Monday, 23 May 2016

#EroticonLive: The box has been opened...

In the house like a box, in our large, empty box, lay our numerous full boxes; the books in a box, the clothes in a box, the sounds and the sights and the scents in a box. On the bed like a box she lay, empty like a box, waiting to be full.

It was our last day in the house. Various (relatively unimportant, but whatever) factors had been impeding us from having sex for far too long, and only when everything (barring a few non-essential items) had been packed away did we - and it was quite sudden - end up kissing, a tangle of limbs holding us in place as our bare skin hissed together.

I didn't know, at that point, what the rest of the night might hold. How my lip would sting as I lifted by head from her wet slit. How her back would arch as her wetness spread across the crumpled sheets. How she would moan and cry and laugh and grapple at my back for support. How I would throb, pulse and press against her, all boxes faded from existence.

I didn't know, at that point, any of this.

But it happened. All of it.

Prompted by, and written at, Hyacinth Jones' session at Eroticon Live! 2016... but it's a true story!

Saturday, 14 May 2016

Charlie

Sitting, as I was, with my back to the wall, I thought it may be a fairly simple endeavour to slide, like a snake, off the bed: gracefully, like a gazelle. Instead I managed to roll slightly one way and them scream like a banshee, floundering like a fish and proving myself nothing short of a lummox.

The pain in the back of my right leg was excruciating, and it all hit me at once, so for a while I had no idea what to do. I was astounded, blinded, disabled by the pain, and only after some minutes and a few well-timed stretches was I able to continue my journey off the bed. And it still hurt.

This spasm of the skeletal muscle - Charlie horse - has been a problem before, but it's never stopped me.

It happened once, of course, during sex. I was kneeling up behind her; she was bent over in front of me, on her knees, her arms folded onto the bed supporting her head. With nothing else to hold onto for support, I had grabbed her hips, and was steadying myself that way (apart from one moment, when I turned my head to the side and gave myself a thumbs-up via the mirror. Yes, I really did do this.). Balls tight, cock deep inside. She was dripping wetness onto the sheets, glasses askew, hair a mess. In this position, something I'd rarely even attempted before, I was revelling in every moment.

Then, without warning, Charlie horse reared his ugly head. I let out a bloodcurdling scream that I managed, thanks to extensive vocal coaching, to turn into a moan of orgasmic pleasure:

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggg-uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhnnnnnn!"

This was, of course, accompanied by a wild spasm of pain, which I managed to magically transform into a hip-thrust forwards. But then, of course, she didn't know I was suffering from Charlie horse...

She thought I was just piling on more enthusiasm. So she kept thrusting her body back towards mine, her bum smacking into my chest, and causing me to rock back onto my heels, in turn flexing the posterior muscles in my leg.

Repeated. Agonizing. Pain.

"Turn over, turn over," I panted through girtted teeth, sounding to sound more masculine and less like a wounded Pikachu. "I want to take you from the front." Obligingly, she flipped around with a grin, legs spread wide... at which point one of her knees bashed the side of my leg. With a howl, a frantic scramble at the air, and pain on both sides of my leg, I finally destabilised, and fell backwards.

Right off the bed. Onto the floor with a thump.

Charlie horse let out a terrrifying death whinny and escaped out of the window. I lay where I was, throbbing all over.

"Wow, that was some orgasm!" she said.

I deemed it prudent, at that moment, not to respond.

Wednesday, 11 May 2016

Crotchscream

I rolled over in my state of semiconsciousness and tried, for the umpteenth time, to ignore the fact that my crotch was shouting, at the top of its non-existent voice, at my brain.

It had all worked so well yesterday: the morning horniness, the absent girlfriend, the erection. Half an hour of Pokémon Y followed by 45 minutes of gentle masturbation - coaxing myself towards orgasm without putting a timer on it, or any stress. I got to work well in time, did my thing and then went home, caught up on the sleep I'd been missing and then ended the day making my girlfriend laugh with my penis (she appears to enjoy watching it grow and shrink; it's a mystery).

Or, at least, I thought I caught up on sleep. Last night I barely got any at all, as I appear to have - at a most unfortunate time - caught That Bug That's Been Going Around, and my attempts to sleep were punctuated by random sneezes, coughs in groups of four, and random gropes for scraps of tissue off the bedside table (not to mention my girlfriend's requests for her drink, which seem predestined to happen exactly at the point where I've just fallen asleep).

