Wednesday, 30 September 2009

Sex, sewing and study

I don't have a quote for today, but - as we all know by now - this is the final day of NaBloPoMo for me so, fuck it. I'm going to fill you all in with an ILB Special Relationship Status Report.

My girlfriend is about to start an MA leading on to a PhD - there are posts about some of the books she's been reading here and here - and it's in London. I, also, coincidentally, am in London. Now, for a PhD in a literary subject you really do need the best books, and they some from the best libraries, and she has the Bodleian in Oxford, inhabiting - from the sounds of things - mostly the Radcliffe Camera. Here, she will have the British Library in Ling's Cross, not to mention the, frankly, massive libraries of the University of London and its 19 different colleges. I may be making wild assumptions here, but I think that living in Oxford and studying in London is A Good Idea™ if you're in need of books.

Or like hyperlinks.

Anyway, studying at London is what all the cool kids are doing these days. TD's best friend, the mysterious N, is doing the same. In fact, even my oldest and dearest, Robinson (who has just turned 25, good Lord!), is studying again this year - although it's not actually at the UoL, it's still study. Looks like mature students, suddenly, are where it's at. And all this time, I thought that was second violins. Shows how much I know.

I need to clarify, now, that TD isn't actually living with me. I still live with my parents, for one thing. I mean, she'll be staying with me, sure, but for the first term she'll be in London for three days a week; ergo, she'll have time to return to Oxford during the four consecutive days in which she isn't doing anything wants to study at home. But I've carried a spare chest of drawers upstairs, and we had a complete overhaul of my room recently too, so that instead of ILB's-room-with-extra-bag-of-clothes, I'd prefer to think of it, now, as ILB's-room-with-TD's-things-in-it instead. She stayed with me back when she was working for Scarlet, so why not now as well?

I think this is Another Good Thing
. I mean, I adore having her around - because I adore her. There will be a lot of studying, because that has to be done - no matter how boring it actually is - but there will also be the capacity to go out, have meals, snuggle, watch movies, read stories and have mind-blowing sex, because there has to be some social time, right?

Needless to say, there's a new deal going on around here, even though I haven't a clue what that is. I've also no idea what's going to be happening in a year's time. I don't think I want to know, anyway. All I know for now is, I have a girlfriend who is about to start being a postgraduate in London, and I live in London, and I'm very, very excited.

Tuesday, 29 September 2009

Head off

The course I'm taking doesn't have a lot to do with having your head hit quite hard, so I was a little confused when one of our lecturers this morning had a spiel about having your head hit for quite a while. In fact, she appeared to act more like Michael McIntyre than anything else - bounding energetically around the room, presenting the results of hitting one's head with the air of Father Christmas announcing it's a free-for-all with the contents of his sack.

"Of course, what people lose most is their inhibitions," she said, "so beware, ladies..."

There are men on this course too, you know. We'd get shocked with people losing their inhibitions too.

"...they can become really quite sexual. That's nothing to be afraid of, but remember, they've had a bump on their head; it's not who they are, you know?"

Right. So people aren't sexual. They just become so when they get a bang on the head. I wonder if I fell out of my cot at the age of 2 or something.

Mind you, if I did get a bang on my head and suddenly become, as this lecturer claims, sexual, then that explains the faux pas I made this afternoon, when I happened to be discussing a presentation I'm meant to be putting together with a hastily assembled group (me and three girls, one of whom I'm not convinced exists). We're covering a large range of topics in the presentation, so I volunteered myself - as a very spiritually inclined person - to tackle the subject of spirituality.

"Anything else?" asked one of my teammates.

"Oh, and sex. I want to do sex!" I said.

Yes, I really did say that.

Monday, 28 September 2009

Ain't nobody here but us newsreaders

College today was full of new people. That's right, new intake and all. I walked through the doors in a slightly bemused fashion at 11am this morning and was surrounded by students with goofy American accents shouting things like, "oh my gawd... nu ciddy... nu me, yunno?" They were everywhere. It's like some sort of swarm. Last year, when I was in their position, I maintained myself as an outsider for quite a while (read: did EVERYTHING ON MY OWN) before I settled into the more established route of collecting "friends". This crowd, it seemed, had already learned how to hunt in a pack.

When a friend of mine informed me that an American newsreader named Ernie Anastos had accidentally said "keep fuckin' that chicken" on live TV (watch the clip, it's hilarious), he also noted the expression of Anastos' co-anchor (see fig. 1, left, a woman clearly in a state of extreme shock) after she realised what he'd said. To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what he said. I mean, he clearly said "fuckin' that chicken", but that doesn't really mean anything of any great value (unless you happen to be into that sort of thing).

So what did he mean? Did he mean to say "chokin' that chicken?" In which case, he'd be advocating masturbation on live TV. I'm all for the promotion of masturbation, but it's not really what you'd expect to see in a news segment. It's more likely that he meant to say "pluckin' that chicken", but then again, why the chicken would he want to say that anyway? I mean, it's perhaps the most incongruous statement since Miley Cyrus shouted "Fuck you, motherfucker!" on her most recent teen-friendly DVD (disclaimer: this didn't actually happen, but I want it to). Perhaps he did mean to say "fuck". It sounds like a dare to me.

Not that any of the new students on my course would have any qualms about it. I overheard snatches of a very loud conversation between two of the American transfers today which contained the line "don't have sex, don't have sex standing up, don't have sex lying down, just don't do it." The context of which statement eludes me. Maybe she was just practicing for a seminar she'd give that night on abstinence. I know, that's a very unlikely thing for a girl in her late teens/early twenties to do, but at least if she was, she could always mention what sort of troubles fucking could get you into.

