Tuesday, 30 June 2009


I know wet dreams exist, but I'm still finding it hard to believe the body can achieve a full orgasm while asleep... or, at least, I was until a couple of days ago, whereupon I managed to induce an orgasm in the sleeping form of a naked lady without actually meaning to.

Er, that is to say, I meant to make her orgasm, but that wasn't the aim in my mind when I started. I also didn't realise she was asleep, so the small "mmmmm..." I heard as a response from her was apparently an unconscious reaction to the fact that I was stroking her side (which I was doing because it's the sort of thing I do). She then shifted onto her side, which I took as a sign to take things a little further. So I did, still unaware of the fact that she was asleep. But she made no effort or sign to resist my amorous efforts, delivered through creative use of my hands, so I assumed they were being appreciated.

Not that they weren't being appreciated, either. But she was sort of... asleep.

Anyway, I kept going. Only with my fingers, that is... I hadn't any intention or signal to suggest that I was to do anything with my mouth or... you know, anything else. In fact, I hadn't had any signals at all, except for a gathering wet feeling around the front hole (although I started by "treating" the, uh, 'other' one, so mayhaps that helped a little) and the general repetitive noises that mean things like "I am enjoying what you are doing to me sexually, so please continue". I took these as good things.

The conclusion of this malarkey, anyway, was a slight jump of the body and recognisable symptoms of orgasm, followed by her lying, apparently totally motionless, on her back. Slightly worried by the lack of words (or movement), I did ABC to check she was still, you know... alive. She was. Good. She was also asleep. Had I made her come so intensely that she'd fallen asleep? I saw that on Sex Court once. Or... or had she been asleep all the time, and just reacting to my hand movements, instinctively?

I finally fell asleep myself, turning these possibilities over in my head. As it turned out, she had been asleep all the way through. So... in a nutshell, I induced an orgasm which neither of us actually felt, as I was giving it and she wasn't conscious...

...there's only one word for that:


Monday, 29 June 2009

Oh dear, what a titty, never mind...

The Metro ran a piece last Wednesday so bizarre that it actually has to be true. You know, one of those pieces. It concerned a gadget named the Kush, a little plastic cylinder that is THE way to guarantee your boobs don't start to sag.


From what I can gather, the idea is to put a Kush in your cleavage before falling asleep, and this - somehow, although it's not very clear how, something to do with gravity, perha
ps - stops wrinkles, sag and other things occurring. You know, because that actually makes breasts better, or something.

I can think of several things that don't work about this advertising campaign. First of all, it's only aimed at women with a C+ boob size, so that eliminates quite a lot of ladies. Second of
all, it assumes that every lady with large breasts is going to get said sag or wrinkles - but as boobs are subject to potential gravitational energy, surely they point downwards anyway? That's what bras are for.
Plus, if you're using one, it's almost guaranteed to make you feel ugly.

But what offends me most about this... this thing... is the fact that both Metro and website accompanied its mention with a picture of an attractive young lady clearly asleep with a huge plastic wodge protruding from between her tits. I don't know about you, ladies, but I would NOT GET ANY SLEEP if I had a huge plastic wodge between my tits (if I had tits). Moreover, if I did manage to drop off to sleep
(not an easy task as it is) eventually, every time I rolled over, it would fall out. And then wake me up.

Therefore, in the interest of public service and in admission of the fact I have no fucking idea how this would actually work, I propose the following advertising campaign:
I expect my cheque in the mail, guys.

Friday, 26 June 2009

Hey, That's My Mom!

I was walking through the market today looking for books to buy. I like buying books. I ended up, somehow, with two Usborne Puzzle Adventures and a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone to replace the old one which I've lost. Yeah, hardly anything new and exciting, but I have a big pile of books to read - I have just started Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and my God, it's a riot.

This book stall in the centre of my town's market also sells VHSs, CDs, DVDs and the odd game or two - evidently they haven't worked out that we have charity shops and a GameStation, but if they can hawk some extra stuff, well, more power to them - and I was having a casual flick through some of the DVDs when I chanced upon something a little, well, strange.

