The one with the guitar.

Sometimes, there is nothing quicker to get me in to bed, than a guy, a guitar and a clever song choice. Its that easy.

I could barely see the man sat right in front of me. In my kitchen at 2am drinking Baileys, and nothing but Baileys. I can still taste the sickly creamy taste in my mouth with a underlying tone of regret. I could just see a very tall man, sat with his guitar playing my favourite song to me. His hair was messy and his eyes were crazy blue. He was a lot older than me, never dated an older guy before, it was all very new and exciting. He was courteous and polite, something that i very rare to find in a human let alone a partner nowadays.

We spent the evening talking about music and life. I kept seeing him look at me while i was singing, very loudly and out of tune, not sure if he was hideously repulsed by me or fascinated. Probably repulsed. I was a state.

We sang and talked all evening, still drinking nothing but Baileys. I think it must have reached the point that we we’re both too drunk to even string a sentence together, let alone put his genitals inside me. So we headed straight to bed, maybe had a bit of a cuddle until we both drifted into an Irish Cream induced coma.

So there I lay, its 6am, I still feel rotten from all the Baileys. Can’t imagine how much cream I’ve consumed, oh god just don’t think about the cream. There’s a man on me. Oh holy shit, we are spooning. NO. HOES DON’T SPOON, HOES DON’T CATCH FEELINGS, HOES DON’T F- that’s his erect penis. Yup. Oh dayum looks who’s come out to play. Can’t quite tell if that’s a decent size or not. It’s just flexing against my bum. So I do what EVERY girl does. When you’re spooning a guy and you’re the little spoon (never be the big spoon girls, totally not worth having a hairy arse squished right on your perfect thighs while he snores and/or farts on you.) Anyway, you’re the little spoon, and you want to get his dick inside you, so you do the bum shuffle.

The bum shuffle – the art of shuffling ones bum seemingly to “get into a more comfortable position whilst partaking in spoons” – this is a lie, it is actually a manoeuvre performed by the female to rub her perky bottom against his manhood to arouse him further. This indicates that the female is ready for coitus.


I take a deep breath, not too loud, that would be weird, and I slowly arch my back and start to grind my hips. It’s quite a slow process normally, like you shuffle and they flex their dick, you shuffle again and they flex again…  it goes on for a while until you have to eventually turn over and hand over the goods.

So i’m bum shuffling and BAM there a hand on my hip. In my head I’m like “YASS SLAY QUEEN FIRE EMOJI 100 EMOJI YASSSSS”. So he’s taken the hint and normally the foreplay begins around about now so I’m all good to go. Wait, what is he doing? Oh he’s going right on in, oh okay. Yep. That’s a penis alright. In my vagina. Didn’t even kiss me. Just went straight in for the goods straight from spooning, this is unprecedented. This is not normal. I AM NOT PREPARED FOR THIS KIND OF SITUATION. Maybe it’s because he’s an older gent and he knows what he’s doing. Honestly stop narrating this Emilie, have you just been lying there in complete stillness over analysing the situation while a hunky piece of man meat is currently residing inside your vagina? Yes. Fantastic. He whispers disgusting things in my ear from behind, not like about poo or toilets, like dirty talking, something I didn’t think I could enjoy. He worked it. He stroked my hair behind my ear and pulled it into a ponytail in his hand. PLEASE. This is all too much. He was the perfect combination of sexy and cute (Yes I stole that quote from a movie.)

After a pretty steamy spoon sex sesh, I turn around and look at him, like that moment on blind date when the screen pulls back to see if you’ve pulled a complete nutcase or not. PLOT TWIST it’s a complete stranger. Joking, it was still him. He smiled at me and kissed me and said “good morning beautiful.” I thought how great it was that I found a man that could do both. Looking into his beautiful crazy blue eyes. Then he sat upright, turned around, put on his clothes and shoes, grabbed his guitar and walked right out the door.

I never saw him again.

Just like that, completely disappeared from my life. Its just so typical that you meet a guy that you could easily take to a family wedding and he’ll charm the pants off of everyone, and then slip his fingers in you in the back of the shared taxi on the way back to your hotel just to keep things interesting, and he doesn’t stay.

And so the quest begins again….

The one with the guitar – 5/10 – Sex and the company was a solid 10. Deducted points for the whole experience. Would not do again, based on what little principals and morals i have left.


The one that made me cry.