Just ask
Ernie Anastos.

Sunday, 27 September 2009

Oh, yeah?

I once wrote a post in which every line ended with the word "yeah?". Like most posts in this blog, it was mostly satirical, insofar as I don't actually think people actually talk like that.

At least, I didn't until I was taking a little walk around the corridors at work today and I heard the line "it's sexual, yeah?" from behind me. Taking a sneaky glance, I saw two very casual-looking workers strolling along behind me. They were smiling. This usually means trouble.

"He hit 'er on the back of the 'ead when she was about to come, yeah?"

This didn't sound like the sort of conversation I would be looked upon favourable for eavesdropping into. I sped up and pushed my way through some double doors. They followed.

"But, like, this one time... he hit 'er on the 'ead too hard, an' he murdered 'er, yeah?"

I almost fell over in shock.

Before I made my decision between continuing with my task and running away screaming (possibly hurling myself out of a window, seeing as how it seemed to be the closest way out), the guy exonerated himself with the simple sentence:

"It's a British film, yeah?"

At which point I started breathing again. I'd forgotten what a pleasant sensation that could be.

Still, I've now come from work deciding that the British film industry has a lot to answer for all of a sudden.

Saturday, 26 September 2009

Promises, promises...

"After we make love by candlelight, can we live happily ever after?"
"Yes."

I'll let you all know how it goes.

Friday, 25 September 2009

Whoops!

I was sitting on a late train from the middle of London back to the outskirts, towards the shanty town area in which I live. TD was sitting opposite me, ploughing her way through one of the slew of texts she's been having to read for the postgraduate course she is about to hurl herself into with a will of steel.

She looked very nice indeed. Earrings, coat, dress, shoes - the whole caboodle. My thoughts strayed - this classy lady sitting opposite me was the same lady who I sat in bed and snuggled with, read children's stories to, made laugh with fart jokes and had sex with? It was kind of a "wow" moment - hey, usually the idea of being inside her makes my heart speed up - but this was almost the binary opposite of the naked girl I sleep with. A thoroughly clothed lady.

I attempted to relay this to her later on, while we were in bed. A little tipsy through tiredness, I managed to get the message across, but perhaps not in the most eloquent of ways.

"I looked at you on the train earlier," I stumbled, "and I thought, you look really pretty, and then I thought, I put my penis inside her."

The laughter was elongated and riotous.

Nice to know I can make her laugh... especially when, after all, I don't even try!

Thursday, 24 September 2009

BBC Radio 4's Chain Reaction: Eddie Izzard interviews Alastair Campbell

EI: Tell us of the stories you wrote for Forum magazine, because I never read - I could reach it, just about, on the top shelf, because I was quite a small person...

AC: Well, it's quite a small magazine.

EI: Yeah.

AC: Well, I had a bet, with a fellow student who was also studying languages, and he drew the short straw... he was up in the North, I was down in Neasden. We had a bet on who could get into print first. And he wrote these really interesting artcles about cycling, and culture... and I wrote soft porn.

[pause; audience laughter]


AC: And I put them in a brown envelope, and I whacked them off to...

EI: Hang on!

[prolonged, uproarious laughter]

AC: No, it's all right! I whacked them off to Men Only, Penthouse and... Razzle? Is there a Razzle? Something like that.

EI: Isn't that Puzzler?

Wednesday, 23 September 2009

Help!

Sometimes, things are sexual for all the wrong reasons.



That's an orgy at the end... right?

Tuesday, 22 September 2009

The Sound of Silence

Sometimes, a quote isn't really needed at all. In fact, the mention of sex isn't needed for the initiation of sex - as I found out last night. See, we had sex last night, but I didn't say anything. In fact, apart from those you'd expect, very few noises were made at all.

We were a sleepy couple, lying there in bed. But I wanted it. And I think she did, as well. In fact, I spent quite a lot of time trying to persuade her that she wanted it - all without a word. Kissing her breasts, feeling her nipples, running hands smoothly down her chest, over her svelte waist, her stomach, down to feel her derrière and, what's more, her inviting pussy lips... over which I slid a hand and into which I slipped a small finger. Just a small one. She's a small person, after all.

Without making any sounds, I moved down the bed and, as I am accustomed to doing, I started to lick her - softly, slowly - before building up speed. Her orgasm was fast and furious, but quiet and low. She lay on her back breathing heavily, but not saying anything. I took a tissue I'd put on a chair nearby off the chair. I wiped my face and my hands, and then took the cover off, revealing her body to me, her legs still akimbo. Hard, I lay down between them and penetrated her, adjusting myself to feel comfortable and feeling her inside walls mould around my shape.

I started moving, but not very fast. In fact, I took it as slowly as I could. Slow, tender sex seemed to fit the silent mood. There were sounds, but they were mostly of heavy breathing and the rustle of her hair against my ear. I even put my hand between the bedhead and the wall, so as to stop the sounds of a soft thud of bed and floor. We just kept going - rhythmic, deep thrusts, not fast or needy, just giving and taking pleasure. For a very long time, indeed. I wasn't timing, but then again, who needs to keep time?

At last, a few words made their way out.

"I love it when we make love," she whispered.

I agreed. By 'agreed', I mean 'kept going'. We'd started, after all, and we were going to finish. And finish we did, a little later.

Quietly, mind you.

