Wednesday, 29 April 2009

Do you want to play?

Sure, there's a lot of porn out there. But when you think about it, porn gets a little boring after a while, especially if you watch the same things over and over again (and because I'm lazy, I tend to, even if I don't watch it that much any more, anyway...). What I want sometimes is something in which I have a hand, and something that has that most essential of titillations, a plot. Sometimes, I want a game.

Adult games mostly tend to rely upon hentai to work, and you get hundreds of the things on sites like which all follow the same pattern: do something odd and get a picture of a naked woman. They're all geared towards boys, it seems, although judging by the comments (after filtering out all the idiots who say things li
ke OMGZ WTF LOL BBQ I'M FIRST INNIT BBK!) girls play them too. And yes, most of them are crap. The only exceptions to the rule are Jake's Booty Call, which is played mostly for humour rather than hot sex and onlyif you can hack the intolerable main character, and the odd series called "Meet and Fuck" which follows the same basic pattern, with occasional flashes of good games somewhere when there's a mission to be undertaken or something that involves a certain amount of skill.

But even though the sex is quite hot, even those are thin on the ground.

And then there are the games you actually download and play on your system, and that's the sort of game I'm talking about. I was first introduced to the concept of hentai games by a friend of mine who had a bit of a reputation for having been promiscuous since the age of 14, and a self-confessed orgasm addict... also my first sexual experience, but I don't really want to talk about that... who, upon being curious as to whether or not I would be interested in hentai, decided to send me a playable game, which I guess would fall under the genre of 'dating sim with lots of sex'. And I duly played through it until the first H-scene, then went on a trip with my A-Level English group and promptly forgot about its existence until I returned home a few days later.

This game, True Love, is undoubtedly the daddy of hentai games, which leads me to wonder why I haven't played it for ages. Whatever the reason, however, this game is needlessly complicated, which is why it's so good. There's no random sex here; you've got to befriend, date and court girls before you actually get to have any sex - and even then, it's only an H-scene; play through to the end and you may just end up with your "True Love" - if you're lucky.

And isn't it fantastic? It's just like real life, only with sex in it! And the gameplay is simple, the girls are hot (Remi Himekawa, pictured, is almost certainly the hottest manga girl I've seen - ever - not that I obsessed over her for a year or so at the tender age of 17 or anything), and the music, which you can download here, is some of the best game music I've ever heard. Its unofficial "sequel", Runaway City, seems to have forgotten what makes such a good game, and follows a much more linear setup. Slightly better hentai, maybe.

Since playing through those two, I gathered a few more, and found that all of them have the same linear quality to them - but since the hentai is specifically produced to fit in wth the storyline, it certainly all looks good. And since a game sufficiently big to download onto your hard drive has to be big enough to actually warrant doing that, there's usually a lot of humour, plotlines and extra bits plugged in as well. None of which are as good as True Love, of course (I'll never forget the scene in which your character is having sex with a young lady while the text flashed "YOUR ADVERT HERE" at the bottom), but at least it's something.

I remember a week at Woodcraft Camp wherein I actually spent all week describing the different characters to my mate, from your best boy mate to the girl who's actually half cat, half angel. Yes, you read that correctly. Anyway...

So yes, hentai games! Why does nobody play these things any more? Have we forgotten our rich, smutty heritage wherein dial-up connections pretty much defined that what we could download was small, ergo a quick tryst with a manga girl was exactly what we needed? I call for a resurgence of dirty games with sweet girls (and possibly some with hot men, come to think of it) - I mean, is there any better way to spend a quiet afternoon?

Well, is there?

Monday, 27 April 2009


I have a recurring habit of overindulging myself sometimes. Call me a hedonist if you will (but quietly, or you'll interrupt my typing), but every now and again I feel as if I have to. I just have to overindulge. I mean, if I can, I might just do so.

Take last night, for example. Lying on my side, spooning her. An almost total silence; my face buried in her hair, breathing in her scent; my hands wrapped around her - one under her neck, curled around to her chest... the other lightly touching her thigh; the radiation of warmth from her back, with my chest pressed firmly against it; my legs, kicking slightly backwards - an illusion, perhaps, of an awkward dancer's pose, leaning forwards, holding her upwards. Her breathing steady, with a slight crescendo every time I move my hands, an inch or so of soft skin under my fingertips, an unconscious appreciation of my subtle movements.