Piers Morgan, missing bin day, when you’re brew has gone cold, fidget spinners, smudging your fresh nail varnish, never being able to find that top that you lost, the ending of Sherlock, periods, misogyny, getting cum in your eye. That’s just a small list of things that irritate me.


You’re sat around the in-laws family dinner table, a cracking spread is on. Everyone, including Granny, is there. The conversation is conservative and you try to muscle in a few times with a witty comment or two just so you don’t seem moody but so as to not draw complete attention to yourself. His mum is asking you questions about your life that you try to answer in short but polite sentences. Just hoping she won’t notice your red-eye you have from her sons cum drowning your face about ten minutes before dinner.

Blow jobs. Its time to get real.

There comes a time in a woman’s life when you really feel like you’ve mastered the dick, and then something happens that makes you go “WTF NAH” and you have to learn something new. I call these dick levels. Like each time something new comes up, you learn it, practice it then master it. It just keeps on going. Realistically I’d like to put this on my CV, like “works well under pressure and uses initiative in problem solving.” Loosely translating to “so he’s pounding me from behind and flips me over to put his dick in my mouth and just sits there waiting for me to do something, under pressure I just start going to town on him, with a cheeky little ball rub, because I always go the extra mile…”.


Dick levels;

Level 1 – you have touched a dick

Level 2 – you have given a hand job, no cum

Level 3 – you have given a hand job resulting in cum

Level 4 – you have had a penis inside you

Level 5 – you have a had a penis in your mouth

Level 6 – you have had a penis cum inside/on your body

Level 7- you have had a penis cum on your face/in your mouth

Level 8 – you have had a penis in your bumhole

Level 9 – you have had a penis cum inside your bumhole

Level 10- you have had cum in your eye

Level 11 – you have had a penis on your face. Like sat on your fucking face.

Level 12 – Balls. All the balls.


It’s almost not even funny the amount of times I’ve had cum in my eye, it’s not the worst thing in the world but I swear you’re pulling stringy bits of cum out your eye for at least 12 hours afterwards. But, they’re happy so you’re happy right? WRONG. I live by this rule (with one person being an exception); don’t put their genitals in your mouth if they won’t do the same for you.

I understand the whole thrill for men cumming on a woman’s face, it’s almost territorial, very caveman-esque but it’s just so messy. And how do you know when they’re done?! I like the guys that moan because it gives you a clear indication as to when it’s safe to open your eyes or start to swallow, but the guys that don’t it’s so unclear as to when the danger zone becomes the safe zone. So you’re on the floor mouth open (because of the rule, he munched you out so it’s only fair) and it is happening, there’s cum all over your face, except in your eyes, what a result. It’s stopped. You open your eyes. POW. One last, sad, leftover bit of cum at the end straight in your eye. FANTASTIC. And the worst part is, they laugh. At least if it’s in your mouth, you can swallow it quickly and then chug some water like you’re necking Benilyn.

Anyways. Story time.

I’m at his house. We’re in bed. I’m naked, he’s naked. Genitals have been in places. Everyone is having a great time. It starts to come to the finish, I’m giving him a hand job and a cheeky ball rub. He’s laid down loving life right now and I know him well so I know when he’s about to cum. He starts making that face and making that noise. It’s quite a bit more aggressive than usual. I’m concerned. It all happened in slow motion and it was so wonderful I couldn’t have written a more perfect story if I tried.  Just at the right moment, he lifted his head up, assumingly to look at my radiant beauty and POW. The first squirt of semen shot through the air, past his belly button, past his nipples, past his neck, oh god, past his chin, INTO HIS OPEN MOUTH AND IN HIS FUCKING EYE. WOMEN OF THE WORLD STOOD UP EVERYWHERE AND APPLAUDED AND RAN IN FROM THE STREET CHEERING AND HIGH FIVING ME. But honestly before he’d even finished I was screaming with laughter, still wanking him off, tears streaming down my face, might have even pissed from laughing a little too hard.

A real glass ceiling was shattered that day. He had to sit at the family dinner table, with a red-eye, answering boring questions and trying not to draw attention to himself. I sat there smugly watching him struggle.

The one that made me cry – 9/10 – Purely based on the entertainment factor and not on sexual pleasure at all. Would have given the extra point if he’d swallowed.

The one that took my virginity.

This story was bound to make an appearance. I was given advice when I was younger about losing my virginity, “make sure you save it for a really special person that you love.”  I clearly did not listen at all.


