Thursday, 18 January 2018

A Winter's Memory

I had an unreasonably early start this morning and left my house while it still felt like the dead of night (although I am reliably informed that this sensation is known as 'winter'). Alone as I was, trudging down the street as lamps lit my way towards the station, something stirred in the back of my mind.

"Left my house while still dark," I tweeted. "Walking down the road in the pre-dawn darkness and I'm hit by memories of going to #Eroticon 2012..."

And so I did. I wasn't at the meet and greet drinks for the first 'con. Moreover, that one only lasted a day. A long day, granted, but since I was indisposed both the evening beforehand and the morning afterwards, I wanted to be sure I could get to Bristol, do 'con, have a meal and then get back to London all in a day. I'd only really been to Bristol once before, but I was sure it was possible.

"I had my ticket to Bristol," I elaborated, "but no way of getting into central London from where I was. I could just about get there if I walked into town ... as it was too early for buses and my local station wasn't running. It [was] a 40-45 minute journey on foot to the only station open..."

In fact, this was odd about my first 'con. I'd always assumed I'd be going, but hadn't actually gotten around to buying a ticket. I bought the cheapest day return to Bristol before buying a full-price ticket to the event itself (although I got both with little problem), as travel was on my mind at the time. I knew that I'd need to be at the venue by 8(ish); I even wanted to arrive into Bristol at 7:30, so I had time to explore and get lost, if that happened. ( happened.) I could have walked to my local station, gone into central London and been in Bristol by 8(ish), but I didn't ant to chance it. I'd already missed drinks; I didn't want to miss another second.

"So I got up at 4:30 and walked."

And this I remember. It was the only real option, short of getting a taxi. I could walk across my London borough in just under an hour and get to the only station that was open at 5. Getting to Paddington would be a tight squeeze in terms of time, even that early, but I assumed (correctly, as it turns out) that I'd stand a better chance of making it as a result of my extra effort (less one hour in bed).

"I have a memory, even [now], of walking down the road..." I tweeted - not the same road I was walking down this morning, but close enough - although I had no idea, at the time, what 'con would be like. I went with no expectations, ready to take whatever was thrown at me; I was not disappointed.

"...freezing cold, under the pitch black sky, with a light in my heart."

Yeah, so Eroticon may not be without its occasional blips, but it does give me some of the best memories - like this one, when stumbling down a darkened road in the small hours feels more like the start of a brand new adventure.

Tuesday, 16 January 2018


"Okay, that's done," I said, handing over the printout of my tax return to my bookkeeper mother. "I've paid no tax and I won't get any tax back. That's a zero," I added, trying to make it sound like this wouldn't hurt. My dad, having painstakingly made lentil soup, sighed with something between braggadocio and desperation, indicating the bowls he had laid down some five minutes earlier. I put away my mother's laptop and scrambles around for spoons while she went to fetch the Guardian.

"Okay, but while we eat, can we do the quiz?" she asked, passing the supplement to my dad.

"Hmmm... okay, so... what did Julia Ward Howe write the words to, using the tune of a famous folk song?" he read out slowly and clearly.
Knew it. "That's The Battle Hymn of the Republic," I suggested, which he noted down.

"What's the Latin word for 'one'?" he offered.
Knew it. "Unus, I think," I offered. "Like uno in Spanish."

"Capital cities... what's the capital city of Tunisia?"
Knew it. "Tunis," I quipped. "The clue's in the name."

"Okay, one more. What links wood, glass, broken and..."
"...eclipse... excuse me?"
"What on Earth is an eclipse dildo?"

I reflected.

"One you can't see because of the moon?"

Saturday, 13 January 2018

Unreal Girl

Shortly after being dumped by Rebecca, I was informally asked out by two of her friends. As horrible as this sounds, one of them I genuinely didn't find attractive - she was too loud, too rude, too young, and not really my type - the other one, however, I did think was attractive. In fact, that was her job, more or less: to be sexy. She was a student just heading off to university (so the same age as me, or thereabouts); she was also non-monogamous.

