Wednesday, 30 April 2008
"Darcy," you whisper into my ear, "sing to me. Sing to me like you promised you would."
"That's Innocent Loverboy," I correct you. "I, L, B. Not Darcy."
"Whatever, Darcy," you say.
I sigh, and twirl you into a static position, me hovering just above you as if we are about to kiss.
Pirates of the Carribean finishes and everyone in the room stops to look as us. I'm in a dashing suit, you in a beautiful princess dress. I clear my throat, and sing a capella:
B is for the Beauty that I recognise in you
L is for the Laughter that I hear the whole night through
I is so Infatuated with you, oh, my dear
M is for the Music that I hear when you are near
P is for the Passion that I feel for you each day
H is for the Horror if you ever went away
T is for the Trust I put in you all else above
Put them all together now and that spells... BLIMPHT!
Hmmm, the ending of the story lacks something somewhat.
Monday, 28 April 2008
I appear to have abandoned masturbation.
What I'm trying to say is, traditional wanking, as practiced by every single boy in the sixth form except for me a few years back, stereotypically involves looking at some sort of porn (a magazine, up until the advent of the Internet in which video started to make its appearance...) and, ahem, 'batting off' until orgasm is achieved, a damp cloth cleans the magazine and it goes back in the sock drawer.
Well... I'm not doing it.
In fact, I seem to have become unable to achieve orgasm through that sort of 'bully wank' at all. There's no gratification from films by Surrender Cinema, RedTube, pictures by Hustler or whatever LucyBoots has managed to find and put up on her pink background.
Hence, the title of this entry (apart from being a James reference, natch): what I've been doing is... talking.
I've been talking about sex.
Quite a few of you who read this may have been chattering to me about the subject and its many facets on MSN. Hell, some of you have been kind enough to tease me. And one or two seem to have gone even further.
And at some points, the orgasms I achieve have been brewing inside me somewhere for hours - days, even - and can only ever be achieved through acquired knowledge with a bit of racy dialogue thrown in.
It's a kind of tantric masturbation. And the orgasms, for what they are, feel fantastic.
Thursday, 24 April 2008
But has anyone actually considered getting naked with someone and then not having sex with them? I certainly haven't. It's never been on my mind. If I'm in bed with a girl and we don't have clothes on, there's certainly no doubt in my mind that sex is probably on the agenda.
Warmth transmitted through body heat is usually the order of the day after sex - you practically glow following orgasm, and the calm that follows love-making works on many levels - physically, holding someone's soft, naked body while your body heat creates a kind of warm aura around you both (not to mention mentally, spiritually, and lyrically - except not lyrically. Except if you're a songwriter and you only ever write songs after sex).
There have been times, however, where I've been naked in a bed with a girl and not had sex. Sometimes, I've been lying awake, sexless, next to a sleeping girl, and so my mind has turned to other forms of pleasure, such as:
- Hold their hand. It really is an excellent feeling. Holding someone's hand had always been a sign of affection to me - well, the whole world, really - and actually lying there feeling their hand while you clasp it, maybe for hours, is a brilliant thing to do.
- Listen to their breathing. Deep, heavy breathing - nothing like the ragged, desperate breaths you take during sex. But even, peaceful, calm breaths... relax, it's like music.
- Stroke their hair.
- Spoon. You don't need to be having sex to feel their body against yours. If you clutch them from behind and wrap your body around them, you can share the body heat and feel almost as one.
- Pray. Don't laugh, it works.
- Dream - perhaps just a daydream. It is, after all, what you do when lying awake. Control your own daydreams - just don't think about sex too much or you may not be able to control yourself with the unconscious body! I've had dreams about the adventures I could have with the girl the following day...
- Ruminate on your day. You've been with your lover. Has it been good? Narrate your day's story to yourself, and be sure to finish it off with, "and I'm now lying in a bed, naked, next to ______," just to give yourself a gold star.
"Me time" doesn't have to equal wanking. Therefore, sharing a bed with someone naked doesn't have to equal sex. Why not have a warmth orgasm instead?
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Blah blah blah, Isabella's Sex Meme. Blah blah, tagged by Tom, but was gonna do it anyway. Blah blah, rules are around somewhere, ah, here they are.
