My Christmas Prayer

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Categories: DATING, Dating Challenges, Read More

Every year it’s the same. Every year without fail I start praying. I send a prayer to the big man upstairs asking for a man who will treat me like a queen, spoil me like a princess and never EVER question my need to buy shoes, chocolate and cosmetics. It’s not too much to ask no?
And yet every year Santa says the same ole thing. NO!!! Well I’m tired of listening to the cuddly guy in the ill fitting crushed velvet suit. So this year my precious, well, you know moi, this year I had a plan. I was going to find my own man. You know: a gift to me…

And I made some headway. By August I had successfully stopped contact with all lovers and ‘accidental’ friends (cyber lovers, drunken dials and Facebook flirts don’t count).

January saw my dalliance with a guy who was separated but still living with his wife. He didn’t mind practising kissing under the mistletoe when we were tipsy but when sober he reminded me that he didn’t plan to marry until he was 45. He had just turned 30.NEXT!!!

Step forward Bachelor number two: Mr April. Own business, serious and cute!!. We spent a lot of time texting. He gave great text. Who could want more? Apparently me.
On our first date he failed to turn up. Assuming (or kind of hoping) he had been in an accident, I found that he was no longer able to dial out, pick up or text. Turns out that he was already giving great text and sex… to his wife. I’m hoping she gave him the gift of breaking the bones in his hands.
So onto my August man. Yes my precious, I had almost convinced my mother that this could be the one. He’s fertile, (has kids), a hectic job (money and no time to monitor how I spend it) and no wife (a girlfriend). She asked me to send her a picture of him which I did. She then asked me to send me pictures of alternative sperm donors. He clearly clashed with her Christmas card photograph.

Now it’s December and I’m back to being realistic and circling the Tiffany catalogue. I just pray for the energy and patience to go on blind dates, flirt online and worse, pretend that I too want to eventually move to Nigeria and build an import business from scratch.

So what to do my precious? Let’s drink, be merry and enjoy the fact that only us single girls can get away with truly misbehaving this month! Carry lots of mistletoe, sing bad karaoke and make sure you are standing next to true potential at midnight on New Years Eve. This, I fear, is as much planning as a single girl can do.

And when you are filling my stocking please slip a few condoms in there for me. I think its time to find some new lovers to see me through the misery that is an English January.

Merry Christmas my precious!!

© Chelsea Black


The Porn Files

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Categories: DATING, Read More, Sex

So, you think that you are adventurous with your one Ann Summers vibrator and a few raunchy novels? Well my precious, no matter how happy a man is he has a history. A PORN history and this is the file you need to tap into. Forget the ex file. That one’s simple. He couldn’t/wouldn’t commit. She flipped after 4 years and slashed his tyres/ football shirts/ music collection/ credit rating. Yep, we’ve all been there. The real drama is PORN.

Now you’re thinking, ‘not my man, I give him everything he wants and more’. No, you don’t. Most men desire more than matching undies, a blindfold, handcuffs and some chocolate body paint. (Don’t ask. Needless to say the sheets didn’t make it).

The first trick is to gain access then, quickly locate the heart of the man, the private collection. Send him out for some tampons then check everywhere including his internet history. Assume every man has porn and look for worrying signs of sex practises you’d steer well clear of when you’re drunk. Hey, if double anal penetration is your bag then go forth with glee! (and generous lashings of lube).But if you are more the “blow job on his birthday” type then make a plan to extricate yourself pretty quickly. But only after sex because you never know my precious, with the right man at the helm you may find yourself enjoying it. (Don’t ask. I just can’t tell you.)

Let’s not be judgemental now. Fantasies are a deep rooted thing based on early sexual experiences. He’s into Big Jugs Weekly because his first teacher had big jugs and didn’t wear a bra. Well, I guess they’re not that complex after all. Then again, I turned down a guy in a Soho sex shop who had been flirting a bit too hard with the blow up dolls. We all have our limits.

If you can’t find his stash then ask. Be careful, they are getting sneakier. My ex had all his porn on his computer – password protected downloads. He put up 15 minutes of resistance before I endured a long night of badly shot black porn. You know, with shots of the director’s friends in the background eating chicken? It got so dire that I pretended to be just as turned on by the mother/ daughter / boyfriend scene just so that I could seduce him in time to watch Project Runway.

But know that this isn’t about him. It’s about us making a choice. I know a girl who broke up with her partner recently after he made her watch his favourite film, “The Secretary”. I thought this made him slightly quirky and open minded. She saw it as signs of a controlling obsessive nature with masochistic undertones. So you see how important the porn files are. OPEN THEM!

Hmmm, I wonder if it’s too soon to ask her for his number? Nite my precious

© Chelsea Black


The Foodie Call

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Categories: DATING, Misadventures, Read More

In the Black – Foodie Call.
I’ve finally figured out what you all have known for years. Food and sex are the foundation of any good casual relationship, now more commonly known as the foodie call. Two essential needs being met at once. A delicate balance of being fed and erm… being fed! You get the picture.

So this is how mine went down. For a while now, he had been flirting online. I’ve only ACTUALLY met him once but you know when it’s special. He likes you, showers you with loads of attention, hence, its special. Normally I would have tried to seal the deal on the night but hey, I was drunk, the club was loud and sweaty and I may have been slightly distracted by the Thierry Henry look a like at the bar.

Last Thursday I came home and scanned the fridge. Hmmm. Beetroot, Soya milk and chocolate body paint do not a meal make. Even though I live within a mile of six supermarkets, I just couldn’t be bothered to leave my house again and then come back and cook. So I jumped online to see if there was anything happening where there was likely to be some grub. My friend Tia was suggesting The Westbourne, but only for a quick drink. But then HE came along. The email asked me how I was and we started chatting. I broke it down: I had no food, I can’t cook and I was so hungry that I was contemplating eating at the dodgy chippy conveniently forgetting the stomach cramps from last time!

Yes, I know black women are meant to be able to throw down in the kitchen but I guess I assumed throw down meant something else entirely? Don’t judge my precious.

So he suggested that he come around and cook. I pictured him trying to rustle up something with the body paint and beetroot. It would also mean me having to clean the flat. So I told him no. Then he counter offers to cook for me at HIS place. Now this is a plan I could work with. A meal, potential sex and NO laundry in the morning? JACKPOT.

I jump in the shower and mentally plan an outfit that screams: ‘I could wear this to work tomorrow.’ Then, just as Kylie and I were hitting the dodgy high note, my stomach rumbled and it hit me. I didn’t know where he lived! So I jumped back online and asked. He eventually told me.


Needless to say Tia and I had a great night out at The Westbourne and I managed to grab some food. I’m all up for a foodie call my precious but you need to have the right ingredients. What if he couldn’t cook? What if he couldn’t satisfy? What if he lived outside Zone 2?

Gotta run. I’ve got a foodie call with a guy in Gloucester Road who swears his food will make me cry out. I guess that means lots of onions.

Ciao for now my precious

© Chelsea Black

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