It was April 4th, 2009. I was at a house party necking some hideous “cocktail” mix of Pina-Colada and pretending I enjoyed it. I was with a boyfriend at the time, I was younger than him, smaller than him, smarter than him and in hindsight, I was way too good for him. We walked back from the house party absolutely annihilated, like a typical British Friday night out. Stopping for a piss in the bushes near a local park, nearly getting it all over my knock-off Ugg boots, having to stop because your mate thinks it’s hilarious to steal a traffic cone (who am I kidding, it’s always funny) stopping by the local kebab shop and shouting your order at the poor guy behind the counter who can clearly hear you, throwing up your kebab on the way back to the house and shouting football chants at passers-by.

Finally, we had got back to the house. I knew what was going to happen, he knew what was going to happen. It was tense. I expected this romantic moment, with flowers and candles and hair-stroking. That’s what everyone makes out their first time to be, like some romantic Disney moment, where the Princess becomes a woman because some Prince pummelled her hymen in and animals flock in from the street and applaud and lay a flower-crown on her head and they marry at dusk the next day. NAH. You only become a woman once you learn how to not sneeze just after doing your mascara. I’m still yet to master this.

We got up to his room, there was a single bed with one pillow and a large hole in the wall next to it. The door wouldn’t shut properly so you had to wedge it shut with this big box of old records he kept by it. His curtains were just an old bedsheet and it stank of cigarettes and misery. It was like I had walked onto the set of Shameless.

I laid myself down on the bed, taking off my tights and my 15 bracelets (because it was 2009 therefore the more accessories you had, the cooler you were. FACT.) He grinded away on top of me for a few minutes, it didn’t hurt. Could have been a drink related issue or a size related issue. We’ll never know.. He must have cum because it came to a very quick halt and I honestly did not feel a thing. No fanny flutters, no twitching in my nether regions, not even a nip-on. What a disappointment. He got up went to the toilet, I immediately grabbed my phone to text my friend about what had just happened, we had a joke about me never losing my virginity so naturally I was ecstatic to prove someone wrong. As I reached for my phone, this dark cloud came over me, like a guilty feeling in my stomach. Is this how I wanted to lose my virginity? This was not what I imagined. This is the story I’ll have to tell forever, my stomach churned again. Oh god. That’s not guilt in there. That’s vomit. Pure unadulterated vomit.

My boyfriend ran and got me a bucket, now if that’s not true love, I don’t know what is…. I immediately spewed everywhere, it tasted of coconut, pineapple and regret. He left the room allowing me to throw up with my dignity still intact. What a gent. I still had my phone in my hand and for some reason I lost grip of it for a few seconds. In the bucket it went. Along with any scraps of dignity I had left at this point, I had nothing left to lose. So my hand plunged into the bucket straight away, and it then occurred to me that I was sat there, naked, covered in my own sick, holding my phone that was saturated with my own sick, no hymen, no dignity. This is not the Disney moment I was promised?!

I ran to the toilet to clean myself off, and you know how it is when you’re in someone’s house that you don’t know that well, you don’t know how their stuff works, for example, their doors, I couldn’t close the door, it wouldn’t slide or move. THERE IS NO TIME TO BE FUCKING WITH DOORS. I’m naked on the floor of the bathroom, chundering into their toilet, sort of crying at the same time. Mascara running down my face, vomit on my tiddies and I look down at myself and JESUS. There is blood EVERYWHERE. FUCK. It’s on my hands, on my body, all over my legs and vagina. It’s like my body is a crime-scene. This is a new low. I hear footsteps, ah thank god my Prince is coming to rescue me. I look up in between the bouts of vomit, to see a middle-aged woman in her pyjamas standing in the doorway staring down at me, at what can only be described as a complete cluster-fuck. I wave at her. GOOD ONE EMILIE. SMOOTH. She stands there, in a stunned silence. I’m still waving at her, smiling.

Thankfully, my boyfriend heard what was happening, as I think the woman (his mum) let out a little yelp when she stumbled across me. He paraded in, scooped me up off the bathroom floor in all my glory and took me away. He felt it was necessary at this point to introduce us, I still carried on waving like a child as he paraded me away.


The one that took my virginity- 0/10. I slept with him for 2/3 further years after this and this is the only memorable story I have.

The one that was boring.