1. You must include this link to Sex Talk: Sex Advice for Men
2. You must answer every question! If you don’t have a good answer, you are strongly encouraged to make up something good; we like to be entertained.
3. You must tag 3 people.
1. Sex in the Morning or Sex at Night?
Night - you're naturally hornier at night, and it's when you have a lot more time to take over it, too.
2. Better Sex Music: Sade or Marvin Gaye?
Er... having never had sex to music, I don't know.
3. Naughty Pics or Naughty Home Video?
Pictures, since home video is often awful.
4. Fabulous Sex With: Dr. Doug Ross or Dr. Greg House?
Er... it "not applicable" an acceptable answer?
6. Bedroom Sex: Lights Off or Lights On?
Lights on. What, like I wouldn't want to see the person I'm making love to?
7. Word preference: Pussy or Cunt?
Pussy - because I don't like the word "cunt". I don't tend to use either though...
8. Spanking Over the Knee or Spanking Only During Sex?
During sex. It speeds me up.
9. More Exciting: Sex in an Elevator or Sex in an Airplane?
Er... well, either really. Maybe. Either.
10. Ron Jeremy or Peter North?
Peter North. He has a much better sense of humour insofar as I can see.
11. Word preference: Cock or Dick?
Once again, I don't use either much, but "cock".
12. Linda Lovelace or Jenna Jameson?
Well, Jenna's more reliable, I believe.
13. Rope Bondage or Bondage Tape?
Probably tape, because if you were bound with rope and then left, it would be much harder to get out of and you may die.
14. Give a Rim Job or Receive Anal Sex?
Er... I don't have enough experience to answer this question!
15. Get Rich Stripping in a Skanky Bar or Get Rich as a Call Girl for Celebs?
Probably as a call girl for celebrities. I do a good 'girl' impression sometimes.
16. Which threesome: Boy/Girl/Girl or Boy/Boy/Girl?
I'd say boy/girl/girl, because I just don't do other boys, in any context.
17. Flavored Oil or Tingling Oil?
Er... scented oil actually.
18. Pearl Necklace or Swallow?Swallow, please! Facials are pretty disgusting.
19. Sex While Strangers Watch or Sex with a Stranger?
Sex with a stranger, whooh, taboo!
20. Tied to the Bed or Tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross?
I've no idea what a St. Andrew's Cross is... but I'd prefer not to be tied anywhere! Okay, a bed, because at least you're moderately comfortable...
I tag... nobody, and anyone can take this on if they want to. I PLAY BY NOBODY'S RULES.*
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
(Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming,
ATTRACTION, FLIRTATION, EUPHORIA, DOUBT, THE TRUTH
(I don't know why I want you, but I really do.)
...Here it is. That inexplicable, elemental tug. That surprising
sudden feeling you've been waiting for. This is yesyesyes.
This is where you find something or someone, and just fall
for them. Illogically. Irresistibly. And find yourself thinking of
Because it's the attraction, and the dream of love to follow, that
keeps the imagination alive. It's attraction that makes life
sparkle and pop and fizz...
Galaxy Never stop falling in love...
Saturday, 19 April 2008
"I owe you lunch," she said. "If you want a sandwich, we can go down the road in that direction, or there's this other shop I know around here called Coffee, Cake and Kink."
We were in there about five minutes later - and what a place!
Nestled in the heart of the Covent Garden area of London, CCK is packed full of, well - coffee, and cake. And kink. And sexy assistants, come to that.
The coffee was really great - nice brands of all kinds, and the vital statistic - you get to push the cafetiére yourself - and when swilling from the huge cup of nice Columbian ground, I suddenly felt rather relaxed (I've been very fractious recently).
The cake was lovely - I've always been a fan of caramel slices, so my eyes lit up when I saw one on offer. Well, my eyes were already lit up because of the look of the girl on the counter, who my friend apparently knew, but when she brought me a beautifully presented caramel slice, my ship had truly come in.
Okay, now for the kink.
There's something incredibly funny about ordering coffee and cake in a shop which also sells dildos, cock rings and books called The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Men. The lounge area downstairs (comfortable, and mostly red - why is every sex-related establishment red?) was full of people reading sexy books, unashamedly - and one of the staff walking around talking openly about kink. I was, frankly, impressed.
