.

She is not strong.
I am not a fool.
She definitely is no mirror to me.

I feel bullied.
Intimidated.
Constructive failure PLC.
But I won't show it.

Feel it.
It burns me..inside...
My passion burns on and on...she will never take me.

Angel placating.
Deputy Chief advising.

I have threatened ultimate action...
I will survive
I will
I will.

Never will I aspire to be her.
Never will I create failure.

I am me.
I am strong.
I am her thorn.
Long may I reign.

All calm now with Budding Vet.
Happy day at school.

My day...Bitch is so desperate to ruin me. It's like a sickness; a disease. She must have this..that...those...and then that and also these...by yesterday's deadline.
She is out to get me.
She is..
Finally....this afternoon, she lost it..just slightly...just a raised voice, a slight sweaty glow...and she began to shout.

I almost smiled at her.
I forced my mouth to remain immune...
My eyes would have smiled though...

She is so taut,
So close to breaking...when there is no need.

She has demanded a load of paperwork from the Plurals.
Unecessary..
But you see..I know what's on the Secret File..remember? I told you?
She is going to be even more of a shrivelled and sad soul....

She wants everything...annotated...from the past two years...In 48 FUCKING hours. Guess she's lost the plot. Well, let's face it, she lost it ages ago.

Now...
Deputy Chief..very interested. She knows of things similar at Bitch's previous employers...
She knows Bitch is intimidated by me...as well as Angel.
She scoffs at Bitch two...professionally...yet it's scoffing...'immature; inexperienced...'
Deputy Chief knows The Bitch is trying to discredit me.
She's prepared...

As am I.

Did the work she demanded I do at 3pm...just now, at 1130 pm. Sent it. My daughter is my priority on Friday at 3pm...Bitch.
Smiling, I wished her a wonderful weekend.

I looked good today...I was oozing, completely...just fab. Glowing skin, hair just backdried..shiny, bit wild...new high heels, long fitted skirt, fitted top and smart jacket...I looked the business..felt it....Knew it...
Oh and she tries to be smart...does Pension driven Bitch...
but ..sorry..absolutely no competition.And that is something else that intimidates her. Long may that reign.

She is cold, calculated, text book, driven.
I am warmth, passion and instinct driven. She reads books on emotional intelligence; I actually have it.
Get my drift?
'Course you do.

Oh, I just started ovulating tonight...it hurts!!!Deep stabbing pain down my left side this time.
But emotions rage...with strength and beauty.
It is wonderful to be a woman.
A warm and passionate one of course!

Had to work at home today. Needless to say not much done. Sportacus delivered, this morning as well as lovely Budding Vet. She loves school...adores it. Positive, bright and open hearted.
This afternoon, collected her and floods and floods of tears; heartwrenching sobs and I felt helpless.
My beautiful girl.
She sobbed all the way home, Sportacus unnerved by her anguish, demanding to know what was wrong with his big sister. She cried more; harder; louder.
Breaking the speed limit, had to get home. Just to hold her.
Cradled her eventually, rocking on my bed, she could not talk. Feeling sick, I steeled myself to share her agony, her heartache...
Finally, out it poured. She had cried in maths. Could not do it and others found it so easy. An eight year old eloquently telling me how awful today had been, between shuddering sobs, her hair damp with tears, my shoulder damp, kissing her head, her hair.
My beautiful girl.
And then it was the queue mummy...and she said it so unkindly mummy...
And then he punched my foot...
And then I retaliated...
And then the teacher saw..
And then it was me who had to go out to the front and write my name on the board for being naughty...

I fought back to the tears, the anger rising like a sickness.

She saw my sadness and cried all the more, shouting that she was no good; she made people so sad, so angry...she was not a clever girl at all...not like mummy said.
Running away into her her room, away from me.
Following her I saw her turn as she pushed the note into my hand.
'Give that to Mrs______!'

'I WONT BE COMING BACK.'

Trying to calm her.
Trying to sooth her.
Trying to stop the guilt from drowning me for not being there for her...

I promised her I would speak to her teacher...I was there tonight for an Information Evening.