Monday, 21 September 2009

Al frisky

"Don't look now," I whispered, "but I think that couple are having sex."
"Where?"
"To our left," I replied, still in an undertone. "On the other side of the river."
She glanced to our left. It's true that the other side of the river looked a lot more pleasant than our side. But then again, we were taking a romantic walk along a dirt path. The couple on the other side of the river were on a flat stretch of green grass and seemed to be taking romance to a further conclusion.

I wonder exactly what possessed them to do that. I mean, I don't have any problems with engaging in flagrante delicto outside. It's an extremely exciting concept. The law may frown on it, but a) the law sucks, and b) that makes it all the more taboo, which can make it even more exciting. And then there's the fact that somebody may notice, which is - of course - perhaps the ultimate attraction. You're not meant to do it in public, and therefore if you do you're misbehaving, and if somebody actually sees you... well, the mind begins to melt at that point. For an innocent boy like myself, the risqué aspect is almost too much!

Still, this couple. Maybe they thought they were more concealed than they actually were. The angle I saw them from wasn't even a very acute or obtuse one. There was a bush on their left, and a bush on their right, but nothing concealing them from the discerning onlooker. Okay, maybe they weren't having sex. But then again, she was sitting on his lap, his chest against hers. From the looks of things, she wasn't wearing anything on her legs, besides a small skirt, and that was hitched up around her hips.

I really wish I'd taken a closer look, but at the first glance, the boy had looked around and locked eyes with me. Even if the glance hadn't said "d'you mind?", I probably would have looked away anyway, to be decent. Nevertheless, I'd seen all I needed to see. If he had his flies open, they could have been having sex and there was very little to suggest otherwise.
"I think they're having sex too," came a whisper back to me. "They're moving. They're... jiggling."
I took a very quick glance back. Very quick. So they couldn't see me looking. Yup, no mistaking that movement.

After all, it was a sunny afternoon. Why waste a nice day?

Sunday, 20 September 2009

So it's come to this

Thus begins another review of Durex products, this time being the lovely "2-in-1 massage melts" that are, without a doubt, one of the oddest concepts I've ever held in my curious hands (although I didn't hold them for that long, to be honest...).


The Process...

Well, I had a few things I was keen to try with these beasts, and we had two of them pre-frozen, so we could just do more and more! The first thing was, of course, the use for which it's probably intended - a classic and simple massage, one of them being run along my back, followed by her skilled hands rubbing me up the right way...

Once that was over, it was my turn to play with her, and I grabbed the other cube, pressing it against her nipples in turn, which made her shiver, and then running it down her, from her chest through her cleavage and down to her stomach, following with my tongue...

Finally, I pressed it briefly against her clit, and then cheekily (as the booklet suggests) actually slid it inside her, waiting for a few seconds before entering her myself and proceeding to have full sex while this was... well, doing whatever it was doing, I suppose.


Innocent Loverboy says...

Loath as I am to make this point right at the start of the review, I have to point out that these things are cold. Okay, they've been in the freezer for hours before you use them, so that's not exactly a massive surprise, but I'm not sure what exactly I was supposed to be expecting. When the cube first touched my back, I squealed, and could hardly keep still. I don't have much of a tolerance for cold, and I'm as ticklish as hell, so the first few seconds weren't comfortable... but they were titillating, I'll admit.
What I did like about the pre-massage test happened after about thirty seconds, when the cube itself lived up to its name and melted. It was still cold, but by this time I was used to it (or numb) and the pleasant sliding sensation of solid rapidly transforming into liquid under her warm hands worked. I don't know why, but it actually worked.
I do, however, have to additionally point out that, smooth as it might be, as a massage aid it wasn't as soft as it could have been - as TD says below, I'd have preferred to use the massage mousse again - and what's more, I will!

After the first cube was used up, TD was left with a curious, and slightly disturbing, white goop in her hand - it looked like congealed spunk. Not a pleasant sight, and we weren't sure what it was. It didn't melt much, so it may not have been unmelted lube - then again, it may. It was, however, unusual. So we started another cube.

Sliding it over her body was more pleasurable. I'd long wanted to press one against her nipples, and that got a very good reaction from her. I kissed them after the cube had been removed too, and I can confirm from this that they actually taste very pleasant. Not a taste I can place, exactly, but they don't have much of an aroma like the mousse did, so a nice sensation in the mouth left over was a welcome addition. Putting it in the same place for a while isn't advisable, so I drew patterns on her chest and stomach, and she certainly seemed to appreciate this. It also brought about a certain naughty vengeance, giving her the cold sensations after she'd given them to me!
I admit, however, I shouldn't have held the cube against her clit for more than half a second. I mean, I wouldn't have enjoyed that, but I took a while to gauge her reaction before I actually realised it wasn't much fun any more. Next time, I'll try a very brief stroke, and we'll see, shall we?

The final act, pushing it inside her, wasn't something I was originally planning to do, but it turned out to be a pretty good idea, all things considered. By this time I was hard enough to slip into her easily, and the extra lubrication certainly helped as I started making love to her. I couldn't exactly feel the cube melting inside her, but I did feel the resultant liquid seeping down over my penis during sex (as well as, of course, her girlcum and, eventually, my own). Unsurprisingly, that really heightened the sensation. Nice one, Durex!

I'd like to experiment more with these things - perhaps combining them with the Heat lube would work? And, of course, their universalisability allows for lots of different opportunities. I guess it's all up to the users' imaginations to really test these things out...


The Drinker says...