"Can I have a word with you?" I asked the staff member with glasses.
"Okay, don't tell my friend over there, but... I write a sex blog, and this is an amazing shop with a really open attitude towards sexuality. Do you mind me promoting you?"
"No, please do. We'll get an internet forum up soon, so we may need promotion - on a sex blog, that'd be good."
So here it is:
Coffee, Cake and Kink
61 Endell Street
Their landlord is trying to chuck them out, but they're tenaciously clinging on. I suggest, if you're anywhere in the London area, that you take a visit and buy stuff. And if you want someone to go with... well, I live in London!
- Flirting with an older woman
- Sharing fantasies with a friend
- Discussing sexual development and masturbation
- Revisiting memories of passionate sex
- Having cybersex
- Been dragged through temptation, teasing and tantalisation
- Considered how certain things feel (when you touch me...)
My dreams are going to be very random tonight. Here's hoping I actually get to sleep!
Friday, 18 April 2008
The main problem I have with talking about relationships in real life (that is, face to face - although not literally; I believe that is called a kiss, not that I've had any of them recently) is that I can flitter from brash to blasé to shy very quickly, but my default mode (you'll be astonished to hear) is shy. Yeah, I know. It's been remarked upon that, unless you get me to come out of my shell (and if you do, I can talk for Britain), I generally don't say much, and I go nervous, and slightly jumpy.
When I talk about relationships, I have a lot to say - naturally, for someone whose hobby is talking about relationships. But sometimes I can't say what I want. I just can't. I know what I want to say, but I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to tell anyone, "you are wrong."
Nobody's wrong, anyway. You can't classify things which stem from emotions, and love is one of those things - nay, the ultimate thing - that you can't set rules for. If you're in a relationship, you either set your own rules, or you don't set any, and see what happens. (Personally, I'd go for option B, but... whatever.)
So, in some ways, the things that I want to say to people go unsaid, because it's their relationship, not mine, and even if whatever I have to say is valid, if their mind is fixed on how to do something, I'm not going to change it, especially not if I speak with a nervous smile and a tone of voice which suggests that I'm uncertain.
What has this mindflow stemmed from? Well, last night, I spent hours talking to one of my best friends about a problem he's going through concerning an ex-girlfriend. (I won't go into details here, because for all I know he's reading this...)
So I gave him my advice, and in a few ways, I actually think I made a difference. I didn't change his opinion, but I worked with it, understood both sides, and tried to come to a certain point where he thought he could reach a conclusion. Okay, so it's entirely up to him, but I'm pretty sure I had a definite impact on what he ended up doing.
I went to bed slightly uneasy but feeling a little more confident about my knowledge of love.
And the rather worrying prospect that if I ever end up in a relationship again, I'll be far too kind - and unless I stay up until 2am every night to work towards getting my actual opinions out, I may be stuck as a slave to her every will.
But I'm sure you wouldn't mind that, would you, girls?
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
Well, I can't say I'm holding out much hope for this one, because they all say that sort of thing.
Since i'm being bombarded with replies I've had an idea as to how i can decide who to meet, if you do a little something for me I'll do plenty for you ....... ;)
Oh yes? Does this involve my money? I recently checked my bank balance and found out I'm overdrawn for some reason. Maybe the reason involves paying for expensive hotels in Brighton.
I want one of those Nintendo Wii games for my new pad and can't afford one at the mo, however if you sign up for a little something for me i'll get one for nothing, I realised that due to the number of replies I've had I can have a lot of fun this month as well as get a free one :) And in return for helping me - you get to wine, dine and fuck me ;)
You can probably get cheap games from GameStation, plus the quality of games they'll give you for free is going to be minimal at best. I don't think I'd sign up for anything.
*cut-and-pastes that into a reply*
I don't think I'll be hearing much from her again. This is probably why I don't get girlfriends.
Additional MSN conversation:
Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This says:
I've got a penis
Well there's nothing in that, so have I.
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
Some girls (one, in particular) have been a constant source of absolutely lovely chat, sprinkled with some delectable naughtiness extending to a few cheeky texts, for which I'm grateful - I do get bored easily and this sort of "friendly" talk really helps. But I'm not here to talk about that...
