The Fuck Buddy Complex

After the dust had settled on my previous relationship and my brain was again able to finally form actual real thoughts instead of replaying an endless loop of “our best bits” like a lazy sitcom episode, my initial thought was; “well that’s my sex life over with… for the time being”.

I knew I wouldn’t be jumping straight back on the horse [probably could have picked a better metaphor for sex to be honest], but then at the same time I knew it wouldn’t be long. You may see that as being a little egotistical, but I have a tried and tested method; get into a relationship, get out of a relationship, have sex, get into a different relationship… I’m not trying to claim I invented this method, but it’s always gone this way for me. I’ve never really had a long ‘draught’ – apart from the time I lost my virginity, it took me another two years to have sex again… but I’d be practicing over those two years [you think adolescent males pick on each other for being virgins, try and be the one in the group that had sex then didn’t for two fucking years]. Since then, the flow of gash has never subsided for too long. I’m not trying to portray myself as some sort of player, when comparing figures [of women desperate enough to sleep with us] with numerous friends, I’m some where in the middle, between virgin and man-whore, which I’m more than content with [so content in fact it’s the first sentence on my covering letter I supply with my C.V.].

You see, the thing is I’ve been lucky enough to secure myself fuck buddies over the years; this is what’s kept me my figures at a medium and purchases of tissue low. I don’t know who came up with the brilliant concept of fuck buddies but I’d love to shake his hand [I presume it was a man, seems like the kind of thing WE’D do] after he’d given it a good wash first, mind you.

When you’ve been in a long-term relationship, sex almost becomes stale, it becomes the same rigmarole, you both know what to expect; nothing new, nothing exciting. Towards the end of the relationship it’s simply a loveless act, hollow of any emotion, just one of those things you do, like saying “I love you” every once in a while to break the awkward silences in between television adverts. Then you have sex with someone else, then you realise; “Oh yeah! This is why humanities obsessed with sex… because it’s fucking amazing!” 

You fall back in love with sex; it’s great, a rush of endorphins to the brain and a rush of blood to your member, then a rush of sperm onto her thigh, then a rush of apologies from your mouth. It’s a rush!

Two of my close friends had been in fuck buddy relationships [they’ve asked me to point out that it wasn’t with each other] just before I re-entered the single life and once I was finally single those relationships had blossomed into … well … relationships. I was foolhardy enough to think that I wouldn’t let that happen to me. “Pfft… emotions are simply a creation of conglomerate greeting card companies to help sell their products” I’d tell myself as I sat alone in my room while my friends went out and formed meaningful connections with those they loved. I tried to convince myself I had that Barney Stinson swagger… although my boy never suits up, yet I’m still disease free.

The thing is meaningless sex is easy to have with someone that doesn’t mean much to you [I may never have meaningless sex ever again after that sentence, although most women I’ve had meaningless sex with can’t read… so I may be OK]. The ‘problem’ arises when those emotions you previously discounted begin to surface and you’re fuck buddy starts to do things that encourage those emotions to grow like turning up at your house with a bottle of Southern Comfort. Then in between all the sex you start to realise you have plenty in common, then before you know it you’re in a predicament.

That predicament is; although you both agreed this was strictly sex [Shameless Plug; watch out for my new Strictly Come Dancing spin-off; Strictly Cum Sex pilot episode ‘cumming’ to BBC in the winter], you start to think; “Wow, this girl’s pretty amazing, so much better than any other fuck buddy I’ve had before, plus we have tons in common AND I’m not ashamed to be seen out with her in public!” but is she thinking the same thing? Then you begin to catalogue your own qualities as to how they compare against hers and you fall short; an obsession with rap battles and drinking until you pass out doesn’t appeal to most women. You look at what she’s done for you; treated me great, laughed at my shitty jokes [and my Amateur Abortionist rap] and bought me that bottle of SoCo [yes, I’ve mentioned that, but Southern Comfort is a necessity] against what you’ve done for her and somehow; “well… I give her the dick” doesn’t quite measure up [short penis joke implied]. With all this in mind you try to contain those emotions, because if you let them out you’ll ruin the fuck buddy relationship and back to spraining your wrist on a daily basis.

But eventually it gets too much like the guilt you feel from murdering a younger sibling [my lawyer wishes me to point out that that was a “wacky simile and has no connection to me or any court case I’m currently involved in”]; you have to blurt it out. Then you wait for her response, those seconds feel like really long seconds, then she doesn’t respond but that’s fine because she’s asleep and this whole saga was simply a ‘practice run’ so you know how it’s going to happen when she’s conscious. Then finally, with enough Southern Comfort courage you ask her out, then she says “Yes”, then you’re happy, then she inspires you to write again, then you write a blog about it, then you hope she doesn’t kill you.