The DVD cover was pink, the title was Dude, That's My Mom! (so I assume American) and there were fully naked ladies on the front and back. The manufacturer's stamp read "PENTHOUSE". There were also 30-something mothers with pushchairs in the close vicinity. I quickly replaced the DVD, feeling rather sullied by the whole experience. Odd, isn't it, that I've spent years ordering soft porn DVDs from Amazon, and yet when faced with some porn for 50p in real life, I can hardly pick it up, let alone buy it?

Not that I wanted to buy it, not with that title...

What intrigues me more, however, is how this DVD landed on a stall otherwise full of Felicity Kendal exercise videos and Pokémon. I mean, even if I were running the stall, you cannot just take a porn DVD from someone and in all innocence place it in public view on the hope that some 14-year-old with a bit of cash will buy it. At least create whatever your equivalent of a top shelf is.

Not that I'm anti-porn. I'm pro-porn in many ways. I'm just befuddled by this one incident... and more than a little amused!

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

The ILB That (Almost) Never Was

I once wrote a post about sex in my LiveJournal. It was one of the most explicit and heartfelt things I'd ever written; it was honest and very near the bone. Through clever use of LJ's "security" feature I created a group of friends labelled "Sex" and I only made the post visible to them. My most intimate, most trusted friends. The main crux of the post centred around the fact that since I returned home from university I'd been very much focused on sex, despite not having indulged in that frivolous activity for about three years. This was, of course, before my random and somewhat illicit trysts with a couple of people... but we know about that.

I wasn't actually being daring or even shocking - although, with my writing style, I was cheeky and satirical, but even my academic essays are like that, so that's not too far from the truth with anything from my fingertips! I was just sharing some facts with my friends. Most of them don't know I'm ILB now, although I told Syren, and I told Mini, and 47 worked it out for himself, flash git. But anyway, everybody I let see this post responded to it, either by posting a comment of sending me an MSN message. They all said they didn't quite understand, although they were pleased I'd filtered them in - people like to know secret things, for some reason...

Although I was the guy who gave very warm hugs, they hadn't heard me mention my sex life for some time (with the exception of Syren, they hadn't metioned their own either, but that's neither here nor there, really...). Everything was crystal clear, but aside from actually sleeping with me, none of them could actually help me, not that I needed help in the true sense of the word. I mea, fantastic as it is, I didn't actually need to have sex. I sometimes felt like it was a need, but then again, I was - and still am - a man in my twenties, so of course I felt like that. What I needed wasn't sex, but a place to write about it. Not in my LJ where it needed to be hidden, but somewhere in the open, so I could share my views on sex with the world. And I was reading Abby Lee, I was reading Belle de Jour, and I still hadn't figured out the obvious route.

Man, genius-level IQ and it took me so long...

The idea for this blog came about in the shower. I had, admittedly, used the phrase "innocent loverboy" earlier in my life, but that was to describe Boy #11 Hiroaki Sugimura out of Battle Royale, so it didn't actually count. It took me three showers (on separate occasions, of course) to think of the name, and it really was a pipe dream. One that was technically possible, but it would never work. I could write about sex in my LJ, but opening a new blog just for sex... nah, I'd never do that.

And look where I am now. Good thing I came to my senses, eh?

There's no rubbish about me being a different person here. I'm still me, I'm just more open here. An Internet friend of mine named swallow (Hi, if you're reading, swallow!) once told me that she had been tricked into having cybersex with someone she detested merely because he changed his IRC handle. She worked out who he was afterwards, and he handed her a ridiculous sequence of words claiming that he was "a different person in the same body". Bullshit, my friend - pure bullshit, and that's the kindest thing I can say about that. I'd never say anything like that.

I may have opened up about writing about sex since I started ILB, but I certainly always had a lot to say on the subject; I just rarely got a chance to air it. After all, up until the age of 14 I was still claiming I had no interest in sex whatsoever (this was a lie, of course); I've moved on since writing a few paragraphs about wanting to have sex in an all-but-secret entry with a massive disclaimer before it and an LJ-cut tag to mask the entry itself. But whatever you may think about ILB, there's a lot of me here, and if you read this and take in what I say, then I'd say you know the same sort of stuff about me that I wanted to let my closest LJ friends know back in 2006. Maybe more so.