I loved tracing this over the Boy's back - pleasant reaction, nice smooth strokes. However, if I were giving him a massage I would use a 'proper' massage oil (or the Durex massage mousse we tried last time) rather than this, as after the initial excitement of the ice cube melts, you're left with quite a sticky lube.

I like the hot/cold surprise, not knowing what he was going to do (when it was my turn), but I wouldn't personally recommend putting one of these ice cube thingies on your clit. That wasn't that fun (although to be fair, the leaflet does say don't keep them in one place too long, so maybe that was the Boy's fault...). But when he slipped it into my pussy I felt a wonderful shiver all through me. It was a completely new feeling, and one I'd like to repeat. As he says uptop, they are odd, but they are pretty damn good. Particularly enjoyed a hard-and-fast fuck with the lube slowly melting onto us both. A great feeling. The cube itself lasts quite well, with plenty of icy ripples running through me at each thrust. The only down side I would say is that I couldn't feel him actually coming, but otherwise I wasn't numbed - rather the opposite; my orgasm was an elongated series of waves with a whole new sensation of the cold versus our usual heat. (And it didn't stain the sheets, which has to be an advantage when you live with your parents.)


In conclusion...

It was a lot of fun trying these beasts out, and now we know what's good and what's not, next time it can just be a sexy time without having to stop at some points to try things out (and find they don't work in some areas). My (ILB's) advice would be to find out what works for you in a less passionate state instead of immediately breaking these out for a special occasion. You get 6 in a pack, so there's certainly enough for that!

Durex's range of sex aids has vastly improved - although we did use their different condoms at the start of the relationship, we're not using them now the Drinker is on the pill and we're both clean (stay safe kids!). There's something for everyone, and we hope to start playing around with combinations now the rigorous scientific lab trials are over.

In short, yes please!

Saturday, 19 September 2009

Prepare to be boarded!

Avast, yeh collection of saucy minxes an' scurvy blackguards! I be havin' an amusin' tale te tell ye, an' I be expectin' laughter! Yarr!

Well, yesterday, The Grog Drinker an' I be discussin' euphemisms fer the yaaaart o' masturbation - although, bein' a fergetful captain, I be forgettin' the context exactly, heh - but I be assurin' ye that the discourse did happen, and it were amusin' ter the extreme. In fact, I be discussin it wi' me friends Master Bates an' Seaman Staines. I even be discussin' it with our resident ship bishop, Bash. Anyway, one o' the amusin' euphemisms that she came up wi' happened to be "sharpenin' me pencil." That tickled me capn's funny bone, an' many hearty cheers were given, almost as many as were durin' sex this morning, shipmates - although I'm not meant ter mention that, so keep it under yer piratical hats!

So, today we were reclinin' in the ship's cabin, an' The Grog Drinker, she was doin' some work on her upcoming studies. Somethin' about being a buccaneer, no doubt. So her writin' implement, it be blunt, and she asks me nicely, "Cap'n, you will go and get me pencil sharp'ner, or I'll personally make sure you are garotted on the end o' me cutlass, walkin' the plank into shark-infested wa'ers, an' tarred an' feathered, all at the same time!". Well, I couldn't refuse an offer like tha', an' I did me cap'n's duty, although before I be leavin' the cabin, I turns to her an' I says:

"I be just going to sharpen me pencil, then?"

An' the three cheers from me crew were so heartenin' that I just had ter put this in me cap'n's log! Ya-harrr, I am the highest-flyin' wit on the seas!

Arrr.

Friday, 18 September 2009

R. I. Paper

So, today marked an historic date.... the final issue of thelondonpaper. I put the issue to Murdoch now: why not shut down The Sun or The Times instead? No? Well, fuck you, Murdoch. Fuck you anyway, but more so.

The final issue was more than a little touching. They did make something of a big deal out of the fact that they were closing, but perhaps the most affecting bit - in my view - happened to be the regular features, lacking more than a few usual features. City Boy wrote a long, funny column, but Lovestruck was missing (so no more mysterious messages to me, then), and I didn't see any men or ladies about town, gay or otherwise (maybe there were during the rest of the week), but I adore Katherine Richardson's column and... missed it. Damn.

Anyway, one of the things that did mention TLP's closure was a feature by the editor, featuring a huge picture of an inane grinning vendor surrounded with reminiscences of the development of TLP. "We came up," claims Hatfield (he's the editor... or, he was), "with the radical notion that many 18-35-year-old Londoners' principal occupation outside of work might be getting laid." As if to prove his point, the necessary addendum to any pithy comment, "(who knew?)," hung there afterwards, making me (at least) stop and check back.

Yes, Hatfield definitely referenced getting laid.

Bring back the damn paper already!

Thursday, 17 September 2009

First Contact

One of our number was missing from the quiz again on Tuesday.

Actually, that's a lie, of sorts. Quite a few of them weren't there. Robinson, again, was absent, as was Hairy Friend and his older sister, the one who laughs too much wasn't laughing her way there, and the other assorted rogues from the gallery were conspicuous by their lack of presence. A few of the stalwarts made their way to the pub, as well as myself and TD, but in many ways it was a very odd night. TD and myself spearheaded the efforts to win the quiz and I was so distracted I didn't remember the existence of a young raver until it was mentioned he was very ill.