I stretched out and felt skin against
the soft folds of her pyjamas. I could melt into this girl - willing her, with my mind, with my heart, to let us absorb each other. A couple. Two people acting as one. Having to split off for work commitments - but joined, in a quasi-Disneyesque spiritual knot perhaps. Two sides of the same coin? Who knows?
My stretchings ended, my body contracted. A small moan from her mouth as my hand readjusted itself on her hip.

I inhaled her scent again, rested my face on the pillow with her hair still tickling it slightly, and lay there on my back, breathing freely - indulgence, perhaps; but in our world, a respite from the suffocating darkness was all I needed.

Friday, 24 April 2009

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

How interesting it is that the amygdala happens to be the technical term for a small section of your brain which controls emotions. If it is, then I have a rather large amygdala which is wired up to my heart, because I've long suspected that it's my heart, rather than my brain (or even my crotch), that does the thinking. Still, after being incredibly sexist by suggesting that girls have more developed amygdalae, our lecturer decided to show us a video she'd found on YouTube of... another lecturer.

While this other lecturer was... well, very American, which we all found amusing, our lecturer had neglected to tell us that some joker had cut this YouTube video up and stuck "pictures" in it to illustrate the American lecturer's point. When he mentioned the "4 Fs" that scientists refer to (fear, fighting, fleeing and fucking) there was a picture illustrating each of those. Of course, the last picture was of two lions mating. We also got elephants, bears, monkeys and all other animals resident on the Discovery Channel's "Sex Hour".

Of course, that wasn't it. The American lecturer (who was in black and white, by the way, which is what made it so interesting) then went on this long spiel about sexual behaviour, and how it is linked to 'incredible stimuli' from the amygdala itself. At which point we were treated to pictures of lesbians curled around each other, artful nude pictures, several-participant orgies and stills from soft porn. He even went so far as to mention doggy style, with accompanying picture - and erections, with accompanying... um... photo of a banana.

Amusing as this may have been, I wonder what it says about our college that they have to get our attention like this?

Not that I'm complaining, mind you!

Thursday, 23 April 2009

(he4p $a1e 0.f v1a6Ra t0 k33 p her s4t i $fi3d!

So I'm doing my essay - the necessary BS about teamwork that every job ever makes you do - and then MSN throws a conversation window at me. Huzzah, a distraction!

Gay Friend:
I'm bored.

Do you have a boyfriend at the moment?

Gay Friend:
I have no such thing!

Hmmm, not good. That'd be someone to call.

Gay Friend:
I've had offers of sex, but I don't see myself going with just anyone.

Interesting you say that - it seems gay people get more offers like that than straight people do.

Gay Friend:
Depends on who you talk to. I guess I'm just not confident enough.

Lots of people lack confidence. I certainly do.

Gay Friend:
But you have someone!

Yes, I do. Although that's just plain luck.

Gay Friend:
Well, you have to have something that works in your favour.

I'm lucky. :p

Gay Friend:
Well, it's usually your looks, or the size of your wallet, or the size of other things - don't know what it would be for you, though :p

None of those - except I've been told I'm gifted in the third of those...

Gay Friend:
So am I, although I've never thought I am, really.

When you're looking down at your penis, it looks a lot smaller than if somebody else looks at it from the front - might be perspective.

Gay Friend:
That's a point.

Oh, plus... someone who's intimate enough with you to be looking at your penis from the front probably isn't going to be seeing it flaccid very often, are they?

Gay Friend:
Now THAT's a point!

Wednesday, 22 April 2009

A horse is a horse, of course, of course.

It's amazing, the things I have on my hard drive (not an innuendo, although if you want it to be...)

Syren (who I don't think I've mentioned before, but she knows who I am) sent me this on the grounds that it's an incredibly sexually arousing picture. I'm uncertain, exactly, what it is... maybe it's the red frock, or the stockings that she's wearing, or the way she is sitting provocatively on the horse or the look on her face... anything else?

I see it, but I don't feel it, as such.

Any thoughts, faithful readers?

Sunday, 19 April 2009

Good morning, world!

I woke up in a rather dodgy hotel in Bath Spa this morning, as it happens, in a four-poster bed with net curtains. Yes, I understand this may be hard to believe, but we've decided among us that the hotel was decidedly seedy because it appears to be under new management; ergo: the chipped paint of the skirting-boards, the lack of operational windows, the hard-to-manage radiators, the beds without duvets, et ceteri. TD was exiting the bed, heading for the bathroom, and it was probably the slight jolt from her getting up which awoke me. I lay there, silent and still. Her side, I decided, was warmer, so I shuffled backwards a bit, staying on my side but with a bit less space available in hers.