One girl, in particular, has started showing me her lady bits, over webcam.
Strange, isn't it, that the moment I actually start getting rid of camgirls, a girl arrives who not only owns a webcam, but apparently uses it for free?
Now, I don't like webcams, much. I don't mine using one, but the temptation of seeing a live naked girl over a camera is something of an awful cheat, especially if she seems to be just doing it to tease. But the thing is, I almost like being teased. Without me asking (because I don't ask; I'm not particularly fussed one way or the other), she'll snap open a webcam window and spread her legs. Without any sense of shame, or embarrassment at all, this girl will display her vagina. It's not an altogether unpleasant sight.
One does have to wonder why she does such a thing. She doesn't know I'm ILB, even; all she knows is that I'm a guy who happens to know a fair bit about sex. To be fair, she's not doing a 'webcam show' (I wouldn't want one of those anyway, they're a bit boring), just occasional snippets of her naked body. Maybe she's trying to tease - she might like playing games? Her constant hints that she'll have sex with me one day are in the same vein; maybe I'd like to have sex with her, maybe not, but it's not going to happen, clearly!
Maybe she is trying to assert her attractiveness over someone willing. She has got a very nice body, and being me, I'm ready to dish out the compliments, but she doesn't appear to be angling too heavy-handedly for those, either... just showing off her body. Maybe that's all she wants to do...
It's puzzling, perplexing, and quite gratifying. It hasn't got the same warm, fuzzy feeling that actually having a genuine, cheerful flirtatious conversation with someone you like a lot (that can't be beaten), but here's a girl who's willingly showing me her naked body every now and again. Maybe I shouldn't wonder - maybe I should just shut the fuck up and enjoy it.
Monday, 14 April 2008
But since Blacksilk has done it, and Tom has done it, LucyBoots has had a few tentative prods at the practce, and LadyP's icon is tempting, I've jumped onto the bandwagon.
Right-click and download this, a picture of something you really shouldn't see.
Saturday, 12 April 2008
You couldn't make it up.
I wonder if humans do the same sort of thing?
Throttling love rivals aside (that's called "murder", actually, and is frowned upon in most societies), I'm wondering if some boys adopt a more 'female' attitude towards things in order to get closer to girls. And vice versa, of course.
I'm not talking about transvestite or transgender boys, nor am I talking about effeminate gay men - what I'm talking about is the alpha male type who will try to show that they have a 'female' side in order to 'connect' with girls.
The problem I have with this is that I don't think there's anything stereotypically female to latch onto. If you try to show a motherly side, you could just be good with children; if you show a sensitive side, you're... well... sensitive; if you cry (because boys don't cry, oh no they don't), it shows you're not afraid to let out your emotions - or you're really unhappy. The picture in the laddish press, and one that is enforced mostly through TV soap operas, is that the more 'deep' emotions - feelings, and so on - are for the fairer sex, whereas men will drink beer and watch football.
Therefore, if you show a feminine quality, it's easier to get chicks.
This is where there's a massive problem. I don't think the qualities I've listed are exclusive to girls, so why actively try to adopt them? I've never been accused (thank heavens) of deliberately being a sensitive, caring person because I want to attract girls. I do want to attract girls, but I genuinely am someone who openly displays these emotions. That's the kind of person I am. Also, I don't like rugby.
It's probably different for octopi, but I think the best way of actually trying to communicate with girls is to actually talk to them. Go and hug one if you feel the need to physically communicate with a girl, but they're not actually going to bite. Girls, you might like to put me right on this, but I may well be right in assuming that:
"Hi, how are you?"
is probably more likely to elicit a good response than:
"I cried last night for no reason. I like long baths and I know all the lyrics to Evita, but I'm still a boy because I play cricket. Let's have sex."
Not only are you being sexist by assuming this, you're also sounding like a twat.
If you're a girl, you're a girl. If you're a boy, you're a boy. If you're a transsexual, you're a transsexual. Don't try and think like another in order to be with another, because everyone's an individual. It's rather pointless and, unlike abdopus aculeatus, nobody's going to strangle you if you walk past their love interest.
Well, nobody sane, anyway.