And you know what? I'm fine with that. Really, I am. Very much so.

Monday, 22 June 2009

Odd post is odd.

I don't know if this is the same for girls (although most of my readers are girls, so maybe one of you lovely ladies can fill me in), but if I may make this assumption:

a tingle under the arms = a need for hugs
a heavy, full feeling in chest = a need for cuddles

That's what I feel. Am I right?

Friday, 19 June 2009

Mastication for the nation

Cunnilingus leaves me with a pleasant, slightly salty taste in my mouth, a spot or two on my bedsheets (more often than not it's actually sweat from my stomach, mind you), a satisfed lady (hopefully)... and an odd feeling just behind my teeth, like my mouth isn't going to work for some time.

It's not totally unpleasant. The tongue undergoes a lot of strain, but then again if you hold your own tongue upwards for about twenty minutes it hurts anyway. The odd feeling is in the corners of my mouth, extending to the lips. I feel a bit fish-lipped, and that's pretty much guaranteed to kill the mood almost as much as the fact that I'll have dried lady-cum on my chin (personally, I don't mind that so much, but if I'm going to bury my face in her hair that can amount to unwanted bukkake 101).

Take today, for example. Much oral sex followed by a trip to the shops in order to buy stuff for dinner that my utterly STUPID family didn't already have. All the way to the shops, my mouth was feeling a little funky. Great, and all, but if we were going to have dinner the last thing I'd want to do would be to gag on my Mebeverine. So I picked up some chewing gum at the shop, along with the Dolmio and the cheese I bought purely because the company producing it was called BJ, and popped a couple of those strip-like beasts into my mouth.

I worked them around and around, seeking out the bits that felt odd and chewing them away. This worked surprisingly well, considering it's all done on a whim anyway. It took away her taste, which is a bit of a shame, but for the curious oral sex addict who wants a little light relief post-gratification... Doublemint. It's definitely the one.

Until the gum itself makes your mouth feel odd, and then the cycle begins again. More oral sex, you say? Coming right up!

Thursday, 18 June 2009


Dear God,

Please stop these nightmares plaguing me. I am a good person and I always try to be kind to people, even those I don't like. I am loving and giving, but as you know, I am very sensitive and don't cope well with bad situations. Dreams may not be real, but when you don't know you're dreaming, they are all too real for you, and can be far too upsetting to handle. So please, God, stop the nightmares.

This girl, this girl. I love this girl. I love her with all my heart. I was with her yesterday, this girl. I lunched with her, I cared for her when she was unwell. I insisted on travelling home with her so she didn't have to be alone in her sickness. I went to sleep in my bed longing for this girl to hold, to kiss goodnight, to make love to. This girl can be my all, if she is willing to be.

And yet my dreams betray me. They have this girl in the rôle she does not deserve to play - she betrays me, she performs fellatio on another man. This man is our friend. He holds her, he kisses her hair like I do. And I have to stand and watch. "It's not my fault," this girl says. "It just happened." But it did happen. And it happened in my dreams, and for that moment, my dreams are real.

I, being helpful, offer to go and get something they require. I come back, hoping it will resolve itself, hoping that she will accept my offer to continue our relationship, because I love this girl, despite what she has done. I return and they are staring, staring at each other, paying me no attention. "Damn it," I shout. Over and over and over again. And I collapse into tears, still in love, still ignored. Betrayed. Betrayed by this girl, in a rôle she does not deserve to play. In real life, she returns my love. In my dreams, she discards it.

I wake up, God. I wake up and I am shaking. Tears pour down my face; my breathing, ragged, heavy, uneven, desperate. All a dream, perhaps - yet, for the moments in which it happened, I was in distress - a distress with which I could not cope. I could not cope with betrayal again. Ay, me. It's not real, I know. But I hurt, I hurt from a hurt which has not happened, should not have happened. I should not have had the dream.

This dream, this nightmare, it takes place in my place of work. I am in this place of work, this place of nightmares. I am distressed by what I saw, what my brain forced me to see. I feel sick.