TD came back out of the bathroom, and noticing a small-girl-sized shape between me and the side of the bed (where I had been a few minutes beforehand), slipped into it, with me still hovering in the ghostland between awake and asleep, but aware enough of what was going on to slip my arms around her and hold her tight, spooning her and feeling a very warm body pressed against mine, like two pieces of a jigsaw. I can't remember how many times I said "I love you" throughout the next fifteen-or-so-minutes, but it must have been a lot. It needed to be said during that moment.

As daylight crept steadily back into our room, and senses regained themselves, it occurred to me that we were naked. Not that this was overly unusual in that a lot of time I spend in bed happens to involve me being naked, but at this point in time it seemed like it was more significant. Not sure if I know why, exactly.
I moved to lie on top of her and we fell into some repetitive, deep kisses. My hands slid down her sides and brushed her hips lightly. I kissed down her neck, felt her tits well-formed and warm underneath my chest. A few words were exchanged, her legs opened and I adjusted my position.

There was very little further foreplay. This was real and immediate and exciting. No oral sex on either end, no sly fingers going where they shouldn't. We'd done all that the night before. That was amazing, with the Durex Play Ultra added on making for super mega powerful intense orgasms, but we both seemed to know that, first thing in the morning, we didn't need to be any more turned on, and we could always save what remained of the battery power for the Durex Play Ultra. So there we were. First thing in the morning on a short weekend away, and we ha some catching-up to do.

I moved forward and felt a little shudder as I penetrated the vagina, and feeling comfortable and relaxed, I steadily slid my cock into her, feeling the warming wetness surround me once again, her body adjusting to reacquaint herself with having me inside.

And thus, it begins...

I don't know where all my energy came from - might have been something to do with having sex practically immediately after waking up, or the fact that I've been missing her very badly. Or it may have been the fact that we were having a weekend away, in a hotel... I mean, there's always something uninhibiting about hotel sex. But whatever the reason, it was good. I just kept getting faster, breathing heavily and raggedly into her shoulder as I kept my hips thrusting, my cock sliding in and out and feeling wetter every second... until the inevitable climax. She wrapped her whole body around mine - arms, legs gripping me tightly - as she came, and of course that tipped me over the edge, and I felt myself shoot into her, accompanied by reflex hip-thrusts...

I found myself eventually pulling out of her after a while lying there glowing. It was time for a shower and then possibly joining her friend, with accompanying 12-year-old daughter, to ruthlessly exploit the hotel's complementary breakfast. Nothing says "good morning, lover" like energetic spontaneous sex followed by a hearty gorging.

That is a new fact. Kindly quote me on it.

Saturday, 18 April 2009

Essential Supplies

So, I appear to be going to Bath today. To dinner and then to a hotel room.

Last night's conversation included something like:
"You know Paddington?"
"And there's a Boots there, yes?"
"Is there an... exciting... section... in the Boots?"

At which point I tried to think of exactly which row of tissues and throat sweets could be classed as exciting. I clocked it eventually.

"Why, yes. Yes, I think there is."
"I think we need to... uhm..."
"Would you like a present?"

I'll get her a present all right.

Thursday, 16 April 2009


I woke up this morning in my girlfriend's bed. She wasn't in it; allegedly, she had been uncomfortable (presumably with my HUGE BULK taking up so much space), and went to sleep on the sofa. This is my fault as I said we should have been snuggling in her minuscule bed rather than the handly double-sofa-bed that we usually occupy. Anyway, for whatever reason, I woke up a little alone but soon found her. It was very odd, I woke up immediately from a dream - can't remember what the dream was about but it involves a fictional journey to Leicester that I've had in a dream before - so that I physically lifted my head and the picture immediately cut from the bus to the bedroom, like instantaneous teleportation from the Dark World to the Light World.

It wasn't much of a visit - more of a flying overnight trip with cocktails somehow involved, followed by pizza - but at least I was glad to be there, for a while at least. I saw her off to work and then her mother drove me back to the house, wherein I sheltered from the torrential rain and checked Facebook for a while before decidable I really out to get home. While casually stealing a drink from her fridge, I noticed that her name was spelled out in magnetic letters. It has been for a while, actually. But on its own? Dude, that just ain't right.

Painstakingly, on my knees, I rearranged the letters and carefully spelled out - i l o v e y o u l o t s - which I placed underneath her name. There, I thought, that's an improvement.

I've been sent a picture of it on my phone, so I'm assuming she approves, in any case.