I'm sexy and I know it.

So this morning, once she'd left for work and I had a couple of hours to myself before dragging my weary, wheezing, sniffly, infectious body to work, I rolled over and drifted off into a semi-restful slumber, as opposed to the excitement of Mega Evolution and Foreskin Manipulation that had happened yesterday morning. Five-thirty and I had to get up at eight-thirty, right? That's three hours of something approximating sleep. I could use that.

My penis was NOT HAPPY.

"How dare you?" it screamed. "I'm RIGHT HERE, and I'm REALLY HARD, and you're just going to roll over and leave me alone?" (To be fair, it's probably still hurt about the fact that, when I was 14, I used to deal with erection by curling up into the foetal position and hoping it would just go away.) "Touch me, already!"
Me being the irritating git I am, I turned over, squashing my penis against the mattress, using the increased throb as a kind of metronome to aid my breathing, sending me back to sleep... until I woke up to cough and the entire cycle started all over again.

"Oh, hey, I see you're awake. Why not have an orgasm? I'm right here!"
"Mmmmmmmhrrrrrrrrrm..."
*rolls over* 
*silence*
"Hmm, hmm. Cough, wheeze, croak."
*rolls over*
"Hey, stranger! You're awake again! It's never too late, big guy!"
"Mmmmmmmhrrrrrrrrrm..."

Fortunately, though, in the end I did manage to get to sleep...

...on the bus at nine.

Sunday, 8 May 2016

Music Video Sunday: Will Smith

There are some moments when music gets me harder than any porn, and (as a result) there were also some moments during my youth when I'd rather watch music television on my gran's cable TV than whatever was on Bravo or UK Living or L!VE (although usually during the ad breaks). Some songs made me cry (Viva Forever), some made me dance (S Club Party) and some...

...well...

Much as I appreciate, for what it is, the bump'n'grind of Shakira's hips or the sexy dancing of the aging Tim Booth, sometimes all it takes to pique my interest is a look, like the raised eyebrows of the girl at the swimming pool or the dazzling smile of my friend at university. Maybe it's just the right thing at the right time.

I will admit this: I like Will Smith. I think he's a very talented actor, a charming interviewee and game
Will Smith approves of this post.
for a laugh. I'm looking forward to seeing him in Suicide Squad and, although I've never actually watched a single episode (and I INTEND TO KEEP IT THAT WAY), I'm aware of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. (Although only marginally. It sharted showing on BBC2 and I kept tuning in because I'd forgotten they weren't showing The Simpsons any more.) I was, however, never actually into his music too much...


There's a bit at 01:10 of the music video for Will Smith's Miami which is probably the sexiest numerical palindrome in music television. A car with a couple of beautiful women passes by, at which one of them quips "Bienvenido a Miami" while doing something incredibly sexy with her eyebrows. Now that I watch the video again, this is still the most striking bit about the video (I usually switched over after it); there is a delicious, slightly devilish look about her as she sings those three words. It was enough to send teenage ILB into a spin - intrusive sexual fantasising about that one lady, in the car, with the eyebrows.

BRB, going to get a bucket of ice and have a cold shower.

I was also convinced that the song was about sex "all night on the beaches 'till the break of dawn". It isn't, really; it's about the guy from After Earth enjoying himself in parties surrounded by ladies in skimpy bikinis saying something what I'd always assumed was "I'd fuck me" (it isn't). Now that I read through the lyrics, it seems fairly ridiculous: a suggestion that you can go and enjoy yourself in Miami if you happen to have hundreds of thousands of dollars, a nice car, a boat, and are Will Smith.

Which I suppose is the truth. None of these apply to me and I don't think that my cousin's ex-boyfriend being named "Will Smith" counts, so I doubt I'll be going to Miami and spending time with sexy ladies in open-topped cars at any point soon.

I'm going to Bristol; does that count?

