Thursday, 31 January 2008

How not to write an ad: Part One

The image on the right is from my inbox on that hotbed of Viagra adverts that is Yahoo! Mail. I'm by no means an advocate of Yahoo!, but when you're creating a secret identity, it's always good to have a faceless multinational corporation to hide behind, especially when they do free e-mail.

I do rather think somebody is trying to tell me something, however...

Has anyone ever been to Craigslist? When I'm really bored, it's one of the places I tend to haunt to give me a cheap laugh. Despite the promise of it being a home of all kinds of classified adverts, I have to wonder whether it is actually used for anything except free personals - or adverts for sex from people who are either too cheap-ass, too wise, or desperate enough not to try out adult dating sites.

I wonder if it's successful.

You see, the sort of advert a girl will post on Craigslist goes like this:

are you young and looking for nsa and super horny, here are some picture of my body, send me some of you and a dick pic i want to see what is going to go into me (yes, this is an actual advert)

Followed by a couple of pictures.

Yeah, it's an easy trap to fall into.
And sometimes it seems serious enough. But I seriously doubt, as I'm sure you will (yes - you over there, YOU!) too, that anyone there is actually looking to have sex with someone random and bored enough to be visiting Craigslist themselves.

I'll admit it: once or twice I have been curious enough to respond to a Craigslist post, for a laugh more than anything else... once even taking a picture of my penis and sending it (hey, what can I say... I'm reckless) and the responses I got were all the same:

hey i know your not interested in meeting some1 ur not attracted 2, and i dont have a pic on CL. so plz go to the following address: [something beginning with] 2 see my pix. much love.

This, of course, eventually links to a dating site, which ends up with yet another webcam site scam. Huzzah for that. The one response I did get - "Is Saturday OK?" - ended up with no contact from either me or her. If, indeed, it was a her.

The problem is, this sort of image really does make the gap for real prospective-casual-encounter people much narrower. As I expected, my investigative post on Craigslist didn't yield any results - even to say, "man, you're ugly; tits or gtfo" - and, eventually, people are going to give up on the internet. They're going to actually have to go back to hanging around in bars wearing extremely tight tops (in the case of the ladies) or shirts saying "Please?" (for the men).

Like that'll have as much effect. I should know - even though I've never tried.

Tuesday, 29 January 2008


I masturbate for about half an hour to various porn. It takes me a long time to climax.

I climax.

Suddenly, I'm in tears. Not the eyes watering like they always do after I climax. I'm actually crying.


I need rest. Also possibly chocolate.

Monday, 28 January 2008

Grey, white and flaxon yellow

Everyone's sexually attracted to a certain type of person. For me, it's geeks. Well, I'm one myself, so that fits. But I'm talking physically here. I find girls who are shorter than me sexy (and I'm tall, so that widens the range somewhat). I like girls who aren't too thin; I like girls who wear glasses. I like girls with a well-defined nose (seriously). I like white girls...

...but every now and then, I begin to think that I absolutely have to have lots of sex with girls who are black.

It's odd. I've never fancied a black girl. White, yes - many; Indian, yes; Mauritian, yes; East Asian, yes. But I've never been too attracted to what one may term a 'black' person. (Incidentally, only 2% of the British population is black. They mostly live in London, so I was very surprised to find that out as we have such a diverse society here!) But this has nothing to do with individual people or actual preferences. I'd like to fuck a black girl.

I've never even been that turned on by inter-racial porn. I mean, there shouldn't be race boundaries anyway (despite what the brilliant Avenue Q might say in jest), but porn manufacturers/hawkers do make a big deal of the fact that porn has inter-racial elements. I really don't like black men in porn. Their penises are far too big and I don't care much for their hairstyles, either! So I've never liked black/black, or white girl/black man (which is ALWAYS white slave/black master... ALWAYS).
But, for some reason, I really like black girl/white man. I really, really do like it. I think it's hot.

I've no idea why. There's no social taboo any more (or there shouldn't be post-circa-1990), but I like tall, ebony women with flowing, dark hair... curves in all the right places; nice, shapely behind; breasts like the hills of heaven; full, kissable lips; playful manner; dynamite in bed... you get the idea, right? And every now and again, my fantasies flicker to a dominant-but-gentle black girl enticing me to bed to, as it were, mix colours. Usually after I've watched porn with that content, I admit.

