Thursday, 30 December 2010

No sex. Period.

I just spent a nice few days with TD. We had sex - once - and it was very good. There was a bit of playing otherwise, but as she has succumbed to that female thing which appears to happen once every month (except, being a boy, I am not privy to this mysterious practice; to all intents and purposes, it appears to be painful and I'm not sure I want to know), we didn't have sex after that.

Not that I mind having sex with a girl on her period - I've had sex with Rebecca, Alicia and snowdrop when they were all having fun with their wombs, not to mention TD, who I've not only slept with but also licked out while haemoglobin was present. Nor do I mind not having sex for a while - I managed three or so years, I can also manage two days, especially as we can give and receive pleasure in other ways (and yes, I am talking about reading stories and, oddly enough, playing Superfrog while she works on her PhD).

I did, however, buy How To Make Love Like A Porn Star on the way home today. My sister sent me a text to tell me that our mother was in what I colourfully refer to as "Move-And-I'll-Maim-You Mode", so I stayed in London for a while and decided to pick this up at Forbidden Planet (along with Green Arrow #5, 6 and 7!). And clearly the effect of gratification sans intercourse, porn star memoir acquisition and, er, Oliver Queen having sex... has had some sort of effect on me...

...because I'm restless beyond all measure.

I know! I'll buy some more books!

Sunday, 26 December 2010

Soft Porn Sunday: Melina Hanson & Anthony DeVilla

At the last CCK social I attended, I met someone who didn't know what softcore was, which is unacceptable, not to mention very hard to believe; what was he doing throughout his teenage years?! TD wouldn't agree with me on this, but I love soft porn - I think it's fantastic, and there are some scenes that always stick out in my head (not to mention my collection). So I'm going to attempt to write about some of them in a regular feature (oh dear Glod, a "regular feature" - I sound like every other self-absorbed blogger in existence), which I'll call Soft Porn Sunday. Think of me as like a gentler, less successful Mr Skin.

This really isn't going to work. Anyway.

Appearance: Passion Cove, Series 2: "Practice What You Preach" (2001)
Characters: Ruth & Nick

Passion Cove is a ridiculou
s programme, but it still draws viewers. Like most softcore programmes around, it has a common setting (in this case, a beach resort), but the plot is always different. I liked it because of the amount of skin we got - a minimum of two scenes per episode, which was okay for half-an-hour. The stories were always totally unbelievable, but at least they were actually trying. And some of the acting wasn't so bad, either.

The scene I've chosen features Melina Hanson as Ruth and Anthony DeVilla as her fiancé, Nick. This is odd in itself for a softcore scene, as they're actually Being A Couple, and that's why they have sex. There's none of the randomness element here; they have sex because they are a couple and they like sex. They do it a lot, in fact. Three times in the same episode.

I like this scene, though, because it highlights the "random sex in a random place" element. Gone is the bed in the resort, here we have Ruch and Nick having sex up against a craggy cliff on the seaside. The scene quickly dissolves between different positions - standing-up sex, fellatio against the cliff, cowgirl sex followed by missionary on a picnic blanket which appears to have been placed there specifially for the actors to lie on (thereby avoiding any friction burns or cuts on the rock) - before culminating in the couple having sex on a log (wtf? Where did the log come from?) in slow-motion.

I'm not keen on the slow-mo bit, but I particularly like the fact that this scene used the We Are A Couple element to highlight the possible spontaneity of sex. As you can see from the screenshot, two other characters watch (but they are Not A Couple at this point), but that's only because they happen to chance across Ruth and Nick during a stroll on EXACTLY THE SAME BEACH at EXACTLY THE SAME TIME. Oh, good one, show. This doesn't really add or detract from the scene in any way, but as they are the main characters, there was a good enough reason to include this scene.

So, yeah. The music's not great by any means and the camera work's not exactly the best, but it's an okay scene. Hanson and DeVilla have good chemistry with some acceptable bumping and grinding and a very enthusiastic kiss, and it does put sex in random places in a very favourable light. So I like it, for what it's worth.