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
Once I'd regained my senses, which - considering the magnitude of my orgasm - took some time to do, I bade her a farewell and went to the bathroom to readjust my looks and adopt a disposition which didn't suggest I'd just had an orgasm talking to a very, very bad girl currently 2000 miles away.
I had a huge grin on my face, but for some reason I looked curiously unflushed - a little pink underneath the eyes, maybe - but no redness of the cheeks. There was evidence of sweat, however; my hair, which I hadn't washed for a day or so, was no longer scraggly and hanging down á la Severus Snape; it was stuck to my head. A brush through and I had a neat hairstyle once more - thanks to sweat. Natural hair gel, or what?
(Incidentally, I have this minute emerged from the shower. After a thorough wash and dry, my body gleams, and my hair is about three times its normal volume, and buoyant. I like it like that.)
So - was I OK? Check? Yes. Perfect.
I walked downstairs... and then I realised that my legs weren't actually fully working yet. Evidently my moment of pleasure had taken its toll on my body slightly, and I had to hobble up and down the stairs a couple of times until they stopped wobbling around a bit. I wasn't exactly bow-legged, but certainly a little unsteady.
I laughed to myself a little at the amusing way I was taking this, and entered the kitchen to find my mother serving dinner. Perfect timing! Excellent, we are both psychic after all. I poured myself a long, cold drink and gulped it down eagerly, still chuckling to myself at the reason I needed such a drink.
I think I unnerved my mother at the oddly frivolous mood I was in, but as I sat down to dinner in the highest of spirits, nothing could have darkened my day at that moment.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
Are you one of those webcam girls?
wanna try me ?>
As I've said before, I hate webcam girls. There's something about them that rankles me. Maybe it's their constant insistence that they're not webcam girls. But they clearly are. I've expounded upon their abundance before, and even though (since then) I've been quite short with them - to the point of being rude in some cases - they still go through their spiel.
I've tried to be nice. I've asked them to tell me more about themselves (surely there's more than a webcam operative in there?); turned on the charm and told them that they're pretty, but I don't want to see their webcam; explained in no uncertain (but gentle) terms that I'm not actually wanting to look at a grainy live picture - rather, I'm looking for sex. Still, they keep on persisting. Furthermore (and I've no idea HOW - I suspect packet sniffing of some kind), one of them managed to scam me out of about a hundred quid before I blocked my credit card!
So I've taken the show-no-mercy approach. I'm getting rid of them all. I don't want to talk to webcam girls, and if they won't open up, I don't even want them on my MSN list.
The problem with this is that I have so many girls on my MSN list that I'm not sure which ones are camgirls and which aren't. I know a certain couple who aren't, but there are some names on which I'm not sure... so I try the above approach. Or for a certain change of plan, I ask outright, "hey bb im feelin hornyyy - cn i see u on ur cam @ dat site?" This seems to be the language they speak, and when they reply in the affirmative, I creatively use the block and delete buttons to remove their presence.
My, I'm in a bitchy mood this morning.
Not that purging my list of webcam girls will do anything of any value - but it makes me feel a little better every time.
And my MSN list looks a lot neater now.
Sunday, 6 April 2008
She was shorter than me, dark-haired and pretty. I couldn't believe my luck. In fact, I found myself enjoying her company more and more as we went back to the hotel and dropped our stuff off. We talked about each other and there was a sort of effortless rapport which isn't usual with two extremely shy people who have met for nothing more than some sex, so I felt much more at ease with Kitty than I have with many people who I actually know well!
She took me around Brighton. We saw an old cinema with a pair of legs on it, walked along the seafront and up to the end of the pier (cheese-tacular, but worth a look). It gold cold quickly and Kitty, who actually moved to Ireland to escape the place, started to tire of walking about. She suggested food, I suggested Italian; we went to the restaurant she likes and had a great meal... so far, so good.
Back to the hotel we went, and there followed a rather awkward period of sitting in the room listening to music and wondering what to do. The music, by the way, was the score from Final Fantasy VII, but that's not really important.
"I'm going to the toilet, and when I come back, you have to have had an idea," Kitty smiled, and as she got up and waltzed off, I saw a flash of fishnet pantyhose. It looked... interesting.