Please, God. Please, no more nightmares. No more betrayal. No more distress. No more crying at 5am.

Please, God.


Monday, 15 June 2009

The Machine Stops

I knew a guy once. A guy, it has to be said, who was one of the most unique people around. He was in his twenties and sported a goatee without looking like a twat; he venerated the South Park movie for its qualities as a well-performed musical, he told me on various occasions that I was a decent musician, and he was a trombone player to boot, so that kind of proves it. Unique... and a little ridiculous.
This particular trombonist had spent three years at St. Andrew's University, and as such, had had what one may term an 'interesting' educational upbringing. He told us stories in the pub after band practice, and what stories they were.

One of these came back to me yesterday as I was attempting to get some sleep. Trombonist knew a guy at university with the curious name of Machine. Presumably not his real name (although stranger things have happened), although I never asked, so I never found out. Machine, as it turns out, was in the habit of collecting porn. Not porn for use, mind you... he just collected porn to see if he could. And this wasn't your standard run-of-the-mill porn. It was stuff like bestiality, incest, elderly... it was downright dirty. The aim was to see if he could get it - and so he did.

This went on for a while (Trombonist didn't say how long exactly) until Machine's girlfriend discovered that he had a large collection of frankly sickening pornography hidden in the cupboard under the stairs. To be honest, it wasn't too hard to find. The odds were that she wasn't going to go looking in the cupboard under the stairs if she didn't know there was anything to look for. But, lo and behold, in a corner of the cupboard, there stood a small black box, the type designed to hold those 7" vinyl singles, stuffed full of the incriminating items. Intrigued, she opened it, knowing full well what she would find inside.

The clue? On the front of the box, in bright white Tipp-Ex, he had written "MACHINE'S PORN" in huge capital letters.

A word to the wise, my friends... keep it hidden.

Sunday, 14 June 2009

Cool whip

Presenting an interesting and delicious version of censorship.

That is all.

Thursday, 11 June 2009

Addiction XII: Hentai (yes, really).

We're sorry, but this is local water for local people and there's nothing for you here.This is interesting.

I like sort porn a lot more than I like hard porn (although with hardcore, it tends to revolve around who the actor in question is - Laura Angel's performances are always enthusiastic, and Peter North always makes me laugh for some reason). In fact, I'm something of an advocate (and former connoisseur) of the softcore stuff. But when it comes to the darker side of Japanese drawings, I prefer hentai over ecchi.

Okay, I'm going to need to explain - "hentai" is a generic term, but it usually refers to manga-style porn between a boy and a girl. Boys with boys is yaoi, girls with girls is yuri. Ecchi, on the other hand, can be any of them; the difference is that it's the softcore equivalent. With some pictures, it can be hard to tell. But there is a distinct difference. 4chan has a board for ecchi, in case you are at all curious. And you know, I do like it. It's mostly nudity, with very little sex, but if you're into that sort of stuff, then the artistic quality is uaually high.

But anyway, I prefer hentai. Not the stuff with tentacles, it has to be said. That's just wrong on all levels imaginable. And then there's the hentai that only shows a cock going into a vagina. Thanks, but I know exactly what those things looks like. A rough cartoon approximation isn't going to develop my knowledge and understanding of the anatomy and physiology of reproductive organs much. What I like is hentai that shows a bit of it. Not a lot - but a bit of what's going on downstairs, while also showing the rest of the bodies involved, including the generous breast sizes of the ladies and the characteristic hairstyles of the boys.

I think this is because it's a lot easier to imagine when you see it going on. Or at least see it going on as well as seeing other things. This is why I like soft porn - there's no actual penetration so they artfully show you the participants' whole bodies. And you know it's simulated sex, but at least they're acting like they're having sex (and it's usually convincing enough to tittilate, plus the music rocks). But with manga, they're pictures, so you know it's not real and there's nobody to make the noises either. An ecchi couple having sex could just as easily be sitting in an unfortunate position.

So I need to know they're engaged in the act of coitus, otherwise it's either voyeurism on your part or faked on their part. You know, with them being fictional and all. But if you admit they're fictional, bang goes all the fun.

