This is a little story I wrote. I think every girl has been in this position to a lesser or greater degree. It’s painful to experience these emotions but it’s important to talk about them. People often paint a picture of being single as an amazing sexual free for all but they always leave out how it actually feels to have no strings sex. Admittedly it’s not consistently like this. I know a lot of people who enjoy anonymous sex, one night stands or being the other half of a fuck buddy. However when you’re in a place when all you want is for someone to love you, take care of you and appreciate you as a human being having sex with someone who does none of those things will most certainly make you feel this way. I wrote after having a conversation with my friend today about how badly some people treat others, especially after having sex with them. This isn’t true but I think we can all take parts of this and relate to it. I can.


I feel his hands attack my waist. My skin slides across his bedsheets. I grab at his headboard, trying to get away from his advances.
‘My pussy is so sore…’ I protest pathetically.
This is technically true. We’d fucked 8 times today.
‘You can take it’ he commands and drags me into the middle of his bed. Towering over me menacingly, his presence is undeniable. He bends me over pushing me into his pillow.
‘Please!’ I moan half muffled.
‘Fine’ he grunts reaching over to his bedside table to pick up the tiny bottle of lube that lies beside me.
He coats his hand in it and slowly strokes my vagina.
All day he has used me. Spat on me, slapped me, and anally penetrated me. Beat me with the back of a hairbrush until I cried. Throat fucked me until I almost threw up. This is the only kind notion he has demonstrated towards me today and I can’t but help feel enamoured by him. It’s the time honoured tradition of females falling for men who treat them badly.
His fingers gently massage in the last bit of lube. I inwardly groan knowing that he’ll be back to slamming my ladyparts as hard as he can soon.
I scream out in pain as his dick enters my used up vaj. The lube barely helps as I feel his whole girth force its way inside of me.
He fucks me quickly. His balls slap against my thighs.
I am nothing more than a set of holes to him.
‘It hurts!’ I cry out, I want him to stop. Badly.
‘Shut up’.
His hands grab my bruised bottom and I feel him squeezing as hard as he can.
It makes me whimper in pain.
I wish he was done. I wish he would spunk inside me for the ninth time so I could get into my own bed and clutch my swollen pussy. If only he’d spare me and wank off into the toilet. But he won’t.
He notices I’m distracting myself from him. From his torturous fucking. He pulls at my hair as hard as he can. I feel the blood rush to my head. It makes me dizzy.
‘Oi, you stupid whore’ he pounds me again, this time much rougher.
My vagina feels as if it is being ripped apart. I am one hundred percent sure there’s tearing down below. It would not surprise me if I was bleeding.
It hurts.
How it hurts. The friction from his cock is too much to take.
I want to cry. But I can’t reveal this side of myself to him.
I’m vulnerable though.
I can only take so much without any compassion. I’m not made of stone, however much I want him to think I am.
He thrusts madly into me again, over and over and over. Non-stop fucking is driving me crazy. I used to be one of those people who enjoyed sex. Until I met him. Until he sucked it out of me. Until I felt someone fuck me when I wasn’t stimulated enough.
He has to be almost done, surely?
His member is like sandpaper inside me.
Then finally as he squirts his hot sperm inside me I gasp out loud.
Curled up in a foetus position on his bed small, silent tears escape my right eye. I so desperately want him to cradle me in his arms, kiss my forehead, pull the blankets over me and tell me how much he loves me.
Except he won’t do any of that, because he doesn’t love me and I don’t love him. He’s just another man who I’ve let have sex with me.
Yet another guy I’ve fucked because I think he’s going to somehow end up as my boyfriend one day. The reality is he won’t. As soon as I leave his door he’ll stop returning my text messages and move on to another less insecure, less promiscuous girl who he’ll inevitably start a loving relationship with. What will I be left with?
‘I’m going now’ I say rubbing my eyes.
He scrunches his dick in his hand, letting his flaccid member slap his right leg. He giving me a look of self-pity.
I get dressed and leave.
I hang around on his front doorstep for a while. Letting what I have done sink in a little.
He opens his bedroom window. I can hear him on the phone to someone.
‘Hi baby girl. When are you coming home? I miss you.’
Not even a one night stand. Just a cheap fuck from a disgusting prick who can’t keep his dick inside his pants.