Friday, 24 December 2010

One of the Three

Christmas makes people do strange things, often related to lights.

They're everywhere. Especially around areas like the south of Nottingham, where I spent my university years, and in the northern suburbs of London, where - of course - I am now. Lights of the most gaudy varieties covering the front of houses, trees both outside and in decorated with twinkling LEDs merrily wasting electricity for our visual delight. I've even seen some people decorate their bedrooms with fairy lights, some of which are on permanently. And I thought I was the one without any sleep.

Robinson was driving us to the leisure centre last night (it was a good idea to go swimming; alas, they had closed at 6:30pm and it was coming on to 8, so maybe not such a good idea after all), taking us down a road which, it seems, had lent itself to the most tasteless Christmas decorations inside the M25 (in our house we have restricted ourselves to one tree with tinsel and baubles - which is quite enough, I find). Lights, flashing incessantly, everywhere, and in the worst of cases, little inflatable or glowing Father Christmases hanging perpetually in suspended animation.

Well, not quite the worst of cases.

There was, in one case, a girl's bedroom on the first floor of one of the houses. And spraypainted onto the window of the room, distinctly and without any further indication of continuation of the Christmas phrase, was the single word:


...At least, I hope it was part of the phrase. Unless it's either a jealous ex-lover or a girl who is in/secure enough to brand herself.

But let's not dwell on that too much... right?

Tuesday, 21 December 2010


[UPDATE: If you're reading this at any point during or after December 2018, please excuse the formatting below. I'll fix it "at some point".]

Three bloody years! Blimey, damn it all and bugger me with a stick if it isn’t time to update my FAQ. And luckily, it is, so that’s saved me from a rather undignified start.
To anyone who’s not sure what I’m doing here, I do this every year because it saves me from having to write a new post. But it’s updated every year too, so there’s new stuff too.

The original FAQ is here, redraft one is here, and redraft two is here. This is version four of the FAQ. I hope it’s formatted properly this time.


Who are you?

I am Innocent Loverboy, commonly known as ILB. I write a sex blog as well as doing other things, none of which are particularly interesting, but never mind.

Age / Sex / Location?

25 years old / Male / London. And occasionally Oxford. My birthday is in March and I was born in North London. At the time of writing, I’m living in my parents’ second house (we moved out of our first house when I was 2).

And what's with the love status?

In a relationship with The Drinker (which I often lazily abbreviate to TD), formerly The Oxford Seamstress, known by other names to me, one of which is 'kitty'. We've been together now for over two years, since 11 May 2008. I didn’t actually think that I’d ever get a girlfriend again, but I did, so, er… there we go. We met through our respective blogs, oddly enough.

What’s your sexuality?
Straight. I’ve never had a homosexual experience and I don’t intend to. Sorry, but it just doesn’t really appeal!

What's your main job? And what's hers?
I was a teaching assistant for two years, and since then I've switched. I went to one of the colleges of the University of London for a vocational course, but the standard of their teaching was very poor and eventually I dropped out, because I’d had enough. I’m now jobseeking, which is a bit of a bitch. But I’m also working part-time for TD’s mother, which is quite fun!
TD is doing a PhD and becoming an academic. I am jealous and slightly amazed at her commitment. I’m interested in her thesis, because it’s a genuinely involving subject, and as a fellow English graduate, I’m glad we have that connection!

What did you graduate in?
I have a BA (Hons) in English and a DipHE in Health Studies. I got a 2:1 (Upper Second) for my English degree, and a Pass for my DipHE. I didn’t get the qualification from the course I dropped out of, but I still think of myself as qualified enough – perhaps a bit overqualified!
Interestingly enough, I also have a certificate in child protection and safeguarding and another one in foreign language teaching. Strange, eh?

Which languages do you speak?
English (just about), German and French to GCSE level, and conversational Japanese (I did Japanese as my minor at university), although my knowledge of all these (except perhaps English… perhaps) is slipping! I am also fluent in over six million forms of communication. These signals are not used by the Alliance. It may be an Imperial code.