A scene from Jake's Booty Call flashed in front of my head: "go for it" / "let her marinate". Hardly my style. I reminded myself that I'm not Jake. I'm Innocent Loverboy. And he's a nice boy. Besides, I could hardly say, "okay, let's have sex," could I? We were there for sex, sure, but we'd have to go to bed at some point later in the night, and I assumed she's indicate when. I decided, in the end, that the best thing to do would be to go to the hotel's bar and have a couple of drinks. After that, we could have sex. This seemed like a Good Plan.
A couple of drinks in the bar later, and we were chatting away merrily. The jangle of Kitty's mobile interrupted our discussion about fiscal policy, or whatever it was. I watched her take the call, and the suddenly arrested look on her face heralded trouble.
"What is it?"
"It's my dad," said Kitty. "He's being taken to hospital; what should I do?"
We raced back up to the hotel room to get her other phone (yes, she has two), and the plan that seemed to be forming was that she should go and see her dad. Her house wasn't far from the hotel and she could easily take a taxi. What didn't fit into the equation was where I'd come in all this, but at the time I didn't consider that; I was worried for her and her dad.
"What would you do?" asked Kitty.
My head would say that logically, she should have stayed in the hotel, and then go and see her dad in hospital tomorrow, but my heart - the part that rules my all - came out with ILB's Failsafe Selfless Kind Treatment Plan™: she should go and see her dad. It wasn't until she had packed her things that I realised I was still a part of what was happening.
"I'll wait here," I said helplessly. "I'll wait in the room, and you keep me posted, okay? You make sure your dad is okay, and I'll... I'll wait... here."
"Okay. I'll come back, I'll come back when I know what's happening. I'll come back soon, and I'll text you to let you know."
She left the room, and suddenly I was alone.
There's an episode of Heroes that has Ando waiting for Hiro in a bar for a very long time. Well, I suddenly felt exactly like that. I was alone; I had no idea what was going on. I didn't know when Kitty was going to be back - if at all - or what to do. I never got so much as a kiss, but that wasn't important. What was important was, what should I do? What do you do for two or so hours while waiting for someone? No computer, no internet. No console. No radio, no books. I switched on the TV, and quickly switched it off when I realised there was nothing but news and sport and soaps.
So all I did was wait.
The seconds, the minutes, the hours snailed by. Every time I heard someone outside, or thought my phone was beeping, I thought there'd be news. Her dad was okay; the hospital had discharged him; she was coming back for whatever reason. Sex wasn't on the agenda any more, although a small, bitter part of me was still thinking that she'd come back, announce everything was okay, and then make passionate love to me for seven hours straight. In the end, while lying on my back on the bed, I got a text.
"He's having an operation," Kitty announced via text, "and when he's out, I'll come back to you."
"Okay," I replied, "I'll wait for you. Take care of him and be strong."
Nothing happened for another couple of hours. I ended up watching a repeat of The Friday Night Project and decided to myself that I'd go to bed by the time it finished. (If Kitty came back and found me in bed, then that would be even better!) Midnight came and went, so I slipped off my clothes and crawled into one side of the double bed.
I lay awake. Should I try and sleep? Would it be wise? What if Kitty came back, and couldn't get into the room? While I was pondering this, I got another text announcing basically the same thing as before. I said I'd wait for her a little longer. The fantasy in my head now involved me telling her I'd been waiting all night, and her telling me I was the sweetest boy in the world; stuff like that makes me happy.
It was snowing. Dawn. I must have drifted off after another two hours of silent boredom. I grabbed my phone - no texts. Just an alarm. I reeled off a quick text to Kitty, asking her what had happened. When I got no reply, I couldn't think of anything to do but have breakfast.
Kitty's father had had a stroke... during the operation. He was okay, but unconscious. She was waiting for him to wake up along with her mother. I understood that perfectly. Breakfast on my own, however, was a lonely vigil. At least I had food, however.
"I'm checking out," I told the girl at the counter. "The lady who was with me got her card authorised, so if you could take the money off that - she said you could do that - I'll leave my keys here." I had nothing else to do; it was clear Kitty wasn't coming back. If it were my father, I may have done the same. But then again, I wouldn't have had my phone on to begin with. Hmmm.
"You can't pay like that," the counter girl said. "Sorry. You'll have to pay for the room yourself."
This threw me off completely.