"Might it be swine flu?" I asked the girls who know him best.
"I think it's mumps," said one of the girls. "He's got swellings all around his neck and face. He thinks it's swine flu, but there's too much swelling for that."
"Could be swollen glands," I pointed out. My mother gets swollen glands sometimes. Mind you, it doesn't cause that much swelling. "But mumps sounds more plausible. Why does he think it isn't?"
The girl shrugged. "Eh," she continued, "he probably wants it to be swine flu. You recover from that without treatment."
"He could have got... whatever he's got... from that girl," interrupted another girl, who exchanged knowing glances with Girl #1.
"Oh, he's had another girl?" I said, slyly. Girls #1 and #2 nodded sagely.
"I mean, she had something or another, and they've had contact," said Girl #2.
"Contact, eh?" I replied.
"Downstairs contact?" winked TD.

As it transpires, he did, in fact, engage in contact with this unknown quantity of a girl more than once. In fact, for this young raver, more than once is something of a record.

I'll get in touch with him soon to find out how he is. After all, he's a mate.

Notice how I said "get in touch". I didn't say "get in contact". What kind of man do you think I am?!

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

Yardstick

This is a late one. And a bit of a lazy one. We've spent a bit of time in A&E. Stomach ulcer's fault, don't blame us.

Anyway, here's a conversation we had recently over MSN. It's really quite amusing.

The Drinker says:
Read my blog... I have posted 'last night' (which I intended to do and forgot so have just backdated now) and am writing an entirely different post now.

ILB says:
OK, let's open that up.
Fuck me with a yardstick, that's hot.

The Drinker says:
No, I don't think I will, thanks.

ILB says:
Damn, you mean I bought it for nothing?

The Drinker says:
We can measure EVERYTHING!
But only if it is smaller than a yard, or it would get inaccurate.

ILB says:
We could always put a pencil mark where the stick ends and then replace.

The Drinker says:
That could work.

ILB says:
Possibly wouldn't be accurate to the millimetre, but it depends what we're measuring.
Possibly not wise to use it to measure the length of my wang, because that seems to change.

The Drinker says:
Oh the changes of the wang, like the fluctuations of the moon, remind us of the changes of nature and the world around us, keeping us grounded with the earth and her creatures.

ILB says:
I didn't know you'd been reading Sun Tzu recently.
Interestingly, Aristotle also had a theory about wang sizes. If you take a proposed length as conveyed over the internet, and divide it into thirds, the length of one third is the actual length of the wang in question.

The Drinker says:
How to accurately solve the wang size debate has puzzled both philosophers and mathematicians for centuries.
And of course through time the most desirable wang size has changed.

ILB says:
You could always do your PhD on my wang. Problem is, it's a long course.

The Drinker says:
Sizes of wang: a critical exploration into the effects of wang and wang size on modernist theory and culture.
Or a PRACTICAL exploration would be more fun...

ILB says:
Yes, but that's strictly extracurricular... for now.

Catch you tomorrow, people. With a real post this time.

Tuesday, 15 September 2009

Aladdinnocent Loverboy

So. Today, we watched Aladdin, The Return of Jafar and Aladdin and the King of Thieves. Yes, yes we did.

"Did she just sing, 'whenever we make love'?" put in TD, at one point. OK, well, Jasmine didn't actually sing that, but clearly the concept of her singing such a line made me check up on those specific lyrics - you know, just to make sure.

Oh, Disney, how quickly you become tainted.

Monday, 14 September 2009

It's a sign!

Unaccustomed as I am to obey every instruction given to me by way of billboard advertising, on my way home from the party the other day (by way of the night bus), one caught my eye, not least because it was yellow with bright red writing, but also because the letters were about five feet high each.

It didn't even appear to be advertising any particular product - there wasn't anything except the text:

MAKING LOVE?

DO IT AGAIN... AND AGAIN!

Yes, sir!

Sunday, 13 September 2009

Multiple heads are better than one...

I've long been of the opinion that it's absolutely impossible to attend a party for anyone under the age of 40 and not have at least one person who feels that it's their raison d'être to lower the tone sufficiently. Yesterday's excursion happened to be a 21st birthday party, and the group I was with happened to be a collection of people I haven't seen for quite some time - one of whom I didn't even know was going to be there, and I haven't seen for about two years. Very bizarre.

I've recently changed my 'phone number and so wrote it on a napkin and passed it around the circle along with some crisps. All my friends wrote it into their 'phones and so we went on our merry way. I subsequently received the following messages:

Right u are, you little bollox!
I fancy your boobs.
Yess. [a friend] wants your minge.

My friends are crazy.

However, none of those are the quote I wanted to share with you. You see, one of our number recently got engaged. We probably weren't supposed to know this. He's been engaged before and that didn't turn out well. (The first person to say "takes one to know one" gets impaled on a spike, and I'm not a vindictive man.) But his girlfriend's LiveJournal rhapsodised about such. (If I were a vindictive man, I'd have said something like, "here we go again!", but I'm not.) I brought this up with the people there - the man in question wasn't at the party, he lives in Blackpool or somesuch - and they were all possessed of the same knowledge.

Friend-I-haven't-seen-for-two-years had an extra piece of information. He'd been lurking on MSN, as is his wont, and had noticed the aformentioned girlfriend's quick message shared ("that little thing you put after your username", as it is known in wider circles):

"13-hour drive and my body is fucked."

Whoah there. I know you just got engaged, but there's a line you cross before that's just far too much information.

Saturday, 12 September 2009

Let's talk about sex

So, it seems as if my father isn't the only one who can make explicit references to sex. My mother has always appeared rather strait-laced and won't really mention sex, preferring instead to stop short of saying the words and leaving one hanging perpetually in the world of unfinshed sentences, and I hate it when people do

My mother confused me today twice. The first time she gave me a hug and told me she loved me; this is usually a cue to turn around and start running as fast as you can, because she's either about to ask you to do something or stab you in the back (the latter is, I suspect, a more common event).

