Hanging Up The Towels

Dear Dobson,

Given that these are stressful times, it was inevitable that my old friend 'Insomnia' would rock up at some point, hence me hanging up the towels and loitering here at 1 o'clock in the morning.  I am so tired, in fact, I'm exhausted.  I've been fighting the lurgy for over a week now with no sign of it abating.  My body is telling me to slow down but it's difficult; I've children, singing rehearsals, gym and a soirée to organise for Saturday night.  My libido is suffering too and I feel terrible for cancelling my tryst with SG Guy tonight, but what's the point if I'm not up to it?  I'm no faker.

In view of my cancellation I considered a wank but lethargy and apathy won the day.  My glass of 14.5% Merlot remains unfinished, the lid is firmly on my 'Berlin XXX' poppers and the batteries in my bunny are on their last (hind) legs.  It's tragic.

Ten days and counting.  Then who knows where I'll be at - a better place hopefully, with some fresh batteries...

Frankie

Highs And Lows

Dear Dobson,

My week, in a nutshell.

Low Point:

Parenthood has been one of this week's crashing lows.  I've never rated myself much as a mother if I'm honest; I don't make my own houmous or anything, but I like to think I do a decent job and most importantly, my boys know they're loved.  Unfortunately oldest has entered what we have labelled 'The P Zone' - yes indeed, as his thirteenth birthday looms, Puberty arrives and the odious stench of testosterone hangs heavy in the air like ammonia.  All kinds of muscles are currently getting a good flexing.

He has behaved appallingly of late and I yearn for the days when a clip around the ear wasn't something that could land you in court.  If this is just the beginning of a catalogue of heinous pubescent behaviour then I'd like to terminate my contract here and now.

What do you mean I can't terminate my contract?

I suppose I simply attempt to muddle through the best I can, like many other parents have before me - except my own mother of course who did less than her best, but that's a whole other story I can't be arsed investing any energy in right now...


High Point:

The Love Train is stoked full of coal and is chugging along beautifully.  I don't know where it's destined to go, but being aboard it makes me very happy.  The Man is warm, wonderful and uncomplicated - I love having him in my life.


Any Other Business:

The application form has gone away.  The waiting game commences.  I shall know within three weeks or so if I'm up for interview.  Obviously they'd be mad not to take me.

I went to the cinema to see the new Star Trek film and found myself strangely drawn to Spock.  I never thought I'd use a Vulcan as stimulus for a wank.

I miss you and would like you to come back.

Frankie

Procrastination And Taramasalata

Dear Dobson,

Whilst you're up in court today, being one of twelve men good and true, I am at home sitting on my arse eating taramasalata and Turkish bread and mostly procrastinating like a bastard.

I am supposed to be filling in the application form for the next level of my course, but it's all way too demanding for a Tuesday.  They want to know things like 'Why?', 'How?', 'What?' and 'Do you have any mental health problems?'

As a result of the cursed application form, today's agenda has consisted of the following; I have carried out several menial housework tasks, been for a run, showered, Facebooked, logged my run, had a few games of Diamond Twister 2, drunk copious amounts of tea and managed to sandwich several wanks between all of the above.  I am now eating and blogging simultaneously - there is no end to my talents.

There is, of course, a deadline for the application - Tuesday 7th May - but that's ages away non?  After all it's still April and you know how I work better under pressure...  If my current modus operandi is anything to go by, I'm pretty sure there will be plenty more riveting posts for you to read before then.  I'll bet you can't wait.

Frankie

Wank: The Sequel

Dear Dobson,

I share your concerns about the general dip in our readership that tends to occur whenever we discuss lady matters that don't involve vaginas, anuses, vibrators or bodily fluids.

At the moment, the trouble for me is that I'm having way too much good sex to want to write about it.  Add to that the feelings I have for The Man and it does bring a certain reluctance to share the details of our lovemaking with all and sundry whether this is an anonymous blog or not.

When I was single and wanking was obsessively high on the agenda it was a very different state of affairs.  Nowadays masturbation is something I can take or leave, but that's not to say it doesn't happen.  As I mentioned before, Thatcher's funeral whipped me up into a veritable frenzy and sometimes when I watch James Martin on Saturday Kitchen that gives me the right horn.  Though I must admit my degree of wetness depends on how heavy he's looking, someone should tell him that wearing a black shirt isn't a magic cure-all.

Frankie

Wank

Frankie,

Just a tester.  Do more people read this blog when it has masturbation in it?  Sex sex sex, wank, vibrator.

I thought we had a more discerning audience than that...

Love ya.

Dobson, the biggest wanker of them all.

Love Is A Many Splendored Thing

Dear Dobson,

It seems we have both been distracted from bloggage for one reason or another.  Alas, I have not been dreamy-eyed about hall tables or doing up my house...  I have been riding the express train of love, travelling first-class, accompanied arm in arm by The Man.

Much can happen in a short space of time and as you know from previous confessions I was very aware that stirrings of a non-sexual nature were happening.  Those things called 'feelings' were manifesting themselves and as uncomfortable as they were making me, I sat with them.  I'm glad I did.