It was the first time I'd heard of the term (although "polyamorous" was used more by her; it's the term I tend to use as a result), or even the concept - although Rebecca has to explain it to me. What her friend actually said was

i'm a slut slut slut! lol.

which didn't mean much to me, to be frank. Still, I enjoyed her blog (for what it was), and her presence. I never actually talked to her, not even on MSN, but she still maintained a kind of presence, up until shortly after Christmas 2003, when she said (well, she left a comment on my LiveJournal, I doubt "said" is the phrase...)

ps. will you go out with me? be my slut baby! lol

which was slightly clearer, even though I've no idea what a "slut baby" might be.

For me, sitting in my tiny room in student hall with only stacks of books and Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy for company (and a very tenuous internet connection which I had to hack), this was a very tempting idea, although I knew very little about her - I knew her initials (K.A.T.E. - and her first name was Kate, which works), and a rough approximation of her age and original location, but very little else. I didn't know how she knew Rebecca; I didn't know which university she went to; I didn't even know what she looked like, apart from a couple of pictures which didn't seem particularly legitimate. I certainly didn't know why she found me attractive.

But, me being me, having recently been dumped for the first time, having no real friends at university and having not had sex for a few months (three years later, still having not had sex in that time, this would seem very trivial!), I reacted positively. I didn't exactly say "yes", because it wasn't exactly clear this was a genuine question, but I was heading towards it.

K.A.T.E. went silent. A few months later, she got engaged to someone at her university (then, allegedly, broke up with him after he got someone else pregnant), and after that, she went completely AWOL. I was barely talking to Rebecca that much, and when I did, neither of us mentioned her. I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to hear from her any more, and committed her existence to memory.

A few years later and the cracks began to show. K.A.T.E. didn't show up at Rebecca's funeral, and 47 didn't recognise the name when I asked. I idly browsed for her on social media, just in case she hadn't heard of Rebecca's death, and couldn't find her anywhere - she wasn't on Facebook or Twitter, and she didn't show up on Google. Her LiveJournal hadn't been touched for years; there were a couple of people with the same name on Google Plus (but without the A.T. middle names), but they weren't her. I tried to find an e-mail address for her, but the only one I could find was a ZZN (which bounced back). The only place I could find any record of anyone who was undeniably her was on (what was left of) Rebecca's website, which as of today still exists, but on a page which was long dormant, and still mentioned me in positive terms.

I don't like losing contact with people, even peripherally, but after a while I started coming around to the fact that she probably doesn't exist. I'm ninety-nine per cent sure that Rebecca invented her, although I'm also fairly certain that this wasn't anything malicious. Rebecca had read The Ethical Slut during our time together (and I'm fairly sure this precipitated the end of our relationship; I still haven't read it), had joined some chatrooms with a low number of female participants, and didn't have many friends outside of college - I would imagine K.A.T.E.'s ideation as being a little invention of an idealised friendship which got slightly out of hand - hence not actually ending up arranging to meet me, even for coffee as I eventually suggested. I was guilty of the same, to a lesser degree, although in the end I owned up.

I don't begrudge Rebecca for any of this. There are worse crimes than character creation - it's just fiction, and who doesn't love a bit of fiction? - and she certainly covered all bases, maintaining a token presence on what passed for social media. She was a talented writer with a vivid imagination, and if K.A.T.E. was indeed an idea that just spiralled out of control, then I can't genuinely image Rebecca herself as generating a lie for malevolent intent.

I'm slightly confused, of course, as to why K.A.T.E. asked me out - where was this supposed to go if I gave an outright yes? - and this also raises other questions. What if I had married Rebecca - wouldn't her absence from any wedding celebrations be conspicuous? Why did she have a separate 'phone number - and, if it was a real one (I never called it), where did she get the 'phone from? If Rebecca, as she said on multiple times, was trying to cut me out of her life, why did K.A.T.E. keep contacting me? These are probably all answerable questions, of course - but then it also makes me suspicious of other people she introduced me to, like her crush's girlfriend Hana (also poly, sexy, and unashamed) or her college friend Kirstie (who, genuinely, wasn't real - that one she admitted to).