What's this blog for?

It's still a sex blog, despite what else you may find here. You'll find reviews of sex products as well as posts about actual sex, my addiction posts, wistful ramblings and other stuff about life, love, the universe and coffee. Except maybe not coffee, since I drink more tea than coffee.
I don't generally write about my life, as such. There are places for that stuff, such as my LiveJournal, and this isn't one of them. This is a much more interesting blog, although you’ll occasionally find stuff about basic life elements, when I think they’re funny enough to share with a wider audience.

When and why did you create it?

Exactly three years ago - 21 December 2007.
I'd been reading sex blogs for ages, and very few were written by boys. There are now a few more that I'm aware of - Todger Talk and The Edge of Vanilla are examples - but most of them, and especially the more famous ones, were written by girls - the Channel 4 documentary only ever mentioned the girl sex bloggers! In my personal blog, I'd mentioned love and sex a few times, but I wanted to muse more upon the topics than I did, so I started a more anonymous way of conveying my thoughts - thus, ILB.
There's a post about it here.

And what's with the blog subtitle? Why do you keep changing it?

Because it's funny. Do you have a problem with that? I like to change it once every couple of months. For the first two days, this blog had my profile as its subtitle, and that just looked ugly, so I made it prettier. And, frankly, shorter.

If you have any suggestions for a blog subtitle, send it my way; I’m always up for new ones!

You still clam you're different. What makes you so different?

There are, again, a number of reasons for this:
(i) I place much more value on love then sex. I'm not saying that other people don't (by all accounts, other people should), but to me, love is vital - sex, while fantastic, can only be a side-effect of love. I can both merge and separate the two very quickly. I’ve had both casual sex and sex while in loving relationships and both have been fine, but I always prefer relationships.
(ii) I like softcore erotica, also known as ‘soft porn’, and consider myself something of an expert in the sex scenes! I don't like hardcore porn nearly as much, although it depends on the situation the porn is intending to convey!
(iii) I'm genuine and honest. I don't smoke, drink, do drugs or even eat meat. And it's not all a façade, that's just who I am.
(iv) I'm incredibly shy to ask people out. In fact, I don't ask people out. I have such a morbid fear of rejection that I don't even try, and the only time I’ve tried (it took me a year to build up the courage) I got a rejection. The two relationships I've had have been more luck than effort - in fact, I think they just 'happened'.
(v) Despite my inner shyness, I'm quite an outgoing person. But it's mostly false bravado. Covering up the shivering wreck I really am does help somewhat.
Basically, I'm not your typical 'lad'. Not trying to stereotype boys, of course, but the unfair image that has been applied to them definitely doesn't apply to me. I don't even like sports of any kind! In real life, the idea that 'boys only want one thing' isn't true. In fact, in many cases they can be much more romantic than girls (a girl told me that, so it’s got to be true)... and I'll prove that to you. Ha!

Why are you using Blogger?

A lot of sex journals are written in Blogger. There are better blog services out there, such as LiveJournal. However, places like LJ (and I already have an LJ, anyway) are much more personal-based and it may not be very prudent to start a blog there if I wish to remain anonymous! Also, quality of blog service doesn't equal quality of blog! There are sex blogs on LJ that are truly atrocious!
I don't mean to diminish other blog services such as WordPress, either - my sister and some of my friends use it; I just don't like its control panel's layout much. Mind you, Blogger isn't much better. It took me ages to format this post correctly!
Blogger also doesn’t have the ‘friends’ service functionality that LJ has. So if I want to link to something, I’ll link to it on my sidebar, never mind where or what it is! I find that a much easier way of networking with the sex blogger community…

And you've written a book?

Well, it's not exactly a book unless you count self-published things as 'books', but for the sake of my own vast ego, then yes, I have written a book. The first print run I did via university photocopiers had some rather dodgy page alignments and picture qualities, so I worked on another one, and the few copies I have left looks really quite pretty. The content's exactly the same, though. You can find more details here.

Sounds great! Where do I get it?