It was New Year’s Day. My resolution: do not have sex with the next person that gives you attention. Make them work for that vagina. Do not just give it away like a free sample of Cherry Bakewell at Waitrose, people will feign interest and eye up your cherries, take one bite of your creamy, nutty, jammy filling (not sure where I’m going with this analogy..) and then move on looking for the next free sample without ever buying the Tart for themselves. GREEDY BASTARDS.

So naturally, when I get a message from a guy I know asking to meet me for a drink, I jump at the chance because why would I listen to my own advice? I meet the guy for a drink and things go rather well, we have good conversation at first and he actually makes me laugh, not like that small nostril snort that you have to do to try and get into a guy’s pants like “HAHA oh my god you’re so funny stop it eat me out HAHA what”..

We head back to his friend’s house because he didn’t have his own place. He still lived with his parents. He was 30. That’s a deal-breaker for me. If you still live with your parents that’s fine, but if you expect me to come back to your parent’s house and exchange pleasantries with them and then ten minutes later I’m sitting on your face trying not to scream while they sit in the next room watching fucking Countdown, you sir, are wrong.

We’re at the house, watching something boring on TV and I’m listening to his boring voice tell me boring stories about his boring life, and it hits me that actually while this guy may be attractive, he is exceedingly boring. Oh what a mistake I have made. Does this mean he’s going to be boring in the bedroom? Ugh. Did not think this through. It happens to the best of us, you find a man and he’s relatively attractive, dresses well, smells good, has his own money and takes care of himself but my god he’s making my vagina shrivel, dry up and yawn because he is so, fucking, boring. I thought I’d give him a chance to prove me wrong. I had made the trip after all, put in the graft, may as well try and make the best out of a bad situation. What if he’s so boring because he’s saving up all his energy for the bedroom?

I could not have been more wrong.

As I lay there bored shitless while he pumped away aimlessly jabbing into my vagina like he was trying to unclog a blocked sink (not that my vagina was blocked, I always get regular smears ladies DON’T RISK GETTING A GRIMEY VAGINA)  – I realised I wasn’t making any noise. OH GOD. How long had I not been making noise for? Like has he noticed? Are we both just mind-numbingly bumping out genitals together in a blind search for companionship and happiness but never really fulfilling that one true existential life crisis that all humans crave love? Shut the fuck up Emilie, just moan a bit for the love of god so he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking a corpse. What if he likes that? What if that’s getting him off more? Shall I close my eyes for him? Hold my breath? Can’t really ask him all this. Just focus on the task at hand. So easily distracted.

He finishes, I’m honestly no way near. Not even close. Not even actually wet, surprised you could get it in there mate. Although I suppose it’s used to Tampon sized objects going in dry, so no biggie (LITERALLY). I clean myself up and head home, wondering what I had done in a past life to get this kind of dick-karma thrown at me. I travel off into the sunset alone, with an unsatisfied vagina, wondering if I’ll ever get the dick I deserve.

The one that was boring – 1/10 – he smelt good and kept his socks on, that deserves a pity point I guess. Would not do again.

Thank you 😘

It’s 10:28am on a slightly muggy Tuesday morning. I’ve awoken in a different city, in a different bed, with a different dick (The Dick Diary must have accurate and regular research…) coffee in hand I’m scrolling through Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat reading the feedback everyone has written about the blog. I am honestly so overwhelmingly blown away by how many of you have shared it and oddly enough had similar harrowing experiences for yourselves (I am so sorry you’ve had to endure the same shitty dick as I have). 

But what started off as a joke between me and my best friend, now had over 12,500 views online and I’m so thankful and appreciative of how well received it has been! Believe me when I say, these stories are just the tip of a very miserable and embarrassing iceberg! 

A friend recently asked me; “What happens when you run out of Dick to write about?”, I told him “I hope such a time never comes, because what’s the point in doing something weird if you can’t tell anyone about it?”. 

Thank you for the support and love, I will be back with another entry in the next few days! 

Lots of love

Emilie x

The one with the pale legs.

If I said to you, what’s the nastiest smell you have ever smelt? I guarantee you could take me to a time and a place and tell me exactly what happened and what you smelt. It sticks with you for life.