I don't think it's going to happen, ever, because I don't think I'll ever hook a black girlfriend/lover/swing. As I said... I've never actually fancied a black person.

But it's a lovely fantasy, n'est-ce pas?

Sunday, 27 January 2008


It's 2 AM, and I'm lying in bed, hard.

It's been a long, busy and enjoyable day and, despite passing quickly past Amora during my time out in central London, I haven't thought about sex much, if at all (innuendo-related jokes with my friends aside, of course). Now I'm back at home, in total silence - everyone else is asleep - darkness, relaxation and the softness of my bed, I find myself horny. And I haven't even considered sex.
I'm too tired to move, too tired to even consider moving my hand to anywhere near my penis, so I curl up into a little ball. It's throbbing against my stomach. I readjust myself, holding it between my thighs so it looks for a little while like I haven't got one and have, for some reason, become a girl. But that stimulates it even more. I clutch my stuffed bunny rabbit to my chest - not like I'm going to violate him; he's a bunny, not a sex toy - and roll about helplessly in my bed. Eventually, my erection melts away, and I manage to get comfortable enough.

I'm lying awake, my insomnia unremitting, but I feel relaxed and sleepy. I'm just thinking that I may well be able to get to sleep, when thoughts of text I saw on LiveJournal over four years ago leap into my mind: some points I just felt I needed a penis inside me
...i need someone for kinky sex
...we fucked a lot; it ruled
...he is a great shag
...i felt it slide into me and gave a shiver of lustful pleasure
Basically, I can't stop these lines running through my head. Before, I know it, I'm hard again. Blood's rushing through my body at a tremendous rate. "I'm too tired for this," I think. But there's nothing I can do about it. At 2:30 AM, I lack the mental capacity for willing myself towards other thoughts (although sex at that time... that, I can do). I turn over, lying flat on my stomach and chest, my hands spread out, my hard penis pressed against the bed sheet, almost like I'm in the missionary position. This hurts my penis, which seems to need either air or a hole to slip into. Since it's not getting either, it reverts to its natural state.

It's now 3 AM, and for no reason whatsoever, I'm lying on my side, feeling anxious. I'm tense, unrelaxed, fractious. I get itchy prickles running down my back. I kick out in my bed, rubbing my legs together rapidly. Eventually, I tire myself out. I spread my whole body out in a cross, my king-size bed barely accommodating my long limbs and tall body. I'm lying on my back, breathing heavily, my long dark hair sprawled out on the pillow behind my head, gazing up at the ceiling.

But at least I'm not hard any more. And it only took me one hour to forget about sex so that I could sleep.

Oh, ILB... what are we going to do with you?

Thursday, 24 January 2008

Whatever I can do, to get in bed with you

I'm sitting in front of my computer, toast in one hand and a cup of tea on my right-hand side. Out of my speakers blare Whatever by the Bastard Fairies*, Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo by the Bloodhound Gang, and The Ballad of Barry and Frieda by Victoria Wood.

Why is so much music about sex? I think you'd be hard-pressed to find one artist who hasn't written a song relating at least a little to sex (or at least have a dirty enough mind twist it into being so!). And I'm not complaining - I couldn't talk, anyway, as the songs I write almost always have a 'let's have sex' overtone to them (OH NOES, NOW YOU KNOW I WRITE SONGS, YOU GUYZ CAN WORK OUT WHO I AM OMG WTF LOL BBQ!!!1). But it seems that when there's nothing else to write about, musicians (they? we? I?) fall back onto sex, as it's a safe topic.

"If music be the food of love, play on; give me excess of it," as Shakespeare says, but as we all know by now, there is a distinction between love and sex, so we have to take this one stage further. Not that it matters, really - there are millions of songs about love. The problem is, they mostly suck.

The Divine Comedy's Songs of Love sums it all up perfectly, really - while young men hunt their frocked prey (to defrock them?), Neil sits in his study writing songs about love. Only he's self-parodying, because love songs are usually slushy, overly romantic to the point of not being so, and so whiny you wonder why he/she would ever go near him/her in the first place, never mind how they feel about having a song dedicated to them (fair enough, I also dedicate songs to people, but at least I make sure they like the song first...).

