Like Blacksilk, I haven't been around to blog much. Like Lady Pandora, I've got a load of views on sex that I feel I need to write about - just not feeling like I'm doing it in the most eloquent way (Unlike Pandora, however, I lack a jar full of all the evils in the world - and I also lack hope, natch). Like LucyBoots, I'm horny.
Unlike all of them, I'm a loser.
Oh... and a boy, too.
But one thing I can do... I can talk.
I could talk for Britain. I'm such a geek, I know about so many things that aren't of any real relevance. I could tell you how fast the heart of a mouse beats, all the trick arrows used by Green Arrow in the DC universe between the Crises, the first Pokémon owned by Ash/Red in the first version of each separate franchise, or the names of all the ghosts in Luigi's Mansion. I could reel off the history of my favourite band, probably backwards. I could play all kinds of drum beats on a desk. I could recite nearly every lyric recorded by William Shatner. I could discuss, in detail, all eight series of Knightmare.
Store of vital information that I am, however, I've never considered myself that physically attractive (barring a few shots in which my hair appears red). Everyone else says I'm handsome, though.
One thing on which everyone is agreed (my eyes, which even I think are pretty, notwithstanding), and I promise I'm going somewhere with this, is that my voice is extremely sexy.
I talk rather quickly (I type quickly, too, so I can keep up with my thoughts), but I've got a hesitant, deep (although not bass) voice, and perhaps most importantly, I speak with a cut-glass English accent. Born and brought up in North London, on the cusp of the Home Counties - and the son of an actor, to boot - I speak in received pronunciation. No London accent; no Midlands twang. Even though I'm no patriot (republican, actually), I speak The Queen's English.
That's why I talk a lot. Because I like my voice a lot. And the American girls I know like it too. For all I know, every time I open my mouth, I'm getting them all hot and bothered... or is that just the desired effect of my mouth being open? Who knows?
The thing I like about the sex blog community that I've found myself immersed in is that I can be myself. Everywhere else, I have to put up a front - I'm most like myself when I'm with my friends; it's the same with everyone.... but my job involves a massive amount of pretending to be someone I'm not. Here, I can talk about what I want to. And usually, it's sex. You can't talk about sex with north London boys in their early 20s, nor can you with girls. Boys will suddenly pull up all their bravado (or go all shy), and girls will either think you're a pervert or become rather too keen if they're drunk. When it's your sister, that's not something you want to see.
But I can't use my voice.
Maybe that's a good thing. If I did, whether I wanted to or not, I'd have a fan club. That probably wouldn't add to the mystique.