I caught myself today suddenly remembering K.A.T.E., as if just a passing shade. I so wanted her, at the time, to be real. 15 years later, however, and that doesn't seem to matter any more. However real she was - even if she was a complete fabrication - she most certainly made a small impact... even if only in the tiniest corner of my memory.

Maybe she'll make it into my next book.

Tuesday, 9 January 2018


I walked, bleary-eyes and sleep-deprived, into work this morning to find somebody had put a free-standing whiteboard in the corner of the room. Placed it in the corner... and seemingly just left it there. Roaming as I was through the rows upon rows of computers, I caught a sideways glance at the board... and something twinged in the back of my head.

Three hours later and I realised what it was.

Dial back a decade (and a bit). At the age of twenty-one, I worked with my mum. I had a part-time job following graduation, but with relatively little to do during the weekdays, I volunteered my time to help out my overworked mother, in a position which practically demanded the immediate proximity of free-standing whiteboards. I also had other commitments - to the (real) band in which I met (the fictional) Karolina, my fledgling (aborted) film career and the excitement of recommissioning my SNES and playing through Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's King Quest for the umpteenth time - but I enjoyed this job. It was fun, rewarding, and more importantly, I got free food.

On this particular occasion, I was cleaning the whiteboard and soliloquising to myself (which I do a lot). I had plans that evening to see (read: shag) Alicia, and was narrating, under my breath, the relative merits of a sexual relationship with an older lady, when my mother emerged from the unfriendly side of the board. (I shifted positions at this point, handily hiding my erection.) She had noticed my absence, and needed help with a particularly troublesome client. I gave her a promise that I'd be there... once I'd finished wiping the board clean.

"You seem distracted," she observed. "Are you OK?"
"I'm fine," I replied honestly. "I just didn't sleep much last night," and I won't do so tonight, because I'll be spending most of it entwined between a beautiful pair of thighs. This is going to be a good night. "You OK?" I added, in an effort to sound politer in real life than I did in my head.
"Well, I did need help with..."
"Coming!" Which is what she's going to be doing. Last time, I brought her off using my tongue. Tonight I'll do that again. Make her warm and wet, and then I'll slide into her. I love my life! "Quick as I can!" I still can't believe I'm actually having sex!
"What are you muttering about?" came my mother's voice, interrupting my rêverie and handily reminding me where I was.
"Oh, nothing really," I lied. "Finished now. I'll be with you shortly."

And I went to join her, a silly grin on my face and lone "WTF?" left scrawled, unpurged, on the board. In my own handwriting, obviously.

Sunday, 7 January 2018


In year six, a few of the boys in my class started what they called a "gay club". This wasn't what one might think a "gay club" would be consisted of - but then this was year six. The club would wander around the playground, telepathically zoning in on gay people (arbitrarily pointing at random), yelling things like, "AAARGH! I'VE PICKED UP A GAY!". Most people thought this was hilarious. I thought it was insufferable.

I tried several tactics to stop them - using my (self-imposed) status as Superintendent of the LSPD (local school police department) to run an investigation; following them around to casually remind everyone they pinpointed that they probably didn't know what "gay" meant, anyway; and bursting into hysterical tears to yell that I knew people who were gay, and that it shouldn't be used as an insult at all. That shut them up.

See also: my defence of homosexuality in year 7 (which, apparently, made me gay for a year or so); my defence of homosexuality in year 8 (ditto); my defence of homosexuality in year 9 (by which time people were sapient enough to understand what I was getting at; I was beginning to be surprised at this point that I was still the only one making the points that I was making). The fact that I knew gay people was occasionally wheeled out as a final point of justification, at which everyone usually demanded to know who (as if that person or persons would suddenly walk around the corner).

I'd hope, of course, that even without knowing my mum's best friend and her partner, I wouldn't have flirted with the amount of casual homophobia boys in my local area tend to adopt as a badge of how much into sports they are. But this will have to remain hope, because I did know them. I've known them since I was born.