Later, there I was infront of the Headteacher, she was shocked and I saw her tears too as I shed mine. I showed her the note.
'Let me phone her, now. Before she is asleep. She won't sleep. She'll be worrying...'
And she did.
My beautiful girl speaking so honestly about the injustice of it all and how she wanted to not say a word...she was sitting in her bed, I heard the duvet rustle, the books tumble!
And now she sleeps.
Waiting for me to come home, she held my hand tightly as we went up the stairs.
Snuggling down,'I'm glad I told you.I love you Mummy.'
My heart broke.

Oh how much has happened today...

The pressure at the Building of Betrayal is amazing. Coursework. Exam work.
The Prom. Imminent.
And I will not fail them.
Deputy Chief knows.
Bitch knows.

Angel. Hardworking fantastic woman...floods of tears this morning. Tiredness. Lack of sleep does that. Many a time I have sat here and dissolved. But baby only 6 months...

Data. Bloody data. How many spreadsheets do we bloody need for fucks sake. The future would be bright if Bitch fucked off.
Spoke at length to Dylandata tonight...he knows just how much of a bitch she she is...just watch your back.

I've actually found something out. She...BItch that is...has no...no O levels...she's done everything late. You can spot my intelligence a mile off! And that dear readers is the bloody root,the protaganist if you like...
Angel told me this ages ago and I actually laughed! Bitch has tried to take me out. She reads the books. She plays the game. She lacks the passion. She lacks the skill. She lacks the intelliugence.
Like a jigsaw.
All fitting into place.
No missing pieces from me. I am full and complete!

Tomorrow...well many Plurals away...sent home and it's a shame but I wonder who will listen and when.
Personally, I am snowed under.
That won't change.

Good sensible talking tonight to someone removed...that's good. Keeps me sane.

Floyd Fan...lovely and lovely...
He's now on tour. Silence till next week but the messages carry me, the song carries me. I remember the moments and see him feel him as I leant into him, his arm around me as we walked...towards last on the right...a beautiful time. I miss him.

And , over in the corner, I hear someone stamping his feet and sulking. I actually should have been with G tonight..if he'd had it his way. A venture nearer our old haunt...a venture he assumed...a venture I, frankly, can't be bothered with. Have no desire for...

I rise above as is now my creation.
But lust is simmering...
Closeness
Contact
Touch
All simmering away....bubbles floating at the top...

Well, where do I start?

Sportacus was ill yesterday...so exhausting, yet he's feeling better now. Projectile vomit loses it's vulgarity after a while; you become desensitised!

He wrote yesterday. It was fraught and hurtful and upsetting for him, because of me; because I let the demons in, or out maybe, in the early hours the night before...when the tiredness had seeped through my body and my brain.He says he's forgiven me; nothing to forgive...we made our peace and ended with some fun sexy imagery; but I suspect something is still trying to gnaw into his precious memories and for that the blame rests with me. But really he does have nothing to worry about and I know it's a tiny thing that has grown into stupid proportions...and I miss him.I've promised to lean on him in future, instead of toppling over or pushing him away. Just wonder if he will yearn for me to lean on him as much as before. I do hope so. I do hope.

Routines as usual at home and still avoiding the physical touch which I know he may be picking up on. I don't care right now. I'm drowning in work.

Bitch is back on form...but so am I. Gradually, Bitch Two is off loading...snippets here, snippets there...she's been so gullible. I treat Bitch with caution and take the deadlines head on, yet Deputy Chief knows all, as I tell her all to keep my sanity! How the fuck I actually manage to do everything...I don't know. But, being cautious as that was the road to my previous ruin, my previous destruction and now I'm 100% proof; 100% Bitchproof.

I'm still rather in awe of myself revealing such a delicate yet violent event to you in my 'friends only' post...which I held in draft copy for a couple of days...waiting for the right moment; the right courage.
But like I said:that's all part of More News From Nowhere...
I'm telling the demons to fuck off right out of my hair.

Patiently trying to be patient.
It's not easy.

I can't wait but I'll have to wait.
I will wait.

Patience is a virtue. I don't really see myself as a virtuous girl...but perhaps there will be a miracle somewhere!

I shall wait; don't want to but I must do.

I wait for the passion.
I wait for the sexy gaze, deep eyes.
I wait for the intelligence and candour.
I wait for the wit and the closeness.

I wait for his touch.
I wait for his kiss, his fervour, his desire.
I wait to be sated...by him.

Patiently impatient,I wait.