Liar! If you have PayPal you can buy it online (ink, paper and postage don't come free, alas) from its minisite here. Yes, I did the site myself. You can probably tell. It costs £3 in GBP, plus 50p postage. You can order from abroad if you want. I’ve only got a few copies left, but I’m sure you’d enjoy it – whoever you are!

What else do you write?

Songs (I'm the lead singer of a band and I love it; we released an album this year and I’m proud of that), poetry, reviews (mostly of games) and fiction. Through university (first time around), I was a staff member of the paper, and when I was young I ran my own self-produced journal! I was so enterprising back then. It's unlikely that you'll have come across anything else I'll have written online, but it may happen. It won't be labelled as ILB, though, so don't go nuts looking or anything.
If you put “Innocent Loverboy” into Google, you can find comments I’ve written on other people’s blogs… although you should probably just read the blogs instead.

Who did the buttons on your sidebar? Who drew the FAQ girl, for example?
Me, of course. Interestingly, the FAQ girl is a drawing I did years ago of a friend called Anna, at a time when she was very confused. I thought it'd be perfect for a link to a load of questions!
All the other buttons are 86x45 pixels, and all made by me, excepting the NaBloPoMo awards, which are made by them with me adding the month below in coloured text.

What do you think is the best post you've written?
Ah, now this is a difficult one! It's pretty much impossible to choose, depending on what you’re looking for – do you want sex, humour, love, or stupidity? Here's an idea: you read the whole blog, and then you tell me!

What's with the blogroll? Heroes? Villains? Excuse me?
Okay, well, this was an attempt to make my blogroll more interesting. If you're a villain it doesn't mean I don't like your blog, of course. Just clearing that one up.
Heroes are bloggers who keep their blog updated. These are the ones I check and read every day because they're either likely or semi-likely to have something new to read. Villains are blogs whose authors have stopped writing them, or have gone on hiatus, or simply disappeared. They're worth reading in archived form but aren't worth a check every day. If they start updating them again they become a Hero.
Unaligned blogs are blogs that aren't really about sex. They are just reminders that the wider world isn't full of smut. Well, not if you look carefully anyway.
Do you sell links on your blog?
No. Unlike other sex blogs, I don’t really do commercialism. I will write reviews of sex products if you want, but they’ll be honest reviews. I don’t do affiliate links or commissions. The only thing I’ll plug in earnest is the wonderful Coffee, Cake & Kink – the erotic café gallery which had better be back in Central London soon, or I may just scream.
Oh, and the CCK image on my sidebar is a placeholder until I can put a map to their new store, wherever that ends up being.


How many people have you had sex with?
I have had sex with six people: Rebecca (my first girlfriend who left for another man), Louise (an oversexed friend of mine who I still talk to occasionally), Alicia (an older woman who I had friendly sex with), Lily (my only one-time stand, not at night, who was not nice), snowdrop (a friend, but this is complicated) and, of course, TD. They're all fine, last I heard, although I haven't seen a few of them for ages. I met all of them on the internet, which proves that it can be done!

When did you last have sex?
Saturday. It’s now Tuesday.

How often do you have sex?
Well, I can’t really say it’s a planned event!

Who are the people mentioned on this blog?

Okay, well, what a question! I may as well list people here - and there have been a few changes since last time.

The main players on this stage are:
- ILB: Innocent Loverboy, a sensitive and engaging boy with a rapier wit, wonderful blue eyes and a big head like one of those guys from Theme Hospital.
- The Drinker: A lovely girl who happens to be my girlfriend and also writes a blog, although she doesn’t update that much, preferring to work on her PhD.
- All other sex bloggers are referred to by their blogging name.