My mother met her best friend - her dear heart - when she was at university. They clicked, and they've been the closest ever since. I can see why - her friend is smart, funny, friendly and homely: she radiates an aura which makes one feel like you are sitting by a fire with a Peanuts book and a cup of tea, which is exactly what I spent most of my time doing during our frequent stays at their house in the Midlands (well, that, and playing Alex Kidd in Miracle World on their Master System in the spare room or watching soft porn on their cable TV - although I only did that once...). As I grew into adulthood, I began to visit them independently, and discussed more wholesome pursuits like why they should be watching Father Ted and why I was able to access my university's network from their computer so I could waste my time do some of my coursework from their lounge. I even confided in them my secret crush, which (up until then) had been a secret.

My mum's friend came with her formidable partner - a Scottish lady with a beautiful accent, severe haircut and similarly warm radiation, so much so that being in a room with them was like a Mediterranean summer's day. They worked well together, had a lot of time for each other, and showed that there was a lot of love between them, in the same way my parents did; during my youngest years, nothing about them came close to being unusual or unworldly. I started school at 4 (or 2, if you count nursery) already knowing an openly gay couple, so I didn't need to be told it wasn't "wrong". I already knew.

I wish I could say that this was the only reason that my mum's friend's partner's recent death was a bit of a blow. But I can't say that. Her sole purpose wasn't to teach me that some people are gay (in fact, I don't think either of them even mentioned it once - they just were). She told me a lot about dogs, lent me books and audio tapes, laughed at my jokes, listened as I talked her through how to change the sounds on her computer, and tried to convince me that living in Grantham was nothing to do with Margaret Thatcher (although I suspect that they were the only two Labour voters in Grantham during the 80s). She liked children, animals, and other people, and was excellent company.

When I was asked to write something for people to include in her memorial, my first thought was that I should mention how her relationship with my mother's friend was my first contact with homosexuality, and that I was blessed by this, letting me grow up without the prejudice that a lot of my friends displayed. But I wrote a paragraph without mentioning it. If there's anything one can take away from life, it's that someone's sexual orientation shouldn't be an issue. Everyone is an individual, and the fact that she was gay doesn't matter any more than her grey hair, love of dogs, ability to make a good cup of tea, affinity for Call My Bluff, or frustration with the first level of Alex Kidd in Miracle World.

My mother shall miss her. And so shall I.

Thursday, 4 January 2018

Love Hard

Now I'm over the hill, too many thrills
Too much to choose from, it's making me ill
Let's go over the top, so give me a pill
Too much to choose from, it's making me ill

I have, over the past few days, been loving her particularly hard.

Wait, come back! I probably need to explain. Of course it hasn't been like I didn't love her this much before. I've loved her for a long time now. We've been a couple since the end of 2012 and you don't last this long without love. That's not what I'm trying to say.

What I am trying to say is that, since the New Year, I've spent a lot of time lying awake at night, and with nothing else to do, I've been overanalysing things, looking at our relationship from different angles and, sometimes, trying to do the impossible: viewing it as an outsider. I can look at other couples - Robinson and Lovely, their relationship having lasted for more than a decade before they took the next step; Hairy Friend and his American wife, still as tactile with each other as they have been since they met; 47 and his wife, a relationship I've championed since its inception - and see the spark there. Hell, with some couples, I can practically feel it.

With us, the spark has always been there. Sometimes, I will admit, it's difficult to channel. There are those dull moments - where she's out at work and I'm sitting alone, wondering what to do - or when I'm working away, glad of the summer freedom but missing what I have when home. It's an odd feeling to lie awake next to a sleeping girlfriend and think about how much you love her.

I mean, I tell her. I tell her I love her every day. I say it over and over and over again, because despite what some people think, I don't think it can be said too much.

But there's more to it than that. I look at her and I tell her she looks pretty. I laugh at the cute things she does and listen to the stuff she tells me. I try to make her laugh too, with varying degrees of success. We talk, we cuddle, we kiss, we joke, we bitch. Through all this, I tell her I love her. But on my own, I constantly remind myself. I catch myself looking at her, or thinking of her - maybe something as simple as a smile or an in-joke we share.

And for the past few days, it's been my oxygen. I've been very tired - no sleep, no energy, very little inspiration and in a lot of pain from my injured mouth (which I'll tell you about some other time). Some days, it's been a struggle even to stand up straight. But I'm stronger, because I love her. I am protected, because I love her. I am supported by my love for her. I think it's that, above all, that keeps me going... that is why I have been appreciating her more than ever. Because, even though she's there for me when I need her, it's nice to remind myself of that. So I do.