That's just how it feels.
Have no idea how or where this all flows from.
He's released the lock.
Opened the door.
Let me out.
Kept me in?
I don't know...
Just skimmed and scanned past my last but one post.
Too emotional.
Too hard.
Too raw.
Too hurtful.
Too bloody honest and maybe I've overstepped the mark- with me you understand- not a mention of sex and yet I shudder when contemplating, when realising...
But, she's on a roll and there's more to come.

There's more news from nowhere...and it's not from Nick.

The lads have done well.
An arrest.
Thank god...

And it disgusts me that concealment has ensnared.
The mother of a son...you protect...
But the mother of a son..she mourns.
She has lost her joy.
How can you leave her this way?

Your son.
Your flesh and blood...

You love him.
You protect him...

Think of her...think of loss....
Your son is indeed the sacrifice.

He committed the crime.
Against your nurture, you must let him pay for it.

I don't feel like I was abused...not really. They were just doing what they thought was right.
I will be silent I think after confessing this....a couple of days...just to pretend I never really told you.
The sleep phobia thing was rather sickening...this will make me vomit.
But, it's got to be done. (I don't need your sympathy. I'm just offloading okay!)

I bite my nails.
I always have.
From when...I cannot remember.
Why..I don't know.
But he wanted perfection: always.
Again...she silently hovered in the background.
Young so young.
Same bed.
Same room.
Same year as the sleep phobia initiation.
So..I was young. Younger than my daughter and that horrifies me.
Every Saturday, I had to stand, hands outstretched (god this is harder than I anticipated..just wondering...should I go on...)
Yes.

Hands and fingers outstretched..for him to check.
Two pennies a nail.
Twenty pennies to aim for.

I never succeeded..it was stress and more stress...anxiety and doom and complete reluctance to face a Saturday morning.

The strike over the knuckles was hard and painful and I would build myself up for it; determined to withold my anguish....hence my inability to sleep ( See Sleep Phobia post),..hence the dragging out of bed, hence my further inability to sleep, hence my anxiety, hence my biting of my nails.

Hence my writing now...when you all sleep...and I am still awake.

One night...in bed....trying to sleep...again he marched in.
'Put these on.'

White, ivory maybe...cracked gloves...not leather...they cracked and I can still smell them; I can still remember the texture, the feeling, the smell.....
She'd worn them on her wedding day...I put them on and remained silent....at six you kind of just do that...but the sweat and the wetness of my hands was unbearable.
When I thought the coast was clear, I took them off, late at night, pretending they had 'fallen off.'

His wrath was mighty and hurtful. I can't explain more now. But, he then tied the gloves on...around my wrists with string...
And the sweat seeped through.

I can't remember when this all ended, but once again it put a firm wall between the sisterly love that should have been.
I was a rival for his love.
She won.
I have had no contact now for 15 years.
With none of them.

I feel anger.
I feel pity.
And from him, I still feel fear.

It takes so much for me to trust. When I do, I give all.

Today, my beautiful wild son ran across the vast open spaces and screamed...completely loudly, wonderfully and with a zest I challenge anyone to match! He is alive and fizzes energy and life.
I love him.
I would die for him.

Laughing ,we went in search of treasure.

Only seven nights ago, he took my hand.
Only seven nights ago he opened the door: the floodgates.
Only seven nights ago, I kissed his hand, the flesh below his thumb; his hand trailing across my face.
Only seven nights ago, my fingers, steeped in my own desire, penetrated his mouth.

Only seven nights and you are still within me...just there...captured.
In my head.
In my head.
Needing the human touch...in my head.

She writes: This time last week was preparation time...
Preparation for a lovely and intense time.

He writes: Where did the week go?

She writes: I am staying very sexy my _______
I have huge urges to feel you inside me, to hear you cumming, to feel your passion....
I am one-tracked right now and that is a very sexy feeling....