Even if the ecchi girls are generally more attractive...

Tuesday, 9 June 2009

d. c. ad nauseam

Music is the food of love, and all. We all know that.

And if you don't go around life with a tune in your head at all times, there's probably something very wrong with you.

But if the tune in your head is the final few bars of some music that goes in a soft porn flick you may have seen once or twice, over and over again, without the accompanying visual image...

...and you're at work for twelve hours and it's in your head all the way through the twelve hours...

Well, then there's definitely something very wrong with you.

But at least I'm unique.

Saturday, 6 June 2009

Needlessly Long Review

So, as I promised, here's the review of Durex Play products I said I'd do. The weekend was full of sex (all in the name of science, you understand - the orgasms were just a pleasant side-effect, honest, guv!) and we tried out three different lubes during its course: Heat (which generates heat), Feel (which generates feelings) and Tingle (which... oh, work it out for yourself).
I hasten to point out that I've never used a lube before. For anything. Ever. Apart from the lube that comes in the little square packets to keep condoms wet and natural lube (aka: my tongue), never have used it. So this was a new experience completely and please excuse me if I sound like the sexual equivalent of a n00b.

I could, of course, just give these a mark out of 10, but I'm far too verbose for that...


The first one we tried was Heat, and although I wouldn't say it was entirely disappointing, it didn't exactly do what it said on the tin. Good thing Ronseal made up that advertising campaign before Durex did, I suppose.

The good points of Heat mainly focused around the fact that it felt nice. We actually first used it as a massage oil for my back, just to see if the heat worked. The feeling on my back was very pleasant indeed, but even when TD blew on it, there wasn't any radiating heat. I didn't actually feel it working after a while, either. Still, the massage was awesome, but then again, they usually are.
It's also kiss-safe, and the next time we used it, I put a little on her breasts before kissing them. Again, there was no heat (maybe we are both part lizard - that'd explain a few things...) but the taste was not unpleasant, and the lube made her nipples incredibly tender, so I got a good reaction from the kisses after a while.

There was no apparent effect otherwise, sadly. It felt fine all over the body, but there wasn't really much of the promised heat. And yes, we tried it at different times of the day, just in case! Maybe the problem is that you generate so much heat during sex that you don't actually notice if it's working or not. Never mind, anyway. Next!



We liked this one, so we tried it a few times - just to make sure.

This also takes a bit of time to work, but when it does work, it works very well indeed. There are very heightened sensations during both foreplay and sex - always a good thing - and in any place you put it, it will feel good. I even went so far as to put some in TD's anus at one point (well, why not, I ask?) and she says that felt good, so no complaints there. And it heightens the lovely feeling of a stroke across the skin, as well. Orgasms were had, more than one if I remember correctly, and they were rather explosive - well, they always are, but it's well worth pointing out that they were had and felt great.

I'd like to point out at this moment - and I have her permission to say this as well - that my girlfriend has what one may colloquially term a "tight pussy" (I tried to think of a more innocent way of putting that, but it couldn't be done...). Because of this pleasant fact, the effects of Durex Play: Feel were embiggened, as I put some inside her and then on my cock before making love to her, so the usual feeling that we were one entity was made less apparent by adding more feeling of the in-and-out motion. This was appreciated... it's not a better or worse feeling... just different!

However, what sticks in my mind was that I was (in fact, we both were, but I mentioned it first) very 'aware' of my cock. You know (or maybe you don't, if you're of the fairer sex), you're always aware that you have a penis and such, but I was totally aware of what my cock was doing during sex. At some points, this allowed me to appreciate the feeling of the inside vaginal walls moulding themselves around its shape, but at some points, all I could feel was my erection, because the Feel made it - well, feel - itself. So perhaps there was an element of separation there, ILB with TD as opposed to ILB-with-TD, which I wasn't entirely comfortable with. As I say, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling, but I'd really prefer this one mostly for foreplay. Still, whatever floats your boat, I guess...



Hands-down favourite of us both, this had all the elements to make for great sex and those special times before and after as well. (Yes, please do quote that!)