Sunday, 31 December 2017


Because I'm probably about twelve mentally, I've been keeping a log in my diary of all the orgasms I've had this year.

Yes, really.

I've used the very simple system of drawing a little star in the corner of the paper whenever I orgasm, which both allows me to remember, keeps my pen working, and crucially, silently bemoans the fact that I don't orgasm nearly enough. I remember a system I once suggested as a record of sex... but there's no reason it can't be used for orgasms too... right?...

So, according to what I wrote down, these are the facts:

163 - the number of orgasms I had in 2017 (and, unless something incredible happens later today, that will be my final number!)

5 - the number of days on which I had more than one orgasm. I didn't have more than two in a day this year, but still, more than one.

November 1st, 2017 - the date I had the largest orgasm of the year. Yes, I seriously did record this, by adding exclamation marks to decorate my little star.

November 3, 2017 to November 13, 2017 - a ten-day period during which I had no orgasms at all. According to my diary, I was relatively busy with work and the like around this time, I'm not going to pretend that's an excuse.

Still, 163. That's less than half the year. I have, however, been keeping my sex drive up this year, which is relatively pleasing. What's more, although I didn't make 2016 Escape Velocity in terms of blog posts this year (FOR WHICH I HAVE NO EXCUSE), I am certainly a more prolific wanker than I am blogger. It's good to be successful at something.

Thursday, 28 December 2017

And to all, a good morning...

ILB: "Why do girls ejaculate?"
LLB: "Mmmmmmmmmm....?"
ILB: "Because, uh, when boys come, it's a biological thing, because their cum contains spermatozoa, so it facilitates reproduction, right?"
LLB: "..."
ILB: "But girls become wetter to facilitate intercourse, so why do they come? I mean, it's seriously hot - really, really hot - but why? Is there some biology behind it, or...?"
LLB: "..."
ILB: "..."
LLB: "...good morning?"

[ILB sits up in bed. He's been asleep for hours. This is the first thing he can remember saying.]

ILB: "Good morning!"


ILB: "Okay, this is me, waking up."

Sunday, 24 December 2017

Soft Porn Sunday Special: ILB's Top 10 Sex Films

Christmas Eve, eh? I've been waiting for this... the inevitable build-up before the inevitable climax, which will probably be bitterly disappointing. This evening I'll be at my family party before walking to Mass with all my drunk cousins. A couple of years ago, my auntie spilled the blood of Christ on the floor. I certainly plan to include it in the Christmas dinner quiz tomorrow.

Something I've been working on over the week building up to Christmas is a sequence of lists I've been using to fill up the notepaper littering my desk. On Thursday evening I wrote out a lost of my "Top Ten" softcore films ever, not to be confused with the Top Ten scenes I did a year ago. I did, of course, think this was an easy task... two hours later, having completed it, I was a broken man. Difficult as it was to whittle it down to ten, putting them in actual order was practically impossible.

Still, it's my list, so I set myself some ground rules to make it even more difficult:

(i) It must be a full-length film. No individual episodes of series are permissible. So no Bedtime Stories, Passion Cove, Compromising Situations, Love Street or Co-Ed Confidential.
(ii) Full-length films (ie. one and a half hours or more) as part of a series of films are permissible, as are sequels, remakes and alternate versions, as long as they fit the time frame.
(iii) No hardcore. I've only ever seen a couple of full hardcore films, anyway - that's mostly scenes - but this lift should be purely softcore. I didn't find this one particularly difficult.
(iv) There must be a variety of producers in the list. They can't all be ASP or Surrender Cinema.
(v) Any genre of erotica is permitted, but you must be able to justify why you have chosen the film if it fits into any other genre (eg. erotic romance, erotic sci-fi, sex comedy, sexploitation).

And this is what my sweat and blood went into...