The second time was a little more odd. For very little reason at all, she started talking to me about the possibility of volunteering to help out at sexual health clinics. I'd mentioned sexual health in passing before, while talking about areas of the health system that need improvement (Barack Obama's doing his best for America, so us lucky UK-ers have to provide a good example, yes?), but this has planted a seed in my mother's mind. Maybe she's forgotten that I'm at college as well as being in training for a job: ergo, I don't have unlimited leisure time. Ay me.

Anyway, she sent me an e-mail with a link in it to click if I were at all interested. I am, but I haven't clicked it yet because I'm a lazy-ass.
"Link to sex!" read the e-mail subject. Hmmm, I wonder if, having read that, anyone else is thinking Zelda Rule 34? Anyway, that's probably the first time she's ever put the word in writing. Yikes!

Also, incidentally, I took a chlamydia test today. I'm 100% sure I don't have chlamydia, and neither does TD. But I thought I might as well, if only to support the scheme the NHS is rolling out. And, anyway, it gave me something to do.

Friday, 11 September 2009

Best. Quote. Ever.

[post-coitus]

Her:
"
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God."
Me: "Are you okay?"

Thursday, 10 September 2009

Watch With Mother

"Talking of porn," Dad said casually yesterday over the dinner table, "I saw something funny yesterday."
I took a bite of ice cream... and then blanched at the fact my father had actually mentioned the fact that he'd been watching porn.
My mother laughed. She laughs a lot and it's always a herald of impending doom.
Turns out that Dad hadn't been watching porn, after all. He'd just been channel-hopping on Gran's 4,000,000-channel digibox and had chanced upon the soft-core flick Hotel Erotica (I, incidentally, am aware of its existence, although I've never seen it. It's one of those Surrender Cinema ones. I tried not to let on that I knew.)... at which point, my mother had returned from the orchestra she goes to on Tuesdays. Dad had been watching for ten minutes in order to see what it was (that's not hard to find out, although - as I'm sure you all know - soft porn relies mostly upon a few minutes of very bad acting in between sex scenes, so maybe he was curious, as an actor, as to how this ever got made into a film). My mother had arrived and looked through the window just as one of the totally unbelievable lurve-making scenes started.
Masterpiece of bad timing. Still, she saw the funny side.

Dad was watching football later on. I don't like football, so I was sitting, not watching, playing Pokémon Blue at the time. I glanced upwards from my Eevee taking a beating, and noticed Beckham had been brought on. That's interesting, I didn't even know he still played football. Surely appearing in every centre spread of Metro should be enough?
"His arms are covered in tattoos," said Dad.
"Isn't all his body covered in tattoos?" I responded. "Doesn't he have the names of his children on his back?"
"I've never seen his back," Dad replied, smirking. "He wasn't in Hotel Erotica, was he?"
I excused myself to make a hot chocolate, and went downstairs. On the way, I glanced at Gran's TV. Had to flick through all the sports channels to find out which channel's showing soft porn nowadays. Eventually I found it - a 24-hour movie channel with skin flicks after 11pm. Advertised as last night's: Hotel Erotica II - Up All Night.

I didn't watch it, though.
No, I didn't.

I wonder why.

Wednesday, 9 September 2009

Take a look...

"Who's that?"
I squinted at the slightly faded picture. 256-colour inkjet pictures of celebrities, resized to fit the page. I knew Rowan Atkinson, I knew Bruce Forsyth. Robinson had pointed out Vin Diesel. There was even a picture of a man blowing an Alpine horn (apparently, it was Jamie Redknapp. No, I wouldn't recognise him either.) - although we hadn't a clue, so we calld our team "That Guy With The Horn". But this one picture was bugging me. I just couldn't place the face.
"Have you got any ideas?" pushed Robinson.
I racked my brains.
"That sort of looks like Maggie Gyllenhall... only... with blonde hair."
"Well, it's not her." Robinson frowned. "She looks familiar."
"Where have I seen her before?" I jabbed my finger down onto her picture. "I know this is only worth one point, but we want to win this week!"

There were only two of us taking the quiz, incidentally. But two heads are better than one, especially if two heads spend all their time watching BBC News 24. OK, so neither of us do that. But, you know, hypothetically, right?

Suddenly, the realisation hit me. I knew exactly where I'd seen that face before.
"Hey, I know. That's someone I saw in porn!"
"Really?"
"I'm pretty sure," I said. But I didn't put it down. "Porn Actress #24601" doesn't go down too well on a quiz sheet, especially with a team name like ours.

I wasn't right. And we didn't win.

Um.

Here endeth the lesson?

Tuesday, 8 September 2009

Coffee, Cake and Tweeting Dildos

Despite having a (well-deserved) reputation as an addictive, soul-destroying and pointless communications network, Twitter is actually a lot of fun. Egomaniacs like yours truly can tell the world what they're really feeling, as long as it's under the character limit and suitably pithy. And, of course, a lot of sex bloggers use Twitter so there's a veritable smorgasbord of filth if you know where to look.

Coffee, Cake & Kink's Twitter feed is a good example, because recently Gothicat has - somehow - started making posts on it, and it's suddenly jumped into sexually charged life, with posts about the future of the marvellous CCK and almost daily articles about kink. Kink's still not exactly my thing, but I can sure appreciate the attraction.

