You know the theme-song from CSI by The Who? “Whoooo are you? Who-who, who-who”? That seems to be the question on some people’s minds. There has been the obvious association with Belle de Jour, probably because it’s the only notorious sex blog out there. This blog was not intended as a Belle de Jour Part Deux , though I very much enjoy her writing and am flattered by the comparison. Hopefully she won’t mind, but I suppose I could take a page out of her book and begin as she did by telling you a bit about myself.
The first thing you should know about me is that I am not a whore. I am not a man. I am not a Porter or a Don. I am a student. Why not tell you whether I’m at Oxford or Cambridge? Mainly because I was going for a broader readership really. People around college have actually taken little notice it seems, at least in my circle of friends. Luckily I was able to keep London commuters amused (or possibly angered) thanks to yesterday’s Evening Standard.
Don’t believe my stories? Well you choose to read this blog as much as I choose to write it, so that’s your prerogative. These are my experiences and my opinions and quite frankly I’m really not bothered if you dislike them or disagree with them. But I’m glad that so many people enjoy what I write, and I very much appreciate the kind things that people have said. Right now I'm just surprised that people are even interested in it at all.
If I’m honest, I had a minor panic attack yesterday after reading the Daily Mail. What if someone recognises my stories? What if I accidentally send an email to a reporter from my student email address? Or sign my name when writing from my sexatoxbridge email address? (ALMOST* did that this morning) This anonymous thing could get a bit tricky.
In terms of worrying over whether or not any of the men I write about recognise themselves, I’ve come to terms with the fact that they very well could do. Am I worried about them outing me? Absolutely not. Would you want to tell the world that you dumped your girlfriend a week after taking her virginity? Or that you have a small penis and like unprotected anal sex? I didn’t think so.
On a side note, if you did pick up the Evening Standard last night, and happened to come across their mention of me, you should know that they made a massive error when they said:
“She started blogging about her experiences after a funny incident with a client.”
Oh dear. I have never, and will never, take money for sex. Though I certainly do not judge those who do. Good Lord, a girl who likes sex and doesn’t get paid for it? It’s madness I say! But back to that sentence, the “client” they referred to was actually the first boyfriend I ever lived with. He didn’t pay me. But I did get free rent . . . Hmm, fine line? I don’t know. Also, I started blogging because it seemed like the most productive and entertaining form of procrastination whilst avoiding revision, not because of some outrageously funny one-off.
Lastly, this whole “closet nympho” thing has been blown a bit out of proportion I feel. Sex certainly doesn’t rule my life, I don’t solicit strange encounters online or anything like that. I like having sex because it is fun and often comedy ensues. Sex isn’t an illness for me, just a pastime.
Right then. Less talk, more sex! Next post won’t be so serious and reactionary. Get ready for Blues Part II. Row, row, row your boat . . .