Sex songs, however, are different. Mostly, they're great, especially if it's innuendo. I'm not so into My Neck, My Back by Khia, for example (although I'd totally do her) - cheeky bands like the aforementioned Bloodhound Gang, James, and Green Day (check out Longview) really can slip so many references into a song that it makes it almost a guilty pleasure by singing along.

Summary: Music is sexy.

* "I've got to save the world, liberate, eat the food that's on my plate. Recycling is really great... whatever I can do... to get in bed with you" - this song is SO talking about how to seduce me. I swoon for socialists.

Tuesday, 22 January 2008


I know that laughing during coitus is supposed to be an indication of how good an orgasm you are having... but this clip made me laugh a lot more.

Sunday, 20 January 2008


I haven't had the most fulfilling weekend, despite doing a few more things than I'd usually do of a weekend. Unfortunately, none of those things involve sex. I've not even had an orgasm for about 3 days and, while I understand it's hardly a lengthy period at all, remember I masturbate a lot and, ergo, not having the time equals no orgasms. Which is strange.

What's even stranger, however, is that I've spent most of the weekend in the company of two very charming members of the opposite sex, and I didn't even think of having sex with either of them at least once.
The first, I have mentioned on this blog before; she has been a very long way away for a very long time, and is now back in London and loving being home. Despite still recovering from a long flight, she felt well enough to see and spend the day with me... that is to say, we had a coffee, walked through London for a bit, and then we went back to her house and I spent about eight hours fixing her laptop (note: I did manage it in the end). She gave me lots of hugs, and a cup of tea too.
The second is someone whom I have a rather complex relationship with; she is about five years older than I am, but looks and sounds younger (not that she is immature). She's an aspiring actress and I'm an amateur actor, and in one of the plays we have done together (the first, and still the best), there were a couple of scenes where we kissed on stage. This led to a few inside-jokes which led to a very flirty and somewhat borderline relationship outside of the stage (mostly chatting over MSN). Whenever we meet, there's usually a sly joke about our rather flagging stage romance. Well, it amuses me, anyway.

Both are stunningly physically attractive, with magnetic personalities, a sense of humour to die for and (in my experience) very soft bodies, which are good for hugs! (In the second's case, nice kissin' lips too, although I've pecked the first on a cheek before, it's hardly the same...) I'd almost definitely be very pleased to be in some sort of romantic relationship with either of them.
But it's not going to happen. That's not the strange thing. Nor is that I am friends with them; most of my friends, after all, are girls and they're almost all very attractive too.

The odd thing is that I can spend two days in the company of these girls and not think about sex once, which proves, once again, that love conquers all.

Either that, or "she's out there somewhere, she just hasn't turned up yet" (which translates as "it's not me") depressed me enough to forget about most things for the rest of the weekend, and I realised that the wisest thing to do was just to shut up and fix her fucking laptop.

Thursday, 17 January 2008

Best lesbian kiss ever

I really should stop watching programmes like this.

Okay, that's a lie. This is the only programme of this ilk that I actually watched. I blogged about it last week, so I don't even know why I'm mentioning it again.

Hell, I don't even know why I watched it again. It wasn't a great episode - for a sexy show, it's actually extremely unsexy; American-style drama set in Britain with a load of sexy women in not-sexy sexual situations. See, even the way I describe it doesn't make sense. Plus, I've always sneered at people who watch serials. It's like they have nothing better to do. But, then again, I do have nothing better to do.

Anyway, lesbian kisses.

Lesbians don't really turn me on as much as they seem to do to other boys. I've always been open to the fact that homosexuality exists; half of my friends are at least bi, and I never went through the revulsion that other people (boys, mainly) did in the first half of secondary school considering the idea that you could be sexually attracted to someone of the same sex.

Unless it was two girls, because that was okay. This I didn't get.

What was so appealing about seeing two girls get it on that wasn't about seeing a guy and a girl doing the same? I mean, if you're a straight guy, isn't this what you want to be happening?
Over time, I came to justify the attraction of lesbians more and more - after all, let's be honest, it's sex and if you're wanting a sexual thrill there's nothing wrong with watching two girls shag, even if you're not that way inclined (read: if you're male; a boy can't be a lesbian, right?) I don't watch gay boy porn, because I don't find men sexually attractive; I'll watch lesbian porn if it's hot; I much prefer straight porn; over that, I prefer straight softcore erotica.