ILB's Top Ten Sex Films far

10. Beneath the Valley of the Ultravixens (1979)
I wasn't sure whether to include this one, as I'm finding Russ Meyer more and more problematic as I get older. However, although it's probably not his most well-known, Beneath the Valley... is RM's last film (Pandora Peaks doesn't count), largely considered to be his funniest and is by far his most explicit. It's also got the most sex in it and, when I was a teenager, I thought it to be the pinnacle of sex films. It's also indirectly responsible for my first orgasm, so there's that.
Once I saw it, I became obsessed with seeing it again - which I did, once - before getting around to buying it once I hit 18. As one might expect, my memories were a little too affectionate; I didn't pick up on the finer points, and I imagined there to be more sex than there actually is. I also didn't expect the violence, but there you have it. RM may be more well-known for flicks like Vixen! and Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, but this holds a special place in my heart for being the one I wanted to see by far the most.

09. Dungeon of Desire (1999)
Another case of misremembered brilliance here, as I was convinced that there was a very hot scene between the wicked queen and her henchman in this Surrender B-grade erotic fantasy. There is such a scene, but it's actually pretty boring. Having seen it again a couple of times, however, it does have its merits - particularly one specific bit which must be my favourite lesbian sex scene ever (and I don't usually like lesbian stuff...), so there's that.
This one has a great cast, too - not just the usual suspects like Regina Russell and Amber Newman, but Mia Zottoli, Stella Porter, Susan Featherly and "good ol' Jason Schnuit" (plus Burke Morgan as a metal-loving Merlin) make for a pretty entertaining ride - even if the production value doesn't seem particularly high...

08. Escape from Pleasure Planet (2016)
By far the most recent on my list and one I didn't know existed until recently, and also the only one by Retromedia Entertainment (and probably filmed in a day, too). In fact, like Dungeon of Desire above, this is on my list because of a lesbian scene... but there's more than that. I'm not particularly enamoured with the rest of the scenes (although most of them do have their moments), but I do love the amount of effort that was put into this, the absolute nonsense of the plot, and the mind-meltingly hot actors they managed to hire for it.
Yes, it makes very little sense, and I think they managed to lose their thread about halfway through writing it (there isn't any real ending, either), but it does manage to hold onto its sci-fi roots, and shoehorns in a lot of sex where it can. It's no higher on this list, though, 'cause I think the last ten minutes are a little sexist.

07. Fast Lane to Vegas (2000)
The second in a series that began with Fast Lane to Malibu. It took me a while to getting around to seeing it in full, which I only managed recently, but I've been really enjoying it. It's well-made, brilliantly thought-out, and actually has a relatively complex plot, complete with fourth-wall-breaking soliloquising narration, multiple viewpoints, and a post-climax resolution (if it does resort to a "here we go again!" ending...).
There are some great sex scenes here - the obligatory Zottoli/Schnuit bonk-fest, the scene with Flower Edwards playing a Mexican señorita, the bit with Tera Patrick as a naked alien... but I've decided, following a few re-watches, that the best scene doesn't feature the two leads at all, and is in fact features Renee Rea as tritagonist Monica. It's one of the most lustful scenes recently, and is fast making its way onto my list of go-to scenes for a 'helping hand'.
That's almost second, though, to how much thought went into this, because for all the nudity, haphazard characterisation and loose morals, there's a genuine comedy here, hidden behind the softcore sheen.

06. Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy (1994) - aka First Contact
Film one of seven in the ever-expanding Emmanuelle series and the first to feature both Krista Allen as Emmanuelle and Paul Michael Robinson as Haffron. This is a charming, gentle introduction into the series and a spirited attempt to update Emmanuelle, who at this point had been flagging a little. It's very mid-'90s, and it shows, but it's packed full of sex, even if Emmanuelle herself only seems to do it twice... and it sets up the rest of the series, which isn't something I've ever seen in an Emmanuelle film before.
This perhaps isn't as good as later films in the series (in terms of sex; the plot is unbeatable), and it flags a little in the third act - this could have cut that extra storyline out - but it's certainly very hot, worth a watch, and also just about as explicit as softcore gets, still without showing anything vital. And it also has some of my favourite quotes, as well - "what's money?"