I hope the sunshine I feel today filters down onto you too and my writing reflects the sentiments enough.
__xxxx

Today I trundled off to a wild life place where the children could stroke chicks and see wild boar and lots of other animals in dreary looking enclosures surrounded by mud.
It's soon back to The Building of Betrayal for me next week, so I am spending time with them before thay also recommence.
Anyhow, back to Mr C. As I was driving through the countryside I followed the signs for CG and I then remembered this was the place that Mr C and I had decided to meet for a pre-fuck civilised tete a tete at Ye Olde Teashoppe over 18 months ago! So, what happened...well nothing in the end and that was unfortunate really.
He was very sensitive, very deep, intelligent, articulate with a dry wit. We had been exchanging messages and had talked for several months as we had met via a particular adults only website (the place where I had met others).
I knew it had the potential to lead to something rather special and certainly sexy as our erotic fiction was charged and he was the first man since Darcy to write so well and to engage me completely...yet there was a deeper side to his nature which made him incredibly 'careful' and I suspected he had been hurt somehow in the past. (In fact, writing this makes me realise how similar he is to Fantastic Floyd Fan).

The first meeting, I could not make it. Just too risky with timing and other events. No one was more upset than I!
The erotic fiction continued and we learnt more about each other...his writing was impressive. He was reading an Iain Banks novel at the time and I always remember him saying,
'I love the sex scenes. You are never quite sure where Banksie is going with those...!'
I think he was either the boss or actual owner of a company. Something to do with architecture and engineering. (Is there such a thing?)
He had a penchant for Italian motorcycles and travel writing.
We'd still not met, but the relationship moved on; Ye Olde Teashoppe was abandoned for the comfort of a particularly pleasant hotel, (ironically the one G and I used up until his relocation).

Mr C booked the room.
Mr C sent me the details and the hotel's website.

Three days to go.
Mr C apologises.
He wanted to wait, so he said.
I replied that the ball was entirely in his court and that I would not be contacting him again. I really cannot remember too much more, but it was a shame and I do hope he is alright out there in the land of bridges.

Mysteriously though, driving through the tiny streets of CG, I never saw the teashop. I never saw any Italian motorcycles either.

Some more Vettriano to drool over. Guess my favourite if you think you can!
What's yours?
What I love is the empowerment of the women...ironically less covered in clothes than the men, yet they cast the most powerful spell.

Or...perhaps you do not like them at all...why would that be?

Across the arc of elegant architecture he walked, steadily diminishing from view above the smooth flowing water which flowed relentlessly like time; relentless and silent.

It was just as it should be.

This is not my fault. Jackfrost reckons I'll move my stats into meganumber status...I don't think I will, so I'm proving a point! Not that I am a stubborn, bossy and forthright type of girl you understand!

So. What can I tell you. Well...again, the lonely self arousal and the lonely pre-cereal orgasm in the marital bed...this morning. (Not as good as the one yesterday though....the sneaky one)

I'm alone from 5 am usually.

Inundation of self-pitying texts from Mr Estate agent on Saturday night was something I forgot to tell you...just been a bit pre-occupied...you may have noticed that!
In the end I had to turn my phone off. We had sex a year ago, or thereabouts, a few times over a month or two...and he never rocked my world. I wanted sex. So did he. He pencilled me into the perfunctory pages of his diary...and that was that. But I hate it when there's no 'connection', no 'attraction.'
He's been kind and caring with his rare texts when I went through the low dark time, but we've never met since last year, although he's asked a few times and he ended up declaring his love for me on New Year's Eve...needless to say, I ended up switching my phone off then too!
But Saturday night was annoying and I wish he'd just forget me.
Weirdly, as I'm writing this Mansion Man keeps buzzing as his texts wing their way from C where he's doing business. Why can't he just disappear too? I have not encouraged or exchanged for such a long time. Someone in his position could quite literally have anyone they wanted. I don't want him to want me.
The one I do want, the one I do want to buzz me, to want me, to satisfy me, to excrutiatingly electrify me...is out of reach right now.
So...that brings it all back full circle.
I want sex.
If I was a man, this really would not be such a monumentous deal.

Man wants sex = man can pay for it.
Woman wants sex = woman can pay for it? (Question mark essential).

I got a mega viewing of my blog today...and I think I know why...the Kylie thing!
Here's me assuming it's all the sexy non-fiction...but no...Kylie tops the charts; she reigns supreme!
Innocently, I posted, entitled The Kylie Club....and OMG 1600 viewings!!!! Bloody hope they were 18 or over...
I've been a bit...risque today! And the first time for a long time!
Yes.
Really.
Yes I know...hard to believe... blah blah!
Anyhow...enjoy while you can as I should be so lucky, I can't get him out of my head.

