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Tuesday 14th May 2019

May 14, 2019

So in my eagerness to write to you last week and update the world on my journey into therapy (I start full time next week), I actually completely forgot to update you on my real life goings on. The weekend before last (the weekend before my therapy update) was so much fun. We threw one of my best friends and bride-to-be a surprise engagement party, which gave us the opportunity to celebrate her, her partner and their gorgeous love story, but also gave me the opportunity to reconnect with people who I used to be very good pals with and haven’t seen in years. It was glorious, and made me feel like my giddy, stress-free 19 year old self all over again. Fast forward to this past weekend, when I again got to re-live my glory days even further. We had an all-girls sleepover and inevitable prosecco drinking competition on Friday night, as my beloved was away on his own ‘lad’s weekend’. When I’ve got the girls over and we’re dancing and flashing each other our tits and gorging on that age old steady diet of hummus and bubbles, I feel so young again. It feels so carefree to perform the musical hits from Moana whilst simultaneously taking your knickers off. Ah, bliss. I then spent the majority of the rest of my weekend wishing my beloved would return as I am going through an extremely needy phase and can’t get enough of his cutest ever face.

 

On a completely separate but quite similar note, I am going away tomorrow to try and claw back some more of my youth (and spend three more nights without my man friend). It’s our first girls trip abroad in absolutely bloody ages and we’re going to Marrakesh. I. Can’t. Wait. I’m going to do so much exploring in the day, and sampling of local cocktails in the evening, all the while attempting to balance wearing something fashionable and gorgeous but also covering of the breasts, legs and shoulders and not making me sweat my tits off in 30+ degree heat. I also need to factor in the inevitable chaffing risk into the mix. Wish me luck.

 

Serious question, can I take a vibrator to Morocco? I’ve sacked off my ‘Off For a Shag’ tote bag and anything (so basically everything) in my wardrobe with a plunging neckline, but are they really going to arrest me for debuting my new mini-massaging magic wand (Lovehoney’s finest)? I mean, I should probably be clearer here and mention that it will, of course, be in the safety and comfort of my own room whilst my poor gal pal roommate is busying herself elsewhere, and not just in the middle of a dusty Souk. Whatever, I’ll take my chances. There’s a strong gamble on me losing my head if I don’t orgasm for four days, so it’s in the interests of everyone’s safety, anyway. I’m just so horny at the moment. God knows why. Probably something to do with my hormones or the moon or my mind-of-their-own chakras. But I am. It’s Tuesday morning, and, even after a pretty fantastic Sunday night shag, I’ve been nagging (and subsequently seriously annoying) my boyfriend to deeply penetrate me since his return. Probably not the most appropriate time for me to visit a Muslim country in the midst of Ramadan, but here we go (try and get those images of SATC2’s Samantha moment where she makes it rain with condoms).

 

 

 

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