Tingle works. It takes some time to get going, but it works. One again, I tried this one on various bits of the body, and they made her nipples feel fantastic - not overly tender or too sensitive, exactly, but good. I have to report a smilar sensation once applied to my cock, as well. There is a pleasant gentle sensation which is like a small tickle. For whatever genius-related reason, this is nice while not being too distracting. You can get along with the sex part without your mind and body wandering towards thinking about the odd stuff you've been using - and that's good for couples who really want to pay each other a lot of attention.
It worked on me just as well as her, and when I gave her oral sex following its application (they're all kiss-safe, remember?) I experienced a pleasant taste slightly reminiscent of menthol and peppermint. Fortunately, I like both of those. Interestingly, she tasted more of 'her' towards the labia majora, whereas the labia minora had the minty taste. Maybe that's just where I put it. Anyway, it gave me a chance to mix flavours. Nice.
But the main good poins of the Tingle lube became more apparent during sex itself. I don't know whether it was the lube or me or just luck, but while making love I became aware of a large amount of energy, and we had sex for a much longer time than usual. This is A Good Thing. To top this off, following the resulting orgasm, the tingling feeling returns! Small aftershocks accompanied by a gentle tingle. Yep, that covers all bases - apart from a snuggle, and I can provide those. Happy now?

There aren't really many 'down' points about this one; it is, however, the coldest of the three and, as such, you take a little time getting used to the fact that you aren't smoothing melted ice down your lover's body. I mean, you can do that if you want to, but that's not actually what we were doing. Also, and this is a bit of a disappontment, they made her feel a little numb after sex, so although I went down on her and licked for a while (afterwards as well as before - what? I'm an addict.), she didn't feel it as much as usual. But then again, maybe that's just us being greedy!

So, yes. Those are the three we were sent, and those are the three that we tried. If I were to make a recommendation, I'd definitely be pleased to pimp Tingle and possibly Feel as well. I don't have anything against Heat - it was a good lube, but lacked something in the special effects department, whereas the other two had the BBC Radiophonic Workshop to hand, or some other similar analogy.

Anyway, all that is left is to thank Durex Play for sending me these items, stash them in my secret drawer and look forward to the resulting backlash of people who are going to pcket my front doorstep holding cameras and signs whch say things like "ILB Has Sold Out". Have a nice life, sexy people!

Thursday, 4 June 2009

I'm a good boy, I am.

So, if you've read Lace Stockings recently you'll have noticed that she has been sent some new lubricating products from Durex to try out and review. The same has happened to me (and - just for the record - I got mine sent out he day before LS did. She's almost certainly going to write a better review than I ever could, but at least I got them FIRST).

It only occurred to my mother to ask what was in my package yesterday.

Mother: "What was your package?"
ILB: "A book. I bought it for [TD], because I thought she'd like it."

I managed to do this conversation without telling a single lie. And this is how I did it.

Mother: "What was in your package?"

[A simple question.]

ILB: "A book..."

[What my mother doesn't know is that I have, in fact, changed the subject without answering the question beforehand. This may sound like an answer, but I have not actually supplied said answer. This phrase is actually a preposition to the next clause:]

ILB: "...
I bought it for [TD], because I thought she'd like it."

[This is true. In fact, I did buy it for those reasons. She was there at the time, but this doesn't negate the fact that I bought the aforementioned book.]

So, using clever semantics I managed to steer the conversation in an entirely different direction and therefore didn't have to answer my mother's question, truthfully or not. So I still told the 100% truth; ergo, I'm a good boy. And that, dear readers, may well be the truth.

Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Alt + F4, bitch!

Dream last night involved my old secondary school. I think I may have had it before.

I mean, I'm pretty certain that I've dreamed the bit about being late for school before, and managing to get into the English Block through a long, dusty wooden staircase (behind a secret door) covered in cobwebs and muck - which leads into the English Block classrooms through a surprisingly light Luigi's Mansion-esque attic which, I presume, has another staircase leading down from it.