The people who know I am ILB are:
- H: Is my best female friend. She makes me feel relaxed, which isn't easy. I don't see her as often as I used to, but she lives in London so she's always close by. She approves of my relationship with TD, which is good.
- 47: Is my best male friend and in many ways the brother I never had. He's one of the very few people who knows I am also ILB, and he's clever enough to have worked it out himself. His friendship is an acquired taste, but I can tolerate him, mostly because he's stuck with me through some very tough times, and I'm reciprocating.
- Mini: Is a close friend who I don't see nearly enough. She's also the shortest person of my age that I know, being roughly the same size as my 14-year-old cousin. She is, like me, a lover of music.
- Syren: I hold this young lady very close to my heart, although the only time I did that physically, she fell asleep. Hmmm. She's impossible to describe, but I used the word 'delicate' once, so I'll go with that.
- swallow: I met this crazy girl briefly at university, and I then re-encountered her on the Internet, years later. Strange, that. Oh, and the lower-case ‘s’ is intentional. 

The other people who may get a mention are:
- Robinson: Is my oldest friend. I've known him since we were about 3. We grew up in the same school, both went to The Woodcraft Folk, and still meet up (with other Woodies) every so often.
- Hairy Friend: Outmatches me in the facial hair stakes (although I don’t like my beard too long, he seems to). He was the second-most sexually active of my friends, after me, when we were all single. And he's a riot, too. He now has a girlfriend who lives in America.
- TD's friends: Are mentioned on her blog, usually by single initials. Should I ever need to mention them, I'll use the same system (although I only ever think I've mentioned N thus far - feel free to prove me wrong, though...). They’re an odd bunch, collected from an assortment of places.
- University and job people: Eh, I may make up names for these if I ever mention any of them.

Have you met any famous sex bloggers?
Yes, I’ve met Abby Lee and Belle de Jour. I’ve also exchanged e-mails with Al Needham, but that was because I confused him with a completely different Al Needham. Nice bloke, though.
Will you go out with me? / Will you have sex with me?

No, nobody ever asks that.
There was one girl once who wanted to do this when we were both about 16 or 17. But she never told me that she was in the least bit interested! Take heed, ladies of the world – don’t wait for the boys to ask, because they may never do it!

Can I talk to you? / Can I ask for advice?
Since I started writing ILB, I've actually counselled a few friends of mine, but 47 at one point as well), who all seem to be grateful for an innocent loverboy's point of view.
The answer, anyway, is yes. You don't even have to talk about relationships – I’m always up for a chat. Just drop me an e-mail or add me to MSN (tim2timmers at and we will talk, promise!

Can we have cybersex?
Incredibly, people have asked me this before. The official answer is no, ’cuz it’s kind of like cheating. Besides, cybersex is more suited for IRC than MSN, due to the existence of the /me command…
IRC? Are you on IRC?
Occasionally, but usually not on sex IRC networks. Nevertheless, it’s a safe assumption that if you see anyone on an IRC network with the name ‘ILB’, then that’s me.

What's with that e-mail address?
Well, okay, first of all, my name isn't actually Tim, heh. It's just a pseudonym I used before I started ILB, and since it was a spare e-mail address, I decided to use that one. I am well aware that Yahoo! is a shit company, but at least it still works. And yes, it works for MSN despite not being a Windows Live! address. Don't believe me? Add it! Or ask me to add you!

What's your favourite sex position?
It's a tie. Missionary, astride (cowgirl), reverse missionary and doggie all have their merits. Although it's nice to see who you're making love to, so...
Are you a dom or a sub?
Neither. I’m a switch, if anything. I’m not dominant enough to be a dom, and I’m too averse to pain to be a sub! Besides, why do you need to categorise like that anyway?

What do you look like?
I'm tall for my age. I'd describe myself as 'average build' - or I used to on dating sites - even though I do have a slightly large stomach. I'm not a round person though, I'm a thin guy who got fat. I have shortish black hair, and sparkly blue eyes (my eyes are the only feature about my physical appearance I'm totally happy with). My hands are OK too, and my arms have a bit of muscle, due to playing musical instruments and computer games. Just not enough to make a noticeable difference.
I’ve got a short black stubbly beard (deliberately). I’m still not sure about it.