I just don't think lesbian actions are hotter than boy/girl stuff. I really don't get what's so unusual about me thinking that.

But a kiss is a kiss. And this kiss was a very hot one.

Tuesday, 15 January 2008


What's a date?

It seems like an odd question to be asking, but let's think about it for a second.

Earthworm Jim: I slept on my head funny again! And I've got a hot date with Princess What's-Her-Name!
Peter Puppy: You're just going for a pizza, Jim. You can hardly call it a date. Oh, and...
He notices Jim is shaving.
Peter Puppy: don't have facial hair.
Earthworm Jim: I know that! You think I don't know that? I just want everything to be perfect! And I've only got... THIRTY-SIX HOURS to get ready!

This scene popped into my head (like it does every time I go somewhere with anyone...) when I read the following curious sentence, on Wikipedia's entry defining cybersex:

"Cybersex has also been used in therapy to help those who are too shy or are unsure of how to (re-)enter the dating and sexual scene."

There is no "(re-)entering the dating and sexual scene". It's not really something you can just arbitrarily choose to enter, if you overcome shyness. Despite what American teen films (and, on these shores, Grange Hill) tells you, you can't just say to yourself, "hmmm, I'm tired of being single - I think I'll go on a date tonight". Or, even more ridiculously, "yeah, I'll have sex with someone." For a start, you need to ask someone out.
This isn't Jake's Booty Call.

I admit, a lot of people who want to date do go out to clubs and places to try and meet people to date. Fine by me (although apparently it was easier in older times, so my grandparents tell me... probably because jukeboxes play rock so loud you can't actually chat up anyone properly at all in any of the good places), but that isn't a "scene". It's just a thing you can do.

The problem (and I don't know if it's a British thing or not) is that people place a lot of value on going out on a 'date'. There's even some contention as to what a date is. My father defined it as:

- Boy takes girl somewhere
- Event happens
- Boy takes girl home

It's a terribly ambiguous definition, and not really something I've done. I've been in one very brief casual relationship and one serious relationship, and I've never been on a date.

Then there's this question: is someone you go on a date with your girl-/boyfriend? If you're asked what your relationship status is, what do you say? "Dating"? "Short-term relationship"? "Seeing someone"? Or that good old stopgap, "it's complicated"? So if I ask someone out and she says yes, at which point is she my girlfriend? What if we date for three years and nobody ever says 'girlfriend'?

And surely it always all depends on the individual anyway?

That's why there's no dating/sexual scene. As clinically simple as Wikipedia's entry makes it out to be, the world isn't divided up into [people who go on dates and/or have sex] and [people who do neither].

For someone like me, it's hard to conceive getting anywhere near the first category anyway.

Monday, 14 January 2008

Statatitstisatsics (I never could spell that)

400,000,000 (400 million) people on Earth have sex every day. This may seem a lot, but when most websites (like this one) give the population as nearing seven billion, that's actually not a lot. Still, it's more than you actually think.

The average person in Britain has sex, on average, 2.6 times a week. I have some catching-up to do!

Isaac Newton was Britain's oldest virgin. He died in his sixties without a record of ever having sex. Mind you, he was a miserable git who rarely smiled and called poetry "ingenious nonsense". I wouldn't go near him even if I were desperate and blind.

If you drop the lamp, there is a 25% possibility that within the next three steps you are likely to be eaten by a grue.

Sex bloggers who only have half an hour may make posts without any point.

Saturday, 12 January 2008


My crush, also one of my closest friends, has been away (on the other side of the world, it seems) for a considerable period of time. I used to see her (albeit not in the romantic sense) about once every week. Now all I'm doing is waiting for her. I'm also waiting for a present I bought her to actually reach me. But since it's coming from America, I can wait a little longer.

She's coming back today, although I don't know when - it's a long flight and she may not be back until tomorrow. Who knows? (Well, presumably she does, but knowing her, she may not either...) My subconscious, however, is well aware of the fact that, despite me knowing where she is and how long she's been there, I have no idea what she has been doing and what she might do when she gets back.