"Hi, Will. Men in Black 2 sucked."
This is actually the first time I've seen the Miami video in years. I'd forgotten about the clever camera work, the jogging girls on the strip, the idiots that follow Will around or the fact that there's an (incredibly thin) plot (it's cold so they all go to Miami...). I'd even forgotten the reference to Sly Stallone, the dance breakdown that happens unexpectedly halfway through the track, or the fact that Will ends the video on his knees and they take a few seconds to fade to black from that, so he ends up looking like he's waiting for something.

He'll be waiting a long time, because by that point I've switched off. The lady in the car was enough to get me started, and with the wide variety of soft porn probably available now the advert break has ended, I'll probably be able to finish too.

But, for that reason, this silly song has a place in my brain (linked via my very fertile imagination to my
Strictly Come Miami
crotch) that will probably never be forgotten, and when I got the chance to watch it again on a large screen in a hospital once, then my mum got scared and said, "you're moving in with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air." I whistled for a cab and, when it came near, the license plate said "Fresh" and it had dice in the mirror. If anything, I could say this cab was rare, but I thought, nah, forget it - "Yo, Homes, to Bel-Air." I pulled up to the house about seven or eight, and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo, Homes, smell you later." I looked at my kingdom; I was finally there to sit on my throne as the prince of Bel-Air.

Saturday, 7 May 2016

...if you'll show me yours

Indeed.

Eroticon (Live) is in a couple of weeks and I'm just not ready for it. I've been putting in a lot of effort at work (for no extra pay) and have been thrown unexpectedly for a loop in terms of housing and, to an extent, health. I'm a bit of a wreck right now and, as a result have had very little time for blogging, running, reading, gaming or any of the other stuff that I tend to do to fill my otherwise completely futile time.

I'm not ready for 'con. But at least I have a ticket and a hotel booked. And that's a start.

Here we have, then, as is custom, the generic "introduction" post, hosted once again by Molly Moore... so go and read her post too.

 *

Name (and Twitter name if you have one)
 

Innocent Loverboy, also known as "ILB" if that's easier to remember. Of course, it'll be on my badge, so in actual fact there's very little to remember... and I probably don't need to fill this bit in anyway, because my name's at the top of the page.

@innocentlb for more of my shoutings into the void.


If you had the opportunity to rename yourself (or your blog) what would you pick?
 

This is a difficult one, because I didn't actually struggle to come up with "Innocent Loverboy"; it just came about easily and seemed to fit. I'd probably name myself "Hiroki Sugimura" after the character from Battle Royale, as he's a bit of an innocent loverboy himself.


What are you most looking forward to at Eroticon Live and/or is there anything you are nervous about?

Classified. Yes, there is something I'm nervous about, but I'm going to try to forget about it and enjoy the weekend (e-mail or DM me if you're curious).

As with all the previous Eroticons, the thing I'm looking forward to most is meeting up with the community again. Close as we may be, we rarely really physically get a chance to meet face-to-face, and this is the one event I can think of where most people are going to be...!

I also probably owe everyone a hug. Please forgive me if I end up crying over your shoulder.


Have you planned which sessions you will be attending or are you more of a spur-of-the-moment kind of person?

I never really tend to plan, as I go to the sessions I decide upon on the day and/or the ones run by my friends. I'll certainly go to GOTN's session, Jillian Boyd's session and the "ask-a-sex-blogger" panel too.


What essential items to your life will be bringing with you to Eroticon Live?

My wallet, my 'phone, my keys, a notebook and pen, and some clothes... why, what were you expecting?


I came away with a DOXY vibrator last time, so it's what I end up with that might be more interesting.


A new cocktail has been made in your honour. What would be the key ingredient and what would it be called?

Well, it'd have to be a non-alcoholic cocktail, as I don't drink alcohol. Those are usually called "virgin", which is about as far away from an accurate description of me as you can get. My favourite cocktail includes cola and blackcurrant cordial and is known as a Friar Tuck.

My cocktail would probably include lemon and lime (as they are my favourite flavours), vanilla (as I am vanilla, but only in a very small quantity, to prevent it being overpowering) and cherry (as I like The Cherry Orchard), and be called a Slow Fuck. Because I like those too.


Complete the sentence: I have yet to…

...decide upon a way to complete this sentence which doesn't give too much away.