"What?!" I ejaculated. "How much is it?"
"It's one hundred and twenty-nine pounds," she said.
Well, I had no choice. I handed over the money. That's over a quarter of what I get paid per month, and I'd just spent it on an entire night of waiting for something which didn't happen. I couldn't help but feel disappointed.
As I trudged back to Brighton station through the snow, Kitty sent me another text. Her dad had woken up and was going to be okay. As I sat down in the train, with a long journey home ahead of me, three unopened condoms and £130 less than I'd originally had, that was the only positive occurrence that I had to ruminate on for the next two hours.
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Yesterday evening, however, I was talking to someone over the stalking-device known as MSN (you're probably reading this, and you know who you are), and somehow the conversation turned to sex. I'm not sure whether that means that the conversation ended up being about sex, or that the conversation was replaced by sex.
It wasn't that we had cybersex. There's no /me command on MSN anyway, so it'd be pointless. Plus, it's hardly the most attractive thing to start doing to someone you love talking to. But, whatever it was we ended up saying to each other, I'm pretty sure it turned us both on.
Worked for me, anyway.
By the time we'd finished charging each other up, I was basically ready to explode; I couldn't stop myself, and I fell back onto my bed, my hand wrapped firmly around my penis. The words we'd been exchanging ran through my head unceasingly, and even before any images appeared, I was having one of the most intense orgasms of my life!
When I started breathing again, I became dimly aware of my surroundings, but I didn't feel the urge to move for some time after that.
I lay flat on my back, my breathing heavy, my bed messed-up, my hair all sprawled out on the pillow. I was pulsing all the way through my body, and my face was wet from sweating.
And I was so blissed-out, for a few minutes I was in heaven.
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
At first, I thought it was a lame attempt at a comedy. The main character, Michael, buys a sex doll due to the fact his marriage has gone stale. He begins to talk to the doll as if she were real, and keeps ignoring his wife. I wondered if it were supposed to be funny or serious, and so I wasn't sure what to make of it.
However, since this is followed by a scene involving wine spilled on his wife, his subsequent cleaning it up, and a quick and cheerful sex scene between the two, I suddenly realised that it's basically a modern romance with a bit of comedy thrown in. And the filming is actually very good.
The ending's odd, though. As he's about to puncture his doll (because he's back 'on' his wife), she walks in and finds them together. As a result, Michael and his wife take a holiday to Turkey.
No, I didn't understand that bit either. It's an odd way of reconciliation, but I suppose the writers wanted to add a brief "WTF?" moment. The arrested looks on their faces during a serious-talk scene are classically British - "let's hedge round the subject".
There's not much more to say. It wasn't very erotic (but then again, it wasn't meant to be), and it was only really funny in a not-laughing way... in the same way that Chekhov's comedies are funny. There wasn't much drama and the romance was only evident in order to make sense of the plot. But then again, when you have five minutes, how much are you going to put in, exactly?
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
I'd never heard of her before, so I was genuinely surprised to hear of her. She is a lady called Cynthia Payne, who ran one of Britain's biggest brothels in a modest house on London's Ambleside Avenue. There's not much information on her on the Internet that I can see (no Wikipedia page, that is), but the documentary was fascinating.
There's a kind of naughty pleasure in considering how MPs, barristers and vicars went to her house to have all sorts of random sex ("I sort of rode him like a horse!"), but what is more interesting is her background, and the circumstances that led to her becoming a prostitute, and later a brothel owner.
An oppressive father, a childhood in Bognor Regis and British society not mentioning sex at all... they're all the ingredients for a life in the sex industry. Why? Well, it's human nature. If there's something evident that's denied from you (and we are, naturally, sexual creatures - "Everybody's just the same when they've got their trousers down!"), you are bound to be more than a little curious. Cynthia grew into sex from this curiosity, and it's hardly that surprising.
The best thing about this documentary, however, is the balanced view it gives, which allows the viewer to make their own mind up. Personally, although I'm not particularly au fait with old men and middle-aged women, I can't help but feel like Cynthia was exactly right all the way through her life. She makes it clear in the documentary that she provided all these 'services' and 'parties' through personal choice - and you can't really argue with that...
...nor can you argue with an old woman who says, clearly, "what's wrong with sex?"!