What are your activities, outside of blogging?
Writing, and reading. Music - I mentioned my little rock band before, and I've also played in various orchestras and ensembles, although none of them for a very long time. I also once had a short-lived solo career. I like to sing and to dance, occasionally at the same time.
I've also been known to act. My biggest parts have been in Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard, Plautus' Gloriosus, Nichols' Forget-Me-Not Lane and a pantomime called Snow White and Several Dwarfs (we had 8). I also made an appearance on-screen in the movie An Education, but my cameo (where I walked across the screen smiling) was cut from the final edit. My dad is an actor, so I’ve caught this from him.
I’ve started to do a little bit of comedy recently, as well.

Who are your favourite band?
James. By a long way. They have always got a song for every occasion, and I am grateful for their skill and dedication. They came back onto the scene in 2007 and it’s been amazing ever since, despite their two weak albums in 2010. Thanks, guys.
I'm into most rock, indie, alternative and pop bands, though – I’ll listen to almost anything – and I also have an inbuilt love of classical symphonies and Bolero by Ravel, which was the song I listened to in the car the first time I went to visit TD.

If I want to read other blogs, which ones should I read?
Anyone on my sidebar is worth a read, but I’d recommend Lady Pandorah. She’s been a really good blogger for ages and is still going strong. But seriously, read everyone you can. There are hundreds of sex blogs to trawl through, and this is as good a place to start as any.

And what are you going to give me for Christmas?
Nothing. I’m unemployed, remember?
Questions gone unanswered? Probably not. But just in case you want to ask me anything (this is the place where I’d link to a Formspring account, but I’m not going to go that far), just drop me an e-mail, leave a comment, or catch me on Twitter! Oh, and… thanks for reading, if you’ve reached this bit! You are pretty.
And you know what? So am I!

Monday, 20 December 2010

Get closer!

I've always liked birthday sex. Hell, I love sex, and I like birthdays too - especially if they are my own. There's something narcissistically cool about getting presents and adoration for no reason besides the fact that you are a year closer to your own death. Especially if the presents are nice - otherwise, it just doesn't appear to work.

It wasy my girlfriend's birthday the other day (Saturday), and I rocked up with a couple of pretty unassuming, but entertaining, presents - the DVD of Miyazaki's Ponyo (master of all things animé, this guy, but how many times has he retired now?) and the necessary third volume from the Glee soundtrack - but they were wrapped up nicely in wrapping paper which wasn't Christmas-themed (must be a relief to not have snowmen or Santa or Jesus on your paper if you must insist on being born at Christmas), and there was a stylised "KITTY!", etched with sketching pencils and coloured in, rainbow-like, stuck on with sticky-backed plastic. Rather than just, you know, a tag. And, considering I ordered the presents from Amazon, took me the longest time to do.

We had some great sex on Saturday, and both occurrences stick out in my mind for different reasons. The first time was early in the morning and very sleepy. We switched positions a couple of times, and while kneeling up behind her, holding her hips for support, I rocked backwards a bit and caught a glimpse of a white world outside, everything blanketed in a cold, wet, deep snow. But at this point everything else got a little wet and deep, so I didn't have time to pay much attention (although wading through said snow later on in order to buy a birthday lunch made its presence a little more present in my mind).

The second time... ah, well, that was special.

You see, originally I hadn't planned to be there overnight, on account of the fact that I had an event on Sunday (I eventually went, but due to the aforementioned snow, I got there far too late and missed a third of it. I got the main bulk, though). But I decided to stay, because:

a) it was snowing
b) it was her birthday
c) it was getting late
d) it meant another night in bed with her

So we had sex again, natch. This time, it was sleepy but for a different reason; we were knackered, presumably by wading through snow and watching a film about a goldfish who turns into a girl (which seemed perfectly acceptable at the time). But it was her birthday, and I was all up for it. In fact, I'd dispensed with all determination and good intentions by this point. I was going to make her orgasm, and that was it. It was already written in the stars. Not that I could see many stars while my head was clamped between her thighs, but I knew what they were saying. Of course, it was also difficult to concentrate on star-speech while I gently-but-also-oh-so-forcefully guided her through her orgasm with my tongue, as well