A tweet from CCK caught my eye today (I've had a bad day, so naturally I logged on to Twitter because the world needs to know): "Last night, a dildo saved my life." The accompanying article is actually pretty interesting, but I think the major attraction to the article is the quote itself. I mean, I read the forum every now and again, but I don't think I would've read the article, had it not been publicised on Twitter thus.

Moral learned today: passing references to sexual activity, perhaps in an unexpected way, make people read your articles.

Hang on while I just go and put that on Twitter...

Monday, 7 September 2009

Explicit

"Last night, you know, I decided to spend a lot of time licking you. I took the long and slow approach."
"I know. It was very good."

Hey, sex references don't have to be veiled all the time.

Sunday, 6 September 2009

Rub a dub dub

Tom: Paul, seriously...
Paul: Did you bang her?
Tom: No!
Paul: Blow job?
Tom: No!
Paul: Hand job?
Tom: No, Paul, no jobs. I'm still unemployed. We just kissed.

That's from (500) Days Of Summer. I just saw it. I don't understand what happened! I mean, it's meant to be a romantic comedy. That's what the first half was. But the second half? Awkward pain for the boy? Yeah, I thought it was a sad film. TD didn't take the same view.

Okay, new topic.

If you're not using the Durex Play massage mousse, you are wrong. There are no two ways about this. I'm not usually this brusque, but it's something you really should be trying, if only because it's a very odd experience.

I guess I have to point out at this point that TD is trained in the arts of massage and is an excellent masseuse. Even if I weren't trying to appease her I'd be saying that. I mean, this girl actually knows how to massage and that's not something I've had done to me often before. But her backrubs are always astounding and I often always have problems moving after one, I end up so relaxed. I know, me: relaxed. That's such an odd concept. But, anyway, we were on holiday (Brighton, yeah? Oh, you worked that one out. Good for you.) so we used the mousse this time, for a bit of extra fun. Well, we weren't disappointed. We were more... surprised.

First surprising thing was how bloody cold this thing actually was. I mean, she sprayed it onto me and it collected into a little pool on the small of my back... really cold. We're talking Father-Christmas-thinks-this-is-chilly temperatures. That sort of cold. Yeah, I'll admit that wasn't very comforting. This was followed by the second surprising thing, and that's something TD witnessed but not me, because I can't see out of the back of my head (probably why I didn't make such a great teaching assistant, mayhaps). Allegedly, this stuff starts out as a liquid, and then.... volumises. You know, changes its form. Becomes more of the mousse I was expecting. OK, I haven't visually seen this myself (I'll have to try it out), but that's just amazing. I mean, not in a relaxing or sexual way, but just cool in a very unique this-isn't-meant-to-happen way. Okay, so those were unconventional starts.

The massage itself was pretty awesome. I've already mentioned the technique, but it's hard to review the product without the methods of applying it. Nevertheless, I shall try... well, I felt TD's hands sliding across my back a little smoother than before. Not that she has rough hands, by any means. In fact, with an irritable back like mine, a sliding hand might not be as good. But it felt a little easier, and that's good. Different.
The temperature thing also played a part... once I'd got used to the cold bit, it stopped being cold. In fact, it presented a pleasant, tingling sensation that wasn't either cold or warm. It was just nice. This feeling also worked wonders for my usually itchy back - somehow, somehow, it cooled that off. Didn't remove the itch completely (in fact, TD gave me a scratch after the massage), but it helped. In fact, I think that (due to the feeling and the scent) that it contains aloe vera, which is good for the skin, heals wounds, and has a nice aroma to it. That's a plus point in many ways.
Oh, and it also took a long time for TD to say that the stuff wasn't present much on her hands / my back, and that if I wanted her to continue she'd better put more on. That's a point that I noticed, considering that the last time we were on holiday together, the massage oil we used was from The Body Shop and yes, that was awesome too, but it didn't last very long. This one was like Duracell. Lasts longer. Much longer.

So, yes. You should get a massage from someone, if you can. And use the Durex Play massage mousse. You need to use it, at least once, because you're guaranteed an experience that is - honestly - very, very unique - to the point of being, at some points, utterly baffling.

Saturday, 5 September 2009

Br-hai-ton!

"Brighton has long had a reputation for the enjoyment of sexual pleasure," boldly stated the museum information card in... Brighton. And that's our quote for today.

Incidentally (or perhaps not), we certainly experienced the enjoyment of sexual pleasure. It's fantastic anyway, but when we're on holiday with our own little hotel room, there's a certain touch of the mystique to what we may very well be doing behind closed doors (to be honest, as well, what we were doing behind closed doors), which makes the sex slightly more risqué when you consider who might be in the room next door to you (nota bene: the door of the room next to ours said "family suite", good lord!).

The holiday, when we were out of bed, also involved walks, the pier, the beach, the train, chips, afternoon tea, parks, policemen, DVDs, breakfast, pavilions of kings, shoe shops, graphic novels, sleep, deckchairs, arcades, 10p pieces, Reading, my camera, kitty, monsters, sandwiches both toasted and raw, children, and Japanese decoration... and it all lasted less than two days. Still, that's the only holiday I've genuinely had this summer, so I'm officially stoked that we got to do it.

Oh, the last thing on that list gives us another quote to round off nicely with, as well, although this isn't really a sexual one - more of an implied sexual one. See, we were in a room called Mikado, which I requested purely because I love Japanese shit, and we had the appropriate décor down to a tee - even the curtains looked vaguely East Asian. Upon exiting the room for the first time, I happened to notice the 'do not disturb' sign hanging off our doorknob (which we didn't end up using, in actual fact):

Land of the Rising Sun. Do Not Disturb.