Last night, I had a dream involving me reading an 'evaluation of my trip away' post on her LiveJournal and discovering not one, but two animated GIFs of her having sex with a young man, under the headings "Things I did while there" and "The best thing that happened while I was there". The whole post on her LJ (although I can't remember exactly what) seemed to be capitalising on the fact that while away she had been sleeping with this attractive guy who, in the pictures, looked like me with shorter hair and more muscle. And, you know, his penis inside her.
I woke up at about 4 and convinced myself that she had not been having sex with anyone, not that it should matter to me anyway, as (love her as much as I do) she's not my girlfriend, and I should forget it and go back to sleep, which I did. I immediately descended into another dream, in which I was browsing her page on a social networking site which, to all intents and purposes, looked like the bastard child of MySpace, Facebook and 4chan. On said site, there was a 'counter' which revealed that, during her month away, she had slept with no less than four boys, as well as one girl.

I woke up again, at which point my mother walked into my room and threw me the Superman book I'd ordered from Amazon.

Today I've been feeling like there's one big eye inside of me which is crying all the time. It probably hasn't been revealed to me like I'd want it to be, but it has been: this girl, who makes me feel indescribable, has been absent for far too long; the thought of her sleeping with anyone makes me upset (I feel a little grumpy with myself whenever she sighs at male celebrities - that's the sort of person I am). And, of course, eventually she will end up with somebody.

It won't be me.

And then she will end up not only having sex with him, but loving him, going places with him, possibly even marrying him.

Let's just hope I've got over it by then.

Thursday, 10 January 2008

"So it's just you and me then, is it?"

Even though I've never been too enchanted with television programmes such as Sex and the City (a single white girl living in the city working for a magazine - wow, insomnia cure!) and Desperate Housewives (my dad and my sister like it, but it never seemed to grip me), when I saw Radio Times this week, the title spread advertising Mistresses jumped out at me. Maybe it was the attractiveness of the women, or the huge text, or even the novelty of seeing someone other than Father Christmas on the cover... whatever it was, I thought I'd give Mistresses a go.

Naturally, I missed it. So I had to watch it on iPlayer.

Oh. My. Gosh.

It's one of those guilty pleasure shows, sure. And, as a boy, I'm not even sure if I should be watching it, but (as we all know by now) I break all those typical boy conventions. Furthermore, although there's no actual sex in the programme, there's lots of heavy petting, passionate kissing, partial nudity, lingerie and liaisons... all involving hot older women with rampant sex drives stuffed into businesslike suits. Thank you, God!

So there I was, sitting feeling both guilty and aroused watching the first episode. And after the end credits, I noticed that I was... well... hard. Very much so.
Not only does this go to show that I get turned on very easily, but it also shows that I can stay hard for over an hour without getting turned off even once. Hooray for me!*


Wednesday, 9 January 2008

What I'm like when I'm lonely and nostalgic

I knew this girl was a scammer:

When I close eyes I all time I present
our meeting with you. And you imagine our meeting?
I very much love you, my heart is ready to jump out of a breast
when I think of you. I feel that wanted such husband all
the life. I die without you. I never before was not so is in love

I will go down with this ship
and I won't put my arms up and surrender
there will be no white flag above my door


Me being me, however, I enjoyed the ability to exchange love letters (flirt?) for an amount of time. I always knew it wouldn't amount to anything. The problem is, however, grammatical errors aside, this is the sort of language I think to myself when in love. I don't say it, in the interests of public decency, but nevertheless, I couldn't resist.

As a hangover from that escapade, I still have the Dido track on my HD - I downloaded it for "her". She (Dido, not Scammer Girl) has a beautiful voice, but depresses me FAR too much.

Tuesday, 8 January 2008


Yoinked from Blacksilk, who in turn yoinked it from Tom.

My Erotic Personality is The Escapist. Take the Erotic Personality Quiz on and discover yours!

Your fantasies and preferences are powerful, and you often rely on them even when new or other stimuli are present. Your internal world is much richer than the one you're forced to live in.

What is your Erotic Personality? Find out now.