Is this normal?
Am I normal?

I feel so highly sexed today it's absolutely, utterly exploding my mind.
And I've already played...sneakily...around lunch time...AND the rest of the family were around and about; downstairs and in the garden. Urgent and frantic writhing on the still unmade marital bed...then over onto my tummy..pushing my bottom up...turns me on immensely; clutching the sheets and shouting into the mattress, the smell of the Sunday roast wafting up the stairs.
Ironic that; more pleasure in the marital bed alone, always.

It's all his fault.
Completely.
Floyd Fan has...and will have...a lot to answer for and I was not joking when I told him he would get spanked!
The images of our illicit moment flood my mind and I'm oozing sex; bathing in the adulterous waters.

Remembering the boldness of his first words and the feel of him as he held me close and hard...hands squeezing my arse...enjoying the coldness of the long windowledge pressing into my thighs just above my stocking tops.I actually can't remember my skirt coming off.
I was desperate for him.
I was desperate for him to strip me.
I was desperate for him to fuck me.

I struggled with his shirt buttons...(nails too long and hands too trembling)
His kisses matched the urgency of mine and our tongues danced and played amidst the hot wetness.
Suddenly, drawing back, holding my head....eye to eye.

'You know you are sexy, don't you.'(Question mark not appropriate.)

Remembering the strong control from window ledge to bed, I had rudely already helped myself to his aroused state without being invited...his hardness just irresistable...his hands pushed my legs open and he kissed and licked and tasted me...I demanded his kisses then.
Returned the sexy favour...or tried to...
'No'
'No! stop!'(Exclamation marks definitely appropriate).
'I want to fuck you.'

As he entered me for the first time,the moments that followed were more than just an F word...so much more.
He consumed me.
Completely.
And I him.

That moment. That loud, noisy climactic moment was pure release of an aching need; an aching need that consumes me now.

I've joined the club; his club.
He once said, 'I feel like Kylie. I can't get you out of my head.'

I can't get him out of my head.

In my head.
In my head.
In my head.

Cue: 'Can't get no satisfaction'....The Rolling Stones..

I love the work of the artist, Jack Vettriano; indeed my calendar of last year, given to me by Angel, was a JV. Needless to say it has since vanished since Bitch stripped my room before my Return.
Recently, I was reminded of him; Thursday evening actually just as Floyd Fan and I were leaving the restaurant after dinner...we had talked and talked and the time had slipped by so quickly. Being the last to leave before the saunter back to our room of previous delightful consummation...my eyes once again fell upon one of the beach scenes by JV. They are not my favorite but his style is striking and unmissable and one of the reasons I love his work so much is the pure audacious and vivid truth of the subject matter: seeking fulfillment and the consequences of sexual desires and liaisons. Well, that is part of my narrative when I see them! I find I can relate to some of them too and it is interesting to see parallels in pictures and not just words.
I've included a couple of my favourites here.

I feel complete.
Completely womanly.
Completely wonderful.
Completely feminine.
Completely fulfilled.

And I want more.

The smell of our closeness and our passion and our desire still lingers upon my skin, amongst the confines of my clothes.I am breathing him in.

And I want more.

Feeling as though I'd known him for so long, from the first look, the first smile and the shared first giggle...I knew we would fit together so well...the final pieces of the intricate jigsaw.

Walking and talking...we had the lattes, so long anticipated...before the heady stroll back to the room...last on the RIGHT!!!!

Remember, I wanted to fuck him in my boots...well, I did...and I want more of that too!
Urgent and hard and loud and demanding, over and over and over our fucking was just...so bloody sexy! Then later, rather languid and intimate and too intimate to need to share right now...
Those moments are still mine, and his: not yours.
Not yet.

To want more is not to expect more...expectations lead to ruin...and ruin leads to regret. However, I suspect our paths will cross again on the way to the theatre.

However, one thought I will leave you with just to help set the scene...

This was not just a fuck; this was a magnificent Marks and Spencer's Fuck!

Not going to write much.
We spoke online today...ironically the first time since the day it snowed; how different and yet how similar things now are.
We're so close to the moment, we are almost touching.

Soon I will see him for the first time.
He will then touch me and I him, for the first time.

Nothing more now....

Let's just wait and see....

Soon...
17 h