Wednesday, 15 April 2009

Post-Teen Titan(s?) GO!

So, yeah, things aren't too great at the moment. There's nothing bad, per se, but work is pissing me off with its inefficiency, I don't have any money whatsoever and the creative endeavours I'm meant to be trying to do this week (I'm on holiday, allegedly) are being marred by my lack of motivation and drive. I even lack the necessary energy to get off my fat arse and into the shower, and I have a stupid beard at the moment that makes me look like Clive Owen gone wrong. Which I really need to shave off, because:

a) it looks ridiculous
b) it isn't deliberate
c) it causes stubble rash
d) it really looks ridiculous

On the love front, though, things are okay. Yes, I spent two weeks without seeing my lover and that was, frankly, shit. I did, however, spend all of my Easter weekend invading Oxford (London, to be honest, is actually getting boring. Great city, and all, but there are too many bloody people around...), and it was


...although to be honest there hasn't been much competition. The rest of my family isn't Christian and therefore we haven't really 'done' Easter insofar as going any further than chocolate eggs. Yes, I do like chocolate eggs; I have, however, never before been to a lovely little church and taken part in an Anglican communion on Easter Sunday before. So I did that. Blimey, what an experience.

We also saw a lot of films - namely, Monsters Versus Aliens (funny, but could've been a little better), The Boat That Rocked (sort of what you'd expect - good, but a little too long, with a fantastic ending), The Edge Of Love (Dylan Thomas with shotguns and grenades), Little Miss Sunshine (still one of the best) and... er... The Princess Bride.

That's the thing, you see, there are a load of princess-based films I still haven't seen. I am being educated in that fact.

So, I went home and had some crisps, ate some chocolate and felt sick, learned how to play a new song, toyed with the idea of doing a gig, avoided coursework, and got really really bored very very quickly. Then I got this phonecall this morning, and it was my girlfriend, and she's not feeling well, and so I'm going to get up and have that shower, shave my stupid beard off, get into some fresh clothes, charge up my energy using the box I got this morning and go BACK TO OXFORD!

No longer am I on hold... I'M A MAN ON A MISSION!

Friday, 10 April 2009

The Truth

H: "I'm inactive at the moment. I have been for some time."
ILB: "Well, you've been active in the past, and period of inactivity happen; I should know. And they end."
H: "True, but I'm totally inactive."
ILB: "You can't be totally inactive. Are you self-pleasuring?"
H: "I'm a human being in my 20s and I'm single. Do the maths."
ILB: "I never was much good at maths, but that doesn't take a genius to work it out."

Tuesday, 7 April 2009

I've Got Wood

I absolutely love The Woodcraft Folk. For those of you who don't know who we are: you're idiots. The Folk are the antithesis to everything that's wrong with the God-fearing, military-based anti-homosexual Scouts - holding meetings in a circle, promoting all races, creeds and skins (as well as sexualities and even hair colours), singing songs around campfires in a rabble (rather than rows) about whatever-takes-your-fancy, breaking out the alcohol and in some cases drugs, and occasionally reporting back to General Council - most of whom are under 18.

And we're not that obscure, either. There are hundreds of Woodcraft groups all around the country, with international ties to the IFM and other youth-empowering, politically-left organisations. I've been brought up on a diet of Woodcraft, so much so that if you were to cut me in half, I'd have red, yellow and green blood (just don't try it). At the age of 24, I'm pretty much too old to be that involved in the Folk too much any more - short of becoming a leader and I decided some time ago I didn't want to do that - but I'm still a full member in that curious distinction known as "Kinsfolk" (aka. lazy full members) - and I'm proud of that.

But where does the sex come into this entry? Well, from the age of 16 to 21 (well, 20 actually, as you leave at 21) a lot of young people are rather confused as to what they are, so Woodcraft made it easier for them in one aspect and introduced the concept of "District Fellows"... abbreviated, of course, to DFs. As a semi-autonomous, politically active and very high-powered section of the Folk, DFs kept a lot of Folk stable, and somewhat comforted in the fact that, whoever you were, you were still a DF. Damn near got me through university single-handed, that thought - so when DF camps were mentioned, my interest was peaked.

DF Kamp (we were so cool, we even spelled kamp with a K) comprised, essentially, a load of young hippies self-organising a camp, so of course there was sex. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that, in terms of discussing sex, the DFs are the least inhibited group of people I've ever met. Nary a night (characterised in no uncertain terms by dancing crazy-crazy to tunes from a clapped-out-but-serviceable DJ system in a huge mess tent, or the biggest room in wherever we were staying) passed without at least one person pulling another person, and which would end with various couples sloping off to make love in a bedroom (or a tent, or the attic or bathroom or wherever they could find). Bizarre relationships would form and break, people would kiss for the sake of it and it was just a given that they would, x would have sex with y and then next day we'd all sit down and discuss how to raise money for the Palestinians.