Monday, 7 January 2008


[I speed up.]
Almost there.
[Final blows. I need this.]
... lusts her so much... pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner... images forming in a mind through a sea of ASCII and a TCP/IP-based connection ...
[All this stuff happened ages ago, and I still use it.]
... desire her ...
[I close my eyes.]
... aaah.
[Reach for the tissues. Automatic reaction.]
Well, that was a bit of an anticlimax... for a climax, that is. But then again, it's the third time today.
Wait. It's not the third time today. It's the first and only. What the fuck did I think that for?
[Glances at the screen.]
I really should blog about this.
[Throws tissue into bin.]
So... how do I write this in a blog without sounding like a pervert?
[Logs into Blogger.]
Fuck it.

Saturday, 5 January 2008

Let's be Soulmates

So. (OMGZ BEOWULF.) My mother noticed, not for the first time, that I am single. To her, this is mystifying; then again, she is my mother, so it is in her job description to find it the most inexplicable thing that I'm unattached. I really should stop mentioning that I'm single, really; I do slip it occasionally into conversation, but only as a sort of ironic self-deprecation that helps keep witty banter ticking along across the dinner table (or, in this case, while I was trying to play Pokémon, and she was determined to engage me in something more fulfilling...). It's not that I'm totally happy with being single, but I'm hardly dying from it, unless I've suddenly found an explanation for my hurting throat.

I digress. Her suggestion for a cure to the situation involved dating sites - rather, one in particular. I didn't really want to say anything, so I went along with whatever she told me to do, merrily filling in the dating site's information, knowing full well that I won't get any replies whatsoever. At least, not being an adult dating site, there won't be as many camgirls. (Well, hopefully not as many.)
The main problem - apart from trying to keep a straight face - was that I knew perfectly well how to fill in dating site information, having done it about 42974841 times before. But I had to employ all my acting talent to make it seem as if this were something fresh and new and exciting, and the questions (hair colour? eye colour? star sign? Oh gosh, really?!) were so unexpected, that I was having a ball filling it in.

But, to be honest, it was quite fun, really.

Of course, I did feel like saying, "by the way, mother, I don't mean to bring this up, but you know sex blogs...?"

But nobody's that cruel. I'm meant to be an "innocent" loverboy, after all.

Friday, 4 January 2008

savin zelda, brb

Here's what this post is about... LINKS!

*Takes a bow as the audience erupts into raucous laughter at his wondrous wit and ready repartée.*

I think there's some sort of 20% penalty if you start up a sex blog without linking to Girl with a One-Track Mind. But, to be frank, fantastic writer as Abby is, she's suddenly gone all dark and brooding (and deadly serious) in her blog, which isn't the sort of stuff you'd come to expect having devoured her novel.

So, if you're looking to read about sex (like, OMG! Reading sex blogs and expecting SEX... scandal!), I suggest you read some of the links on the right - sex bloggers who actually write with an acceptable grasp of language, and have valid points to make... only don't spend all their damn time making them.

Of course, if you only want sex and no actual blog, then there's always this blog. What a community this is.

Thursday, 3 January 2008

Addiction III: Kisses

Well... just like the amount of sex I've had, I haven't kissed that many girls either. Six at the last count. When you consider that I spend a remarkable amount of time at hippie camps where there's one hell of a lot of promiscuity and people gain some sort of freaky status by the amount of people they've pulled, that's somewhat surprising. Sure, I've watched people get off many, MANY more times than I've managed to get off with anyone myself.

But that's not the point.

A kiss feels great. Perhaps even more than oral pleasure, it's a crucial precursor to sex, but even sans intercourse, kisses can be one of those special moments that have you flying past the stars on silver wings. Or they can tell you things that your kissée's mouth will never say (I knew from the way she kissed that my former girlfriend was cheating on me... honest...).
My problem is that, with the rather blasé attitude towards a good snog one can get at places I've been (university is one, the aforesaid camps and meetings of the same group are another), there's something about me that somewhat puts people off - what is it? The lack of drugs in my bloodstream, the absence of alcohol? They haven't shown any resistance to lying on the floor cuddling me (or in a mass cuddle including me)... so what's different about a kiss?

I know, there's a lot of difference between a hug (I'll write about that at some point too) and actually sliding your tongue into somebody's mouth, physically - but if you just want to show affection for your friends, well... I guess it depends on the individual. Let's just say I wouldn't object, really. But then again, I wouldn't object to having sex with quite a few of my friends either, so I'm hardly one to talk.

Man, this post was waivery. Let's finish off with a statistic: of the six people that I've made out with, two were drunk.