Wanking, Wet Dreams and Wanting to get Laid (in my House)

So, this is an extremely embarrassing situation that I will now share with you. But firstly let me just explain “wa’ gwan” in the house I call my home. For those of you that don’t know, I live with Leon and Kate in a 3 bedroom house. They both have bedrooms upstairs, while I have the bedroom downstairs. It just so happens that my bedroom is the room that leads directly to the street via the front door. Now this causes me a few problems, the first one being the draft; my room can get extremely cold sometimes. The next and perhaps bigger problem is the amount of privacy I get. See as people are able to enter my room at anytime. Of course we do have a back door, but to get to that you have to tackle a gate, a simple task you may think, but this gate is fucking confusing and if we don’t shut and lock it correctly we may bump heads with our coffin dodger of a neighbour.

Now I’ve explained the back story, I will go on to embarrass myself. Because of this fact I do not have much ‘personal time’. And of cause by ‘personal time’, I mean I don’t masturbate that often. Which isn’t too bad, I’m not the biggest fan of masturbating anyway. I’m slightly homophobic, so touching any penis makes me feel slightly queer (queer as in odd). But as all males should know, if you don’t “let the boys escape” on a regular basis they will build up. Once they’ve built up to a certain stage they will plan a break out, usually while you are sleeping, in the form of a wet dream. This leads me nicely to my next topic of discussion.

There’s nothing more embarrassing than having a wet dream at my age. Wet dreams are for young teenage boys, not boys my age. Recently, with the amount of ‘personal time’ and getting action (more on that later) on a permanent low, my wet dreams have been more often than ever. And even worse, when I do have a wet dream I always prematurely ejaculate in the dream. It always happens. I’m about to “get inside”, then boom! Last time it was gallons of cum hitting some ugly bird in the face, I think she drowned at the end of the dream. I promise (especially to any foxy ladies reading) that I have never had this problem in reality, not even once. Sure there’s been problems getting it up sometimes, but I never ejaculate prematurely. There’s another thing about my ‘Wet Dream Girls’, they’re always the worst looking women ever. This raises many questions in my head. The main one being; How come I prematurely ejaculate over terrible looking women?

Lastly, and probably the worst of all is since I moved into this house I still have not had sex here. I’ve had sex in other places, just not in my house. The year is almost up too. If I don’t get laid in my house before 2009 I might kill myself. This is worsened by the fact I’m limited with my ‘personal time’ and I can’t even get laid in my wet dreams! And you wonder why I’m atheist! I know sperm banks with less sperm than me! Honestly people, everyday that passes more sperm builds up inside my sack and my skin seems to be getting paler and paler.

Women Troubles

I’m a man and like all (heterosexual) men I have trouble with females, and just lately I’ve had real trouble. It turns out that women are becoming immune to Rhohipnol. Of course I’m joking. There was once a rumour going around that I used date rape drugs on girls. But I had to defend my reputation and put an end to these damaging rumours. I had NEVER taken a single one of those girls on a date! Ever! And in no way do I condone drugging or rape, at all. But I do understand that ugly guys need an edge. Rhohipnol is like Lucozade for the unattractive and desperate.

Another problem with women is they want all these things; a man who cares for them, a man that has a sense of humour and they always top it off with these immortal words; “I don’t care what he looks like!” Which is complete bullshit. Stop lying to us ladies. I have many wonderful friends, not the best looking lads that ever walked the Earth but extremely nice guys. They never get any ladies. Me on the other hand, I’m a complete cunt, I have no sense of humour and I beat off women with a baseball bat (but that’s a hobby of mine). But I’m good looking; I’m one of the lucky ones.

What also annoys me about women is that years ago they were fighting for their right to vote, but when it comes to making decisions in the household they completely have no understanding of how democracy works. Because a woman’s word is final. A marriage/relationship is basically a dictatorship. No matter what anyone else thinks, it’s wrong.

I'm going to be a Dad ...

It’s time to let the world know that I’m going to be a father. Yes, after years of believing I was firing blanks it turns out I’m not, or maybe I am and my girlfriend is being a whore. I just wanted to write this Blog to explain a few things because I’m sick of repeating myself and answering the same questions. So here I go …

“Were you trying for a baby?”
No we weren’t trying to get pregnant, but we were having unprotected sex.

“Why weren’t you using protection?”
It feels better without a condom.

“What about the pill?”
We’re always taking pills, just not that ‘pill’.

“Were you surprised that she got pregnant?”
Of course I was. I didn’t even know twelve year olds could get pregnant.