I'm less certain, however, that insofar as this dream is concerned, the attic itself was actually full of manga girls clearly about to indulge in a yuri sex scene. I'm also less certain that the previous time I dreamed of the attic, it actually turned out to be some hentai movie I was watching on my computer screen. I'm pretty sure that the bit in which I was actually watching two hentai movies in different windows wasn't in the last instance, either.

And then there's the bit wherein my mother came in and found me watching one, but assumed it was a children's show from the 80s because the girls weren't fully unclothed yet. Yeah, that bit I don't recall having been present before, either. Of course, just when the situation could have gotten sticky (in that I didn't manage to close the windows in time 'cause I got rather flustered), I was woken up... by my mother standing in my room shouting at me to wake up.

So, you know, that was OK, 'cause it was all a dream. My mother didn't see me watching Japanese cartoon porn set in an... attic which... was part of... er, my... old... school......


And this mother didn't have buttons for eyes, either. Thank you for small mercies, God.

Monday, 1 June 2009

Phonesexxx (extra x's optional)

I've never had actual phonesex, but last night I came pretty close. It was quite late and we'd been apart for all of one day and so the "you are turned on, severely so" bug had bitten. It bit her first and then she told me, so then it bit me (I had just left work at the time, so the one-hour-long train ride home had plenty of time for me to reflect on what she looks and sounds like during orgasm, and that pretty much did the trick). I got home, had a sandwich, deleted all my junk e-mails and eventually got into bed - sweet merciful heaven, that's good after a long day - and then she called. Just before I was about to. And so we had something close to phonesex, with her explaining what she wanted to do to me - and what she wanted me to do to her - and afterwards, it got me thinking about exactly what you have to have in order to indulge in this pastime.

(i) A phone, a connection and a person to do it with
Otherwise you've fallen at the first hurdle, my friend.

(ii) A safe place and a good time
This is pretty much obvious, n'est-ce pas? It's best not to have phonesex with anyone who may be disapproving in the next room. This is, of course, what I was doing, but with my unconscious parents and the low rumbling voices, I doubt they would have head anything, never mind the lustful phrases from 50 miles away.

(iii) Suspension of disbelief
This is something I'm familiar with as it's also a necessity during cybersex, although there's no voice during cybersex (unless you're using Skype, and I don't think that counts!). For the body to achieve orgasm - and I'm assuming you're in want of a good orgasm, who isn't? - then it needs to be tricked into thinking you're engaged in coitus, and therefore you need to accept that the act you're thinking of it itself sexual intercourse. Of course I'm not assuming you're going to be thinking about cheese sandwiches during phonesex (unless you swing THAT way), but if you can actually believe that Superman can fool anyone by putting on one pair of glasses and assuming a different name, I'm sure you can do this well enough.

(iv) Acting
I'm not exactly suggesting anyone takes any masterclasses, buy dad - who is an actor - says (or what I'm sure he would say if I asked him), if you're going to be on a stage, at least have something to do. If the phonecall is your stage, then at least do something - respond to what your call buddy is saying or say something to them, whether it's "I just want to fuck you now" or "Behold, you are beautful, my love; your hair is like a flock of goats moving down the slopes of Gilead" or, as in my case last night, "and what then?". If you're going to be an observer, there's porn for that.

(v) A free hand
For obvious reasons.

(vi) Some tissues
Because - unless you happen to be female and are sitting on a towel - you're likely going to need these, or at least you are if it's anything like as intense as what happened to me last night. Fortunately, I had some next to my bed. I'm prepared like that, you see.

(vii) Flight sickness medication
I don't know if this is a common feeling, but it happened to me. Perhaps a combination of being extremely sleepy and extremely turned on, but throughout the pre-orgasm stages and just afterwards, I felt a very floaty feeling, like I was gently being rocked back and forth or even flying upwards.

(viii) A sense of humour
Lighten up, man.

So, anyway, the end result of our little tryst last night was quite spectacular. She came, and that made me come, and after all that we were quite sufficiently sleepy enough to drift off ('drift' being the operative word, as I was still flying). I actually slept until 12 this morning, but that's probably not related...

...it'd be good if it were, though. I may have just found a cure for insomnia!