I do feel confused, I must confess. Last night was fun - no coercion, my choice, a good time had by all - and I thought I would feel different coming to work this morning: not so much apprehensive as curious. I've made a deal with str8guy - we're on a level footing now, almost. And yet 3; I sensed it the second I walked into the office this morning. There's still that nagging sense of - it's not fear, nor shame, I'm not quite sure what the word is. That somehow all isn't right, that I know something is wrong but I can't put my finger on it. It's kind of like a nervous tension which flits through your stomach. I felt it lurch within me as I sat at my desk this morning and looked round the office. Some things - some feelings - you just can't hide.

It's somebody here. Who is it?

I had a meeting with McCabe today. There's a new ESF bidding round been called and we've been engaged to write a bid for a local school. Some sort of community education provision, I think - creches and computers, sounds easy enough. Told McCabe I'd get onto it straight away. He looked at me like there was a cigar smouldering up his arse and I asked if he was okay.

"This could be worth a lot, Molly," he said.

"Yeah, 6 ½%, make the bid for £200k, clear 13,000 for a couple of days work."

"No, no. More than that. Hard money grows in soft opportunity. Like mushrooms in shit. Soft, Molly, so soft it needs cultivating, tilling with gentle fingers, soft hands, svelte arms. We don't get many schools come to us. Hardly any. It's a huge new market. Do you know how many schools there are? How much fucking money they get? How useless they are with it? They're like donkeys playing chess, headmasters and budgets. Get this one right, Molly, and I'm telling you, word of mouth will bring us donkeys by the beachful. And their kings will be ours."

He was still giving me that startle-eyed look, and he clearly expected me to say something. Easier said than done. "Marvellous," I said. "I'll be leading a new "donkey account" team before I know it."

Okay, it doesn't make sense, but it was the first thing that came into my head.

"Exactly. I knew we understood each other, Molly. Exactly, exactly. You're going to go a long way. New teams are on the horizon, new horizons are in the air, and the air will carry the lightest with it. I think you're one of the light ones, Molly, one of the light ones. Aren't you? Of the light? Chop chop, then, best get cracking." Sheer relief carried me to the door before I realised I'd moved.

Now, pardon me but what the fuck did any of that mean? Cam paranoia strikes again - I keep trying to analyse that outburst to see if it has any relevance to str8dream, but as far as I can see it has no relevance to anything whatsoever. The man was gibbering. I think he's losing his marbles, frankly. Too much port and prostitutes, if you ask me.

Tess asked me out tonight, another session in Walkabout. Hubby hasn't touched her in three weeks apparently and she wants laid again. I told her no, I was staying in.

"Why?"

"Just can't be bothered tonight."

"So who are you shacking up with, then?"

Tess can be a bit wearing at times. She's my best mate and I love her, but when she gets going she can be a bit full-on. She's probably about ten years older than me - I guess 38 or so - but she still looks good. She keeps fit, goes to the gym twice a week, does pilates and stuff, and looks after her health. On the stupid Atkins diet, though, and she should know better. I ask you! How can you live without potatoes? Or rice?? Madness!! Don't know much about her husband, but they don't seem to get on at all. She'd be better off divorcing him, I reckon. She lives her own life anyway, and she always seems to manage to pull whenever she needs to. It's not as if they have kids or anything. Don't know why she sticks it.

I felt a bit bad about letting her down, but I really can't be bothered.

Friday,16th April 2004, evening

Wasn't going to go online tonight. I bought a dvd of Cabaret today, so I was going to watch that again. I watched it with Mark a couple of years back and loved it. The bit where the boy sings "Tomorrow belongs to me" was terrifying. I think it made me cry. I might put it on later, but I'm going to have a quick surf first. Not going to chat, though, just zoom about for a bit.

Friday, 16th April, 2004, late night

So much for good intentions. :-(

Despite what I said, I did go to the chatroom. He wasn't there, and didn't come in all night. Juanita was in and gave me the third degree. Poor soul couldn't quite decide whether to play the disapproving aunt or the conspiratorial friend... :-) After a while she had to go and pick up her kids from school, and I was left with deril and co squawking about my tits and ass and begging for a flash. No ops in sight, so they got out of hand quite quickly and I beat a retreat.

I went in to our private room, not really because I expected str8guy to turn up, but just for something to do. I switched my cam on and watched myself. It was quite strange, actually, watching myself perform on my screen. It was like it wasn't me, like I was watching an actress, somebody else cavorting about. I couldn't match what I was seeing to what I was doing - or feeling. The person sprawled naked on the chair, fucking herself with silver wasn't me, her reactions not mine, her emotions different.

My cam isn't really very good - it's just a cheap one - so I brought in extra lights to brighten the place up. That made a big difference to the clarity of the screen, and I played around with it, placing it in different points in the room, panning out and zooming in. I held it next to my pussy, my fingers almost touching it, and the picture on the screen was fascinating. I actually did get turned on watching myself :-) I stroked my fingers across my lips, drawing up strands of my juice, letting them glint on the screen, while the lights emphasised my excitement by making the moistness of my cunt appear to gleam and glisten.

I swung the cam round to my backside and saw a view of myself I'd never seen. That was really odd. I touched my arsehole and watched it pucker on screen. I stroked my fingers round and round, drawing hypnotic patterns which held me mesmerised. Using my own juices for lubrication, I pressed my finger inside and watched as it disappeared on the screen, up to my knuckle.

Then I watched my face. str8 talks about how he can read my face, how my thoughts shine through my features. I watched as I stroked myself, frowning in concentration, breathing deeper, more eratically, biting my lip - I didn't know I did that.

I just wanted to be dirty. I loved it. I was sorry str8 wasn't there, to be honest, but even so I got seriously turned on. Finger in my arse was my favourite bit, with my legs stretched, feet on the computer bench, either side of the cam. Bringing it in close, closer, closer, till it was almost touching, till I could see individual hairs, the crinkle of my arsehole, the finger sliding and disappearing inside me.

I settled the cam down and devoted my other hand to my clit, slipping my fingers either side of it, squeezing, tweaking, pressing much harder than I usually do. It was painful, but rather than back off, as I would usually do, I did it harder, grazing my finger across the bared surface. It made me scream a couple of times and jump in the air, but with my finger in my arse and my clit on fire and my body on display I came and came and came. I felt utterly sordid, watching myself, some wanton slut, but god it was amazing.

str8guy doesn't know what he missed...

:-)