“Are you sure you’re the dad?”
No.

“How has your mum the news?”
I’m not telling her, she had a stroke last year. I don’t want to kill her … just yet!

“How did her family take the news?”
I have no idea. I only bought the mail-order-bride, not the mail-order-bride and family. I didn’t have that much money. I’m sure if they survived the tsunami or haven’t been murdered by their oppressive government, they’ll be happy about it.

But I’m looking forward to being a dad. I think years of being neglected by my own father have made being a father look easy for me. For me a father is someone that never sees his kids, never pays anything towards his kids and never buys any birthday/Christmas present. That’s basically what I do now, so I don’t think it will affect my life at all.

Of course it took us a while to discover she was even pregnant. It’s hard to notice you’ve missed a period when you’ve never had one. At first I just thought my future baby mother was just getting a little fat. And as for morning sickness, it’s a lot like a hangover, so it’s easy to confuse the two. Because we’re a young couple, well she’s a young girl and I still think I’m sixteen so we still enjoy drinking every night and the weekly drug binges. Of course drinking and taking drugs when you’re pregnant is probably not good for the child, but it’s a bastard child being born into a loveless relationship of a drug addict and a school girl, this child is bound to have problems and end up on crack anyway. If it’s born addicted it just saves itself a few week of sobriety.

I need to tell you I believe in smacking children, not because I think it’s the best way to punish children, but because my partner has hit puberty now, she’s getting bigger and strong and starting to fight back. And I can’t afford a punch bag. So hitting the baby will be the only form of getting rid of my stress.

Underage Drinkers and Sexual Abuse

I got the shock of my life the other day. While walking passed an off-licence I saw a few girls sat outside it. Three of them aged about 13, typical Chav-types, wearing tracksuits and Nike Airs.

One of them shouted me over, asking how old I was. So I told them, even though I knew what was coming next. So they asked me to go inside and buy them so alcohol. I said no, and began to walk off.

"I'll give ya a blow job, if you do!", shouted one of them.

This is what sickened me until no end. A 13 year old girl willing to give oral sex for alcohol. What has this country come to? Many things started racing threw my head, like this girl must have been abused when she was younger, perhaps by her jobless, dole-collecting stepdad and she has to use alcohol to block out the pain. Or was she just tricked by an older boy, who told her he loved her so he could get his end away. There's so many possibilities. Whatever it was that turned this young girl into a sluttly bitch trading sex favours for booze, it sure did make her good at sucking dick!



P.S. She swallowed, incase you were wondering.

Pussy Whipped?

What is it will with the male gender? That as soon as they get involved with a female their mates begin to label them 'pussy whipped'? Pussy whipped ... even the sound of it gives me a semi, because I looooove pussy.

I'm now going to explain why being pussy whipped is a good thing.

Now it's come to my attention that some of my friends believe I'm pussy whipped, that's fine. They are entitled to your opinions. But these are the same friends that wouldn't recognise a pussy if they saw one in real life. They're only used to seeing them in printed form or on their PC screens. So they wouldn't know what to do with one, if they came across one (Yeah - cheap pun, but who cares?).

Because I get phone calls inviting me out, but I've already made plans with the missus, so I have to decline. Then the next day I get a call like this;
"Ben, you should have come to the pub last night, we got turned down by 27 girls and one guy dressed in drag!"
"Sorry lads, I was too busy fucking!"
What's the point of going out and getting turned down by a massive number of dirty skets when I have a beautiful girl ready and waiting to suck my cock? Yes, I understand that I should spend time with my friends, but when it comes down to it; pussy > friends!

"Ben, you should have come to my party man, some random people turned up and stole all the light bulbs in the house, then the cops came, and they couldn't see, they thought I was a burgler and beat me half to death ... and someone took a shit in the kitchen sink. it was amazing!!"
"Sorry man, I was busy eating pussy!"

Because I love to eat pussy, everyman does (apart from homosexuals - of course). Here's a point for any females reading, if your boyfriend/husband does not eat you out there's something wrong with him ... or there's something wrong with your gash. So get to the doctors as soon as possible, if you're given the all clear, get yourself to the nearest singles bar!


I have a friend who told me, eating a woman out is 'gay'. Now this friend clearly doesn't understand what he his talking about. A man going down on a woman is possibly the most hetrosexual act a couple can perform. Now if you go down on a woman and her testicles start slapping you in the chin, that is gay ... and this woMAN has a secret. There's nothing sexier than having a girl's thighs wrapped around your neck to the point you think she's going to snap your head off if you continue. But you keep lapping it up like a dehydrated pitbull until you get hit by an avalanche of cum!