05. Emmanuelle: One Last Fling (1994) - aka One Final Fling
Film six of seven in the... hang on, this seems familiar...
By this point in the series, Emmanuelle and Haffron are head-over-heels for each other and having sex at any given opportunity, and I really don't need to explain any further, do I?

04. Andromina: The Pleasure Planet (1999)
Not to be confused with the aforementioned Escape from Pleasure Planet (it's a different film, and a different company entirely!), this looks - for a bit - like it could have been adapted from a book. It wasn't, but it has different tribes of women on a hypersexual world without any men, an interstellar brothel-type planet, and it's a Surrender title so it's got Shannan Leigh, et al., in it. It has shades of Gor and a touch of Poul Anderson in its origins, and unlike a lot of the other Surrender titles, it doesn't take place inside a plastic castle.
There's very little sci-fi for something which is ostensibly sci-fi - it's closer to sword and planet than any other sub-genre - but there's a lot of sex in this, and it's all hot, from the curious opener with Susan Hale to the vocal fling with Shyra Deland and The Hulk to the reason I like Susan Featherly... but the absolute best, for me, is the stunning (and innocently stereotyped) scene with Shannan Leigh as bad girl Becca, which is worth the price of the DVD alone, in my opinion. And we'll be seeing her again...

03. Friend of the Family (1995) - aka Elke 
This title, which is almost pure drama as much as it is softcore, stars Shauna O'Brien in the title rôle as Elke, but as attractive as she is, the bright shining star of this film by miles (and the reason it's so popular) is Lisa Boyle as Montana Stillman. She is a huge-breasted, naughty revelation as the 19-year-old Montana, and her three sex scenes are masterpieces, from the movements, the intensity and the acting to the way the music synchronises.
These are the scenes that I remember liking the most, the scenes that were always the easiest to download... and the scenes that got me nice and distracted during my History A2 exam. In fact, it's my favourite scene from Elke that's the one I used to test my BlackBerry's ability to run videos (and it's still on the SD card, so if I need it, it's always there for me). I was never that enchanted with New City's other releases, and there is a Friend of the Family II which I'm not really there for, but stuff like this gets me going, and it turned me into a confirmed Lisa Boyle fan.

02. Emmanuelle: Concealed Fantasy (1994) - aka There's More to Love than Sex
Gosh, how predictable am I?
Okay, seriously, this is the last one on the list and it's the best Emmanuelle film ever. Don't believe me? You may well be wrong. This one is pretty much non-stop sex. There's a little of the continuous plot here, contributing to the filmic "serial" element of the Emmanuelle in Space canon, but since this is mostly a bridge between episodes three and six (five is hardly worth a mention), they don't have much to do with the film, so they just insert longer, progressively hotter sex scenes - everywhere. On a bed, on the floor, in the bath (twice), in the shower... everywhere. And, to top it all off, Emmanuelle and Haffron jump between exotic locales, so we get some pretty scenery, even though neither of them seem to see much of it, because they're too busy making love.
This episode - and neither of the ones above - doesn't actually contain my favourite Emmanuelle sex scene featuring Emmanuelle (that's in episode 2, A World of Desire), but there's still a lot to enjoy... and, if I'm being honest - if I really want an orgasm, this is the file I'll open first.

And a couple of honourable mentions, as if this post wasn't long enough already:
- The Exotic Time Machine II (2000) for one particular sex scene with Jason Schnuit, but only one good sex scene really isn't enough to make the list
- The Night That Never Happened (1997) for being an enjoyable heist thriller rather than a straight-up softcore movie, but not being on the list probably because of that
- Emmanuelle Through Time (2011/2012) for being genuinely funny and enjoyable, even if it isn't as sexy a series as the earlier stuff
- The Sex Files: Creating the Perfect Man (2000), which almost made the list because of its hot sex, but didn't make it because I don't like the male lead

And finally...