Tuesday, 3 May 2016

Unbreakable

He. Was. Still. Hard.
- Alice Clayton, Wallbanger

There are rare occasions when I get a couple of hours to myself. I have a fairly regular working pattern, while hers is a little irregular; the result of this is that - every now and again - one of us finds themself in the room on their own. You may have noticed her confirming that she is masturbating more these days, although I've never seen it. But, then again, I'm at work a lot of the time.

Guess when I masturbate?

This morning was one of those occasions when she went to work before me. 5:15 am and she was out of the door, leaving me dozing in the bed with more space to myself. I hadn't slept well (again...), and sometimes I use the three hours until my alarm goes off to take a concentrated nap, well aware that it's likely to be the only sleep I'm getting that night.

This morning wasn't one of those times.

It took me a while to coax my body into a recumbent supine position, and even longer to co-ordinate my hand, mind and penis, but I did it eventually. Getting hard wasn't a problem - yes, I am getting old, but there aren't any problems here - but getting to orgasm was a bit of an uphill struggle. I was dreamy and unfocused, pausing every now and again to run a hand through my unkempt hair or shift my body back into position, pull my foreskin back further and get back to the task at hand. Not having really woken up, I was unsure what to think of as I did so, and when, after a while, I finally did orgasm, it was the most satisfaction I've felt in a while; I lay there on my back, gasping for breath, as my cum dripped lazily down my sides from the pool collected on my stomach.

It's always the ones that take a bit more effort...

I've no idea how I did so, but I managed to clean up and then managed to slip off to about half an hour of sleep (it's better than nothing) before my alarm woke me up and I tried not to throw my BlackBerry at the wall too strongly. I grabbed a pair of pants, pulled them up and...

I was still hard.

Rock solid. Not just hard, but really hard - perhaps even more so than I'd been before when I actually was masturbating. There I was, staring at my UNUSUALLY LARGE PENIS with something between amusement and bemusement, and even laughing a little as it proved to be too big to fit into my underpants (I ended up manipulating them around it - also not an easy task). I wasn't even that turned on... I was just really, really, ball-achingly, earth-shatteringly hard.

I did a cowboy walk to the bus stop and resolved to get some coffee once I'd arrived at work... because, I reasoned, if there's one thing I needed at that moment, it was sex.

Coffee. I mean coffee. Honest.

Sunday, 1 May 2016

Crack squad

I was having trouble sleeping.

Nothing new there - I often have a lot of trouble sleeping; it's my primary complaint, along with IBS, nausea, malaise, loss of hair, weight gain, and the propensity to write long lists with Oxford commas. The amount of work I've been doing recently is frankly ludicrous, and the few coming weeks show no sign of slowing up, what with moving house next week and all the related shenanigans, seeing James, watching Eurovision and going to Eroticon all providing regular distractions - plus the large project I have going on at work and my new, painful exercise régime. I barely have time to sleep, and when I try, I don't have the wherewithal.

I was naked. I always sleep naked - I have since I was about 12. I do own pyjamas, but as far as I'm aware I've only worn them a few times, like Christmas mornings and school pyjama days; I also own a second pair, which I've worn twice over a two-day period when I was sharing a room with KW in Blackpool. I was naked, as is the way. So was my girlfriend, which is unusual - she tends to sleep in T-shirts (sometimes hers, sometimes mine), despite being a lady laid bare. I prefer her naked - much softer and warmer. Easier to sleep with.

I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to pretend I was asleep and ignoring the potential situations which tend to play out in my head 24 hours a day. In her sleep, she gave a little sigh and rolled over, her hand drifting downwards and coming to rest in...

My eyes snapped open. The very edge of her hand, for whatever reason, had come to rest in my arse crack. Not really inside - this wasn't accidental anal play - but her little finger had managed to squirrel itself into the little groove at the end of my backthat leads down towards my arse itself. A feather-light touch, perhaps, as she slept... but that was more than enough.

I do like my backside being touched, sensitive as it is, and - aware that this was accidental - I tried to take advantage of it while I could. Not really wanting to move too much - I was moderately comfortable and didn't want to wake her up; a light touch will do so, light sleeper as she is - I tried to shift my body a little so that I could be as relaxed as possible while her hand rested on my bum. (Her thumb, at one point, brushed against a cheek, which nearly set me off.) The sensation - the lightest of touches - brought some ideas to light, although nothing too realisable. I could bring myself to orgasm like this. The release would be good for me. I'd sleep better. I could...