It was all wonderfully surreal, these times of my life where we'd shine a light on a tent and see shapes sheepishly moving inside it, or I'd walk into a room and find my mate holding onto a pipe to stop himself from falling over laughing when he found a couple in a sleeping bag in the middle of a public dormitory, or when we auctioned off the DF Committee to raise cash for the tsunami victims, which ended with lesbian kisses (although Glod knows exactly how...). And, although I never actually had sex with anyone from Woodcraft,* I certainly made it happen, slyly manipulating people into couples at certain points, using my ILB hugs to make people feel comforted, and even crying over my mate's shoulder when everyone was pairing up but me.

I didn't mind not scoring, actually. I wasn't really expecting to get anywhere and so the feeling of acceptance was a massive bonus. I once got a kiss from a girl I was quite attracted to - I mean, she was drunk, but then again so was everybody else, so it didn't matter too much. And here was a group of people who, despite the British upbringing, were liberated enough to admit that young people have needs, and with our fantastic sex programme and free condoms, DFs were up to satisfy them, to the point where a diagram was created to show how everyone in DFs was connected through who had kissed who.

Happy, sad, crazy, organised, fun, depressing, whatever. DFs was a rollercoaster ride for me, and what a reverie I was in last night when I was going through some mementoes and came across a picture of us in Denmark (but that's another story).

"Hmmm, DF Kamp," I thought.

Lots of sex... and tents... in tents... in a tent, perhaps with TD? Might it happen some day?

And so my evening's fantasies were dictated, once again, by The Woodcraft Folk. Thanks, guys. Peace.

* Excepting TD, who tells me she went to Woodcraft a couple of times in her youth. Bizarre!

Sunday, 5 April 2009

Media for the Masses

I haven't actually heard this song for years. I thought I'd made it up for a while.

All the girls in this conform to the same stereotype: today's stereotype, just 21 years backwards. They're nice-looking girls, and all - but jeeze, they're all the same!

Great song, but lack of variety, dudes. Nevertheless, listen to it. It's genius and will do you good.

Friday, 3 April 2009

Addiction XI: Skin

My back causes me a lot of pain. Because I have a very low pain threshold, and hypersensitivity to boot, a small itch - with (that thing that itches tend to do because they are bastards) the inevitable increase - makes me writhe and scratch and make odd noises.

Oh no, wait, that's sex.

I have already written about how I love being scratched, and it's true that it's an incredible turn-on, but then again so is the gentle trace of fingernails upwards on the skin, so I think that may be the 'caring touch' thing that is the turn-on point. An itch is great when it's being scratched (scratching an itch yourself is cathartic, but it always seems to come back immediately, yet with a significant other doing it for you, it works a lot more), but I think that what I'm interested is the back more than anything else.

I hate my skin, it makes me itch and flares up and all sorts of stuff that I hate, because I hate it. But I like the concept of my back - it's a large, flat expanse of skin, an almost barren playing-field which, apparently, shows the marks if you scratch it. I'm not into pain, but I like the scratching whether or not it leaves a mark. But because of the fact that there's a lot of back, I really like having it touched - whether or not it's a light touch, or a much-needed scratch - because who knows where her hand's going to go?

And then there's the massages. Oh, dear Glod. I have had some awesome backrubs, after which all I can do is lie there, sweaty and satiated.

Oh no, wait, that's sex.

But the massages. They are absolutely amazing, and sometimes there's a bit of scratching there too. And that's all over my back - every inch of my skin. My fucking stupid, but needy, skin. It just feels great, almost like feeding a petulant child.

And then there's her back. Or anyone's back, but mostly hers. I love kissing her back - there's one point, specifically, which I've identified as a special area (and yes, I will ruthlessly exploit its possibilities some day), and yet there's the rest of the skin on her back which I like to run my fingers up and down - well, I like it when it's done to me, so why not return the favour, right? - and it's a very sexy back as well, so it gives me something nice to look at while feeling the skin under my fingertips. I just wish I knew how to give backrubs now...

Okay, yeah, this post makes me sound like I'm a fetishist. I'm not, I just like lots of skin to touch. At least, I think that's the reason...

Thursday, 2 April 2009