I’ve recently been accepted into London South Bank University and now face the daunting realisation that this is the final chance I have to ever complete higher education. About two years ago I, like everyone else in my college class, completed the necessary forms to go to University, attended open days and finally chose the course and the University I wanted to go to.

LSBU at night!

Except instead of basing my decision solely on the fact that the course was right for me, I  chose to make the highly uninformed decision of chosing the same University that my now ex boyfriend wanted to go to. Blinded by immature lust I readily chose Lincoln University as one of my top choices, predictably however my boyfriend and I broke up and in a panic state I realised it was no longer a decent idea to go to Lincoln after all.

I had no idea what to do, it was May and the closing deadline was fast approaching, could I stay there and just avoid him I thought to myself? That wasn’t going to work either, the campus was small and we’d eventually akwardly bump into each other. Plus a part of me felt that there wasn’t anything there for me in Lincoln, sure it was a nice University and it was accredited by all the right newspapers but it was not much better than the town I wanted to get out of. So in my sheer haste to hit the UCAS deadline I chose my second choice instead. Roehampton University in South West London has one of the most beautiful, breathtaking campuses I had ever seen, it ticked all the right boxes and was marginally more difficult than Lincoln to get into – therefore better, I stupidly assumed

Roehampton Uni, probably one of the nicest campuses I've ever been to.

Months later I was on my way to London in my Dad’s car, but suddenly the journey seemed to be much longer than expected and soon we had passed the bright city lights of Westminster and were now heading past Hammersmith. I hadn’t realised that it was barely in London at all, in fact up until recently it was classed as being in the borough of Surrey. Forgetting that I moved into halls with a bunch of other nervous, first year strangers. At first it was fine, we went out together, got ready together, did everything together. Until the differences between us started to show and conflicts over ridiculous situations arose and then I found myself alone. So very alone. I was 3 hours away from home and living with people who seemed to dislike me, suddenly the idea of University seemed so unglamorous and boring that I would have cut off my own finger to be back home at that very moment. So I weighed up the pro’s and cons, do I stay and spend money living somewhere I don’t like or go home and be deemed as the girl who dropped out of Uni.

I took the second option and two months into my stay I was back in my Dad’s car again leaving. Driving away from the campus and going back home crushed me, I felt so incredibly stupid that I couldn’t have stuck it out longer. The worst part was having to Facebook message my old friends telling them I had left. In general leaving University was a depressing time in my life, for months I fell into a stupour of getting up at 5pm, watching Two and a Half Men for hours then going out with my friends and getting drunk, I did this countless times until the thoughts in my head of being a failure slowly disappeared. Then one day I decided enough was enough, I had left Roehampton for a reason and I had to stop sugar coating the situation in my head. As soon as I realised that everything fell into place as to why I actually left in the first place. I had left because it wasn’t right for me, it wasn’t the right location and it mainly it wasn’t the right course. I had gone to Uni to become a journalist not to study Marxism…

From then on I didn’t feel as bad about being the girl known as the dropout anymore, I started a fresh and in late 2011 I applied for Uni again on the promise that I would never live in halls, be based in central London and I would go to every lecture I had no matter how big the comedown or hangover was. Which takes me back to the beginning, I’ve been accepted into my first choice with an unconditional offer, sweet right? Well I’m also nervous that I’ll make the same mistakes again but I feel like me when I was 18 is very different to me now, I’m almost 20 and I’m way more mature than the stupid girl who went out drinking every night, never showed up to lectures and came home most weekends. I feel like I’m ready to move to a new place and deal with any challenges life throws at me, kind of.