...dawn chorus?

It was morning. Both her hands were on her side of the bed. She was still asleep. I was still hard. My arse, now free of all foreign digits, was back to its relaxed state. The alarm went off after a while and I swore loudly at it.

"Did you sleep?" she said, as I tried to contemplate how difficult it might be to make it through another day.
"No."
"Not at all?"

I paused for contemplation.

"Maybe a little."

Sunday, 24 April 2016

Forest Fresh

"Am I wet?"

Did she... did she want me to check? I mean, I could, but I'd just kind of... assumed she'd know. I have, after all, heard many girls - realistically, quite a large number - saying "I'm wet" without visually confirming this, taking a glance between their nether regions.

Since I'd spent the last few minutes being quite indecent to her boobs - at her request, of course, I'm not a total vagabond - and we had both slept naked throughout the preceding night (which is, sadly, an anomaly; I always sleep naked, while she rarely does), I'd guess that she was at least a little wet. She'd been making all the right noises while I had her nipple in my mouth, so to be frank, were she not wet, I'd have been a little disappointed.

I ran a finger across her slit.

"Yes, you're wet. Very," I confirmed, running the finger over her thigh, both showing that she was wet and wiping the moisture off my hand. Surely you should know?"
"I'm going to make you late for work," she moaned.

"Sounds like a challenge," I said, only I didn't say that.

However it happened after that, this is how I ended up with my fingers inside my girlfriend that morning, two gently pushing into her vagina while my thumb pressed against her clit, my ring finger curled up against her perineum while my little finger teased her anus. I wouldn't go so far as to say either of us was particularly awake, but I kind of knew what I was doing. And my head didn't even have to leave the pillow, so I count that as a win.

I made it to work on time, having channeled my inner Barry Allen to get down to the bus stop. I even had time to go and get a coffee from the café before setting up at work, which was even better.

And then I sneezed.

Raising my handkerchief to my nose, the distinct scent of sex was impossible to ignore. It was there. There, on my hand, all the way through work, like a badge of honour and a stone of shame all in one. My hand had the scent of sex, and it was my dirty secret...

...and then I managed to get ink on it, so I had to wash.

Monday, 18 April 2016

/me

For my final two months at university, I lived in a small room about the size of the CBBC Broom Cupboard. Evicted from the share house I'd been living in throughout second year (as I was the only resident left and the landlord didn't think that was financially viable), I struggled to think of a solution, and was on the cusp of sleeping on my dissertation tutor's office floor when I found - via an internet forum - a tiny room in another share house. I got an extension on two essays, moved all my stuff in a weekend, put my new room into some semblance of order, and then did the essays, getting a couple of high 2:1s as a result.

Hey, if it works...

This being the end of the final year, I didn't spend a lot of time at home. I went to band practice three times a week, spent one evening learning Japanese (it was my minor subject) in the city, and - in addition to my socialising commitments - I sat in the library taking notes, exhuming long-dead journal articles and dusty tomes of forgotten lore. Oh, and Julia Kristeva.

Weekends were spent writing this stuff up. Despite the fact that I was starting to enjoy university after the incredibly dull first two years, I'd never felt so disconnected in my life.

The late evening hours, those that came after hours of hitting things and scratching paper with pencils, were a blessing. In the confines of my little room, I sat at my laptop and dwelt on sex chatrooms.

Initially - and I mean very initially, we're talking about 16 or 17 here - I went on chatrooms looking for some semblance of sex. I mean, I wasn't really aiming to have actual sex (that was beyond the realms of imagination; it'd never happen to me), but I did manage to have cybersex a few times, and found that (as it is a matter of prose style) I was quite good at it. Armed with my gender-neutral handle, open and willing attitude and some terrible attempts at humour (and the fact that I didn't DM without asking), I waded in, and discovered over time that there was an entire subculture, and by extension community, based around this concept. I started to make - dare I say it? - friends.

Although it took me a while to rediscover the chat server and rooms a few years down the line, I reconnected in my first year. Some of the same people were still there, and by the time I ended up in my final-year shoebox, it was my nightly ritual - log in, say hi, chat for a couple of hours and go to bed satisfied. Sometimes - often at weekends, as the right people tended to be there - I had cybersex, although that had become secondary to the community, of which I had become an integral part. I wasn't an addict... I was a member.