Awesome. But it wasn't the only thing that was rising, either.

Friday, 4 September 2009

Fanfare

It was TD's leaving party yesterday evening - of course, when I say "leaving", I actually mean "leaving the job she was doing in order to continue on to do an MA, rather than continuing to work in a shop", and when I say "party" I actually mean "drinks in a pub with food". But, whatever it was, it was fun. Now, usually at these occasions, with the gathering of people and the abundance of alcohol, you'd think the occasional sex reference might not be difficult to find. For some reason, I didn't notice that many - maybe my observational skills aren't as sharp as I thought.

I did notice a couple of amusing things, however; noticeably, one of the ladies there having just had a throat operation and being unable to speak, stating (on paper) that "mute girls do it better", and another of our number admitting that, somehow by accident, she had managed to gain three boyfriends simultaneously.

However, the thing that amused me most of all over the course of the evening was one of the customer-related stories that crop up over the course of work in a music shop (allegedly - I've never worked in one, but I've heard them!). There are always stories - the guy who just wants the best opera available, the tourist who wants to know if Bach wrote anything in English, the major in South Africa who calls up to speak to the lovely girl in admin before she leaves the shop - but this was a new one on me.
There was a man, one of TD's colleagues informs me, that confided in her that he wanted some music to help him get laid on his third date. Hmmm. I thought the three-date theory might be enough, but allegedly not. I guess music helps, if it's the right sort of music (i.e. anything except Sum41).
"Do you have anything... sensual?" is the quote. How wonderfully vague. Why, yes. Yes, I do. I got it free from Durex, in fact. What's that? No, no, you didn't say anything about music, sir.

I think there's a reason I'm not in the same job.

Right, okay, really am going to Brighton now. Toodle-pip!

Thursday, 3 September 2009

May I take your order?

I haven't been watching Good Burger. Honest. I've been watching the Nostalgia Critic's review of it, which is probably the best thing about it. However, hidden in this innocent kids' film, as the Critic points out, is this one line:

"If anyone could get the sauce out of Ed, it's you."

*pause*

I don't think I'll be watching Good Burger any time soon. Maybe I'll go to Brighton instead.

Wednesday, 2 September 2009

Upside

I went to the pub last night. I go to the pub every Tuesday - not for the atmosphere (I don't like pubs), or for the drink (I'm a teetotaller), or for the food (except crisps), but for the pub quiz which we keep winning. Honest. We just don't mention it and we keep putting a slightly lower score so other people get a chance to win instead. Sometimes, to make it really authentic, we put some wrong answers too. We're deceptive like that, we are.

One of my oldest friends, who I'll call Robinson, wasn't there last night. He'd said via the medium of textual messaging that he wasn't going to be available, but that we should all go along anyway. There were enough of us to compensate for Robinson's absence, plus there weren't any questions about gardening, so that was a relief. However, he's usually there - in fact, it was probably his idea to start the whole quiz-night thing - so eventually the question of where he was arose.

"He's... he said he'd be unavailable," I ventured, before sinking back into silence.
A hairy friend leaned forwards. Hairy Friend can be relied upon to take the tone of absolutely anything down a notch.
"Do you want to vomit or not?" he said to the group at large. "Because the nice answer is that he's in Cambridge, with his girlfriend."
Cambridge? My head span. What were they doing in Cambridge? Oh yes, she was handing in a final dissertation for a course she was doing there. I think that's what she said last time I saw her. Well, there's nothing vomit-inducing in that.
"The other answer is that they'll be..." - Hairy Friend paused for dramatic effect - "...celebrating upstairs."
He didn't quite get the laughter he'd been angling for. But then again, this atypically restrained form of referring to sexual activity (that, and we're talking about one of my best mates here) was, perhaps, a little more unnerving that it should have been. Why? Maybe because he gave it a setting? Or because we all started trying not to imagine Robinson and his girlfriend 'celebrating upstairs'? Hairy Friend gave a roguish wink and turned back to his lager.

We went on to win the quiz. We just didn't tell anyone. I think we had the best team name, though.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

Freedom of Sexpression

Sex is everywhere these days.

I'm not talking about the action. I'm talking about the word. Or verbalising (Lexicising? I love making up words.) allusions to sex. I'm a great advocate of free speech and, in particular, talking openly about sex really is something I think should be done more often. I even wrote a (rejected) piece about the word for a bloggers' book.

I mean, think about it. A contestant in Only Connect last night mentioned how mind-controlling drugs may make one more sexual (to which the brilliant Victoria Coren retorted, "Well, that hasn't happened to me..."). There was a whole column in today's thelondonpaper from a young lady who is proud to remain a virgin, preaching abstinence from sex. A few pages later, Andy Jones wrote a piece about having sex in the summer and the trials of heat and sex (has he been reading me, I wonder?). My girlfriend's mother even gave a perfunctory mention to making love on a kitchen table in conversation with me a day or so ago.

Yes, I like hearing sex mentioned. In the oddest of circumstances.

I think I'll do NaBloPoMo this month. And, for the hell of it, I'll add a new theme to the mix. I'll blog every day (I may have to backdate a few entries, but keep it quiet if that happens...) about the first, or the best, passing reference to sex I've overheard in everyday life that day. Considering that I'm going on holiday for a weekend and back to college this year, there should be plenty of opportunties.

Hang on while I go and get the NaBloPoMo site up, and then offer up a prayer to God that he provides some sex mentionngs for me. What fun.