01. The Virgins of Sherwood Forest (2000)
By far my favourite softcore film of all time and probably one of my favourite films of all time, full stop, Virgins is perhaps not everyone's top choice for a film, having a cheesy set-up (the whole thing is a dream... or is it?!), questionable acting (although Dave Roth is a joy as the self-obsessed Robin, and Micah Bradshaw makes for an attractively wide-eyed Alan) and dodgy scripting, but that just makes it funnier.
Virgins is probably a misnomer, however, seeing as how there aren't any virgins in the film... but the sex is scorching hot: not just my favourite scene ever with Shannon Leigh and David Usher, but all eight sex scenes featuring a combination of Leigh, Usher, Bradshaw, Roth, Susan Hale, Amber Newman, Jason Schnuit, and (as main character Roberta) Gabriella Hall are decent, either contributing to the plot or just there for fun... because soft porn is fun! The music is good, the setting is good, the actors all seem to be enjoying themselves... and it's all knowingly tongue-in-cheek. It may be difficult to sit through, but it's a bundle of sexy, horny fun. Love it.

And that's my top ten. Phew. Right, I'm off to eat myself into oblivion and question my life choices. Merry Christmas!

Friday, 22 December 2017

A Dirty Diagram

Ten years of sex blogging and I've never written about this before. I've certainly thought about it, but...

For a long time, in my happier days, I was in a fairly incestuous community. We only met every now and again, but for a group of young people, being members of a larger organisation with generally liberal views and emphasis of freedom of expression (and there was alcohol), every second was a godsend. I got through university living for the occasional weekends, week-long summer soirées and - fairly accurately, when it comes to the time I'm writing this, the precious one filling the pointless void between Christmas and New Year - the only time I managed to get a kiss from my crush. Although I managed it.

The idea came out more than once that a web could be drawn: a diagram of intercrossing lines providing proof that everyone in the community was linked by a fairly continuous trail of saliva, encompassing all 208 registered members (although that was a bit ambitious; even the largest events mostly totalled about 50 attendees), and that such a diagram could be easily drawn up. One of our number threw himself into the task, and was sent about 70+ such kisses from one particular girl who was specifically fond of physical contact; an impressive 38-in-one-day from another, younger and also particularly liberal girl; and my modest two.

I never saw the result, but I hear it was pretty spectacular.

That's not the only community I contributed to, however. I once spent long enough trying to explain all the various trysts in a smaller, more tight-knit community to KW - long enough, in fact, for me to go and get a pencil and paper and draw them all out, adding more and more as I thought of it. In this case, however, I was more central (in fact, I was right in the middle), having kissed a few members (in fact, having consulted my list, by first five chronological kisses were all from that group! Bizarro!), had sex with some, and fancied even more. KW took the list home, and made a graphic for his benefit - he had to use maths to work out where people should go in order to keep all the lines straight.

And then we have the sex blogging community.

This would be an impossible task, I think - not least due to the varying complexities of who the community contains, and what comprises it (what are readers, if not the blood circulation of the body?); add, also, the fact that a lot of us are, if not anonymous, pseudonymous - might you, beautiful reader, have kissed a sex blogger without knowing? - and that there are some kisses that one may wish to keep secret, not know about, or have forgotten.

Apart from the American sex bloggers - who, from what I've heard, are a little more blasé about such disclosure...

But it did get me thinking, and the thinking led to sketching. You can link me to Molly in two hops, and GOTN in five. There are more, too - those who I'd like to have kissed, and many more that I'm sure I've missed. I'm still adding names, and as I dial back through my ten-year mental Rolodex of public and private displays of affection and dirty kisses in the corner of back rooms, the lines become more and more blurred. Do you count me and Rose, even though I've only ever kissed her on the cheek? What about the Seamstress? Or Catherine? They both stopped blogging, but do they count?

And then there are more. There's plenty I've seen from the sidelines, but plenty more I don't know about. I'm not going to message everyone to ask for their past kisses - as my friend in the aforementioned community did - as, well, for the reasons I've laid out above, really. But it's a fascinating task. A very dirty one, for sure, but that's what makes it so interesting. It's the almost getting caught, as Emmanuelle says, that's fun.

And it's this sort of thing that keeps me blogging after a decade. There's always more to explore, and for the curious, more to beguile the discerning reader.

It may be a dirty diagram, that's for sure. But it's certainly a lot of fun to create. Impossible, yes - but fun, intriguing, naughty... and, with prudent admiration for all my fellow bloggers, very, very dirty.