And so that's what my third year became. Lectures and seminars and workshops and lessons; study and music and meet-ups and excursions; take-away meals and long walks to burn it all off; hot scening and sly humour, in-jokes and flirting and sexual discourse. It was a mess, but an enjoyable one: even in my darkest hours, knowing that this community was there was like carrying a light in my heart without letting on to anyone. It was my secret, turning up late to things with a silly grin and flushed cheeks, feeling well-fucked without actually having been touched in years.

GOTN's excellent post on the subject (which I found via random links last night, hence my reflections today) highlights the idea of finding someone real online (it happens, strangely enough) and the multitude of horny guys (they were everywhere!). But then there were guys like me, there because it was part of my life, there because I liked it, there because it was a safe space to laugh, to chat, to wank, to flirt. At the end of the day, I kept going back because I wanted to talk.

And so I talked.

And if I did end up having cybersex with some very attractive, very adventurous, very available young ladies who were just at chatty as I was... well then, that was the virtual cherry on top, wasn't it?

Thursday, 14 April 2016

Now get back down there, and finish what you started!

Hooray, hooray, hooray, hooray.
It's Cake and Cunnilingus Day.

Except for the fact that this day only exists as much as its more sexist (and presumptive) counterpart, "Steak and a Blowjob Day", does. I like both cake and cunnilingus, and I'm not even at the receiving end of the latter; I'd rather lick someone out and then eat cake (or vice versa, but I think the order is important) than eat steak and get a blowjob.

I don't eat steak and don't orgasm from blowjobs, so what's the point anyway?

There's a post on the CACD site about why we need this day more than ever, and for the most part, I agree with it. I'm not entirely sure that we need a day, but as for the idea of making cunnilingus more "visible" - yeah, I'm all over that. The phrase "oral sex", for what it's worth, usually - in my experience - becomes synonymous with "fellatio" - it really shouldn't, but it does. This kind of phallacy works in a number of ways, including the idea that fellatio is de rigueur where oral sex is concerned (the go-to, if you like). Cunnilingus involves fanny farts and period blood, it's messy and sticky, and is only really done by lesbians (and yet when lesbians do it, it's suddenly beautiful).

This is, of course, untrue. I'm hyperbolising, anyway; I don't know anyone who actually thinks that. But then again, I mostly know people with brains.

There is, however, the prevailing idea that cunnilingus isn't present in a lot of porn, which I'm not too sure about. Most of the straight porn I've got - and I have quite a bit - does involve at least a little cunnilingus. It's not good, and it's certainly not as in-your-face as all the blowjobs, but it is there. Sometimes it involves spitting (which I actually find disgusting); it always happens before sex, as opposed to after (blowjobs happen on both ends), and once again, the only people who put a lot of thought into it are lesbians (and I don't really like lesbian porn); it is severely under-represented, but it is there.

Because it's probably relatively easy to apply a thin layer of latex to one's nether regions and stick a head between the attached thighs, there's a lot of cunnilingus in soft porn (for which I am eternally grateful). The amount that there is varies from series to series, but Bedtime Stories (to name one notable example) seems to thrive on simulated cunnilingus; I genuinely can't remember many - if any - scenes from Bedtime Stories which don't feature cunnilingus as essential foreplay. Passion & Romance (which is apparently aimed at women) has a lot in it, and even some scenes from Surrender - although they do the soft porn blowjobs too - show it (insofar as soft porn can show it).

In any case, I'm pretty sure the most demonstrative illustration of cunnilingus comes from real life - out of the eight people I've had sex with, I've given all eight cunnilingus (and they've all had orgasms as a result). I like it; I like it a lot - even if I didn't, I'd probably do it anyway; there's so much you can do with your tongue, plus you can get your fingers, your nose, lips, cheeks and teeth involved - and more, creatively. If you're going to have penetrative sex, it can serve as a precursor or epilogue to the main even (or both), and I always leave a little kiss right at the end, as well.

Like a signature.

I'm suddenly not too concerned about the cake. Nor am I going anywhere with this post any more - I just wanted to write about cunnilingus, because I don't think I'm going to give any today, even though I want to, now I'm thinking about it... and that pisses me off!