I’d been sleeping with the guy for just over a year now. We were semi-exclusive, not according to Facebook (what does that mean anyway, we live in a culture now where if something happened, and it isn’t on Facebook, it almost didn’t happen… but let’s not open that box…). I stayed at his most weeks and we would do couple-y things, go for dinner, go to country parks, and sleep with our exes… WHAT?! Yeah. The whole time he was sleeping around. Exes, girls from a night out, work colleagues, old friends, my friends…  I would find women’s toiletries in his flat, his shitty excuses would be “oh it was left here from the last tenant.” Or “It’s yours isn’t it?”. Moron. I would let him believe that I believed his stories, just for his ego.

To summarise; the pale-legged cretin put it in anything that moved and I let him because I was convinced “I could change him”. UGH VOM.

On one particular evening, Mr Pale-Legs and I are going at it. Now the sex was never that bad. He sort of knew what he was doing, but like most lads, he enjoyed doing that whole pneumatic drill thing. Where you actually start to have a good time, it’s a good speed, good angle, and you’re loving life thinking you actually get to finish tonight. He picks up on this and instead of carrying on with exactly what he’s doing (which would eventually make you cum therefore filling his ego and above all mean that you have a great fucking time) he decides to pound the shit out of you. Like a pneumatic drill, just banging into you over and over again with no real precision or accuracy. Making that HIDEOUS NOISE (you know exactly what noise I’m on about) while you lay there watching him sweat and pull that really weird pounding face that guys do. Like they’ve seen something traumatic in a War and they’re angry about it and also slightly gurning. U K HUN?

While I watch him pull this face and ultimately ruin yet another perfectly good evening, he then pipes up with “Let me cum in your mouth”. I hate those words. Especially coming from someone most certainly does not deserve to cum anywhere near there. You know where you’re past that stage of letting him cum on your face and in your mouth like bitch please you barely deserve to cum on my tits. YOU BEEN CHEATIN’ ON ME.

Its awkward when they say that because then you have to open up some kind of debate in your head whilst you’re mid-coitus. Like you sit there thinking; “what have you done for me lately for you to literally secrete you essence into my mouth while I sit there smiling sweetly and you want me to swallow that shit too?!”. – You translate this for him by saying “I really want you to cum on my tits”. NAILED IT. They think you want them to do it and you’re getting off on it. You convince them that they should cum on your tits instead and they change their minds. Happy days. One quick wipe and you’ll be off to sleep in no time.

Now. Mr Pale-Legs, wasn’t the healthiest of guys. He didn’t eat well, he smoked, he drank a lot. His diet was as healthy as our relationship. And if you don’t know this already, the smell, consistency and overall state of your semen is heavily affected by your diet.

Its crunch time. I’m on the floor, holding his balls (I had to do something, otherwise you’re just sat there awkwardly like a dog waiting for a treat that’s honestly not a fucking treat). He pulls his head back and starts breathing heavily. I’m thinking “YAS, in two minutes time I will be in bed, watching Downton Abbey falling soothingly to sleep. What a result”. It starts happening. It’s relatively quick but I look down and it’s a weird consistency, like it’s not all completely liquid. Is some of it solid? It looks weird, like is that a dick bogey? What in the name of Jesus has just ejaculated out your dick? Have you got nob rot? OMG. Have you just spaffed a disease all over my beautiful tiddies?! Like it literally looks like a visual representation of gonorrhoea. And then. Something happened that I did not ever foresee. The smell that wafted up into my face. It was like someone had opened a bin full of rotting milk.

I ran to the toilet as fast as I could. My beautiful twins covered in what could only be described as sperm-AIDs. I slam the door shut and run to the sink. I flop my boobs into the sink and start splashing water around manically just to wash this shit off me. But the water starts to make it congeal. It’s becoming more and more solid. I’ve got it on my hands. I’ve got it down my arms. I’m missing Downton Abbey, this is the worst day. I look up into the mirror and I see a small blob of the sex-gloop, on my face. THE LAST PLACE I FUCKING WANTED IT TO BE. That’s it. I lose my shit. I’m about to go mental and grab the bleach when the smell just tickles my nostrils again. Mr Pale-Legs enters the bathroom, in a split second I look at him dead in the eyes with so much anger. I turn around to the toilet, drop to my knees, and chunder everywhere.

I do this for around 3 minutes, just for dramatic effect. I get up and wipe my mouth. Head held high. Mr Pale-Legs still watching me. I wash my hands and I watch as what’s left of my dignity slowly pours down the drain.


The one with the pale legs. – 1/10. Aside from the cum-AIDs we had a relatively good sex life. Until recently I revisited the D, not sure what all the fuss was about. That’s a story for another time… Never trust a man with pale legs.