All areas of life are good.  The Karma Police have finally discovered where I'm living and decided that a little payback is due.  I'd say way overdue, but beggars can't be choosers - or summat.  Even the weather is warming up, about cunting time though, it is the middle of April...

The Man is on his way round now so I must love you and leave you.  Would it be wrong to crack a quick one off whilst watching Thatcher's funeral?

Frankie

Mommie Dearest

Dear Dobson,

Given your absence I can only postulate that things like work, young children and life in general are all demanding your time – either that or you’ve buggered off to the Maldives for three weeks and kept it from me.  I miss you when you’re not here, and you know how much I hate to talk about myself…

I have decided that tomorrow I will buy a Mother’s Day card for the person in question; always a difficult task for a misomater.  Do I assuage my own feelings of guilt by getting her the prettiest card containing the most genuine message, or do I adopt an insouciant attitude towards the whole thing with a cheap and meaningless token gesture?  Decisions, decisions…

Matricidal fantasies aside, I currently have very little to gripe about.  Your previous advice has been heeded and I am doing my utmost to enjoy whatever time I am able to share with The Man.  I find his company fulfilling in many different ways.  I like him – a lot.

I never thought I’d see the day when Justin Timberlake’s standing in my wank bank was rescinded, but given current levels of gratification his position is now somewhat redundant.  When I mailed him to tell him so he took it badly, but that’s Aquarian ego for you…  He’ll get over me.

Frankie

Señorita

Dear Dobson,

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Despite having accumulated many friends over the years, I have always believed you are the one who knows me best.  You may view this as a blessing or a curse, but from my perspective I definitely see it as the former.  If you were within arms’ reach right now, I would grab you in a headlock and reiterate how much ‘I love you, you little fecker’.  

Admittedly, you might shy away from such overt physicality given that I am full of Penis Grigio and spicy food.  I’m also having a Justin Timberlake half-hour on YouTube (an homage to your previous blog title), so there are many ways this scenario could play out...

‘Normal’ life has resumed and, as a result of this, I am currently seeking solace in the fact that Justin is going to “have me naked by the end of this song...”  My boys have returned home and my time with The Man is over until next week at the earliest.  It’s difficult to postpone desire; not only the lust driven brand of desire, but also the kind that leaves you wanting more time to simply be with the person in question, even if you’re only lying au naturel discussing 1970s TV theme tunes.

In part, I suppose sating those lust driven yearnings is where a vibrator comes in handy, though I will always maintain there's nothing like the real thing baby...

In the five years since splitting with my charming ex-husband I have managed to work my way through two vibrators.  My third is serving me well.  The first one frustratingly died on me mid-session, never to be revived despite spending a fortune on new batteries...  RIP #1.  The second death was a much more distressing affair.  I had settled down for a mid-afternoon wank and all was going well until I felt an obvious change in sensation; I paused and looked down between my legs where I spied two small pieces of pink ‘flesh’ lying on the bed sheets.  My initial and rather anguished thought was that my labia had fallen off, luckily however, what was actually lying on the bed were the two pink ‘bunny ears’ and not bits of me...  RIP #2.

I think it’s time to go and commend #3 for a job well done, alongside which, Justin’s going to “give me his heat”.  I look forward to that.

Frankie

Happy Valentine's Day

Dear Dobson,

Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day…  Something I had stealthily managed to avoid until early this evening when I made the fatal error of logging onto The Book of Face.  It was rammed with statuses (statusi?) and pictures of what all the joyous couples out there have been up to.  I’m glad they’re all so happy and that none of their vile display is a desperate ploy to convince their singleton friends, as well as themselves, that life as part of a couple is SO much more fun!

Cunts.

As a result I had to log off and have just spent an hour intermittently wanking whilst watching Crimewatch.  This led to me contemplating that perhaps my postman had been robbed or assaulted today and that he did, in fact, have a full sack of Valentine’s paraphernalia for me.  I shall never know.

Still, it is almost tomorrow when all those couples will be able to revert to quietly loathing each other once more.

Frankie

The Arrival Of Apathy

Dear Dobson,

I am sure you could look back on your many years of teaching and nothing would come close to the huge surge of pride you, no doubt, felt on handing out green pens to your class for self-evaluation...  I get the feeling green wax crayons might have been more appropriate?

The thaw of the Ice Queen is changeable given the cold north easterly winds we are currently tolerating.  I remain unsure as to the best course of action; ‘To feel or not to feel?  That is the question.’  Part of me knows from previous experience that if you open up and allow someone in, it can be a wonderfully enriching and fulfilling adventure.  Conversely, past endeavours have also taught me that the business of feeling can leave you exposed to hurt and heartbreak.  I will think on’t – and perhaps witness the joyful resurrection of the '4am Terror Club' in the process.

On a shallower note – the place where I am happiest – I am relieved to have found the perfect frock for my next gig.  A veritable gift of a dress; it flatters, it’s stylish, it reeks of jazz and I will be able to wear my pearl necklace with it, which will certainly bring a smile to my face.

It’s only just 10 o’clock and I’m already thinking of retiring to the boudoir for some literature and light masturbation.  There are worse ways to spend a Tuesday evening.

Bonne chance with the inspection tomorrow.  Tell them I think they’re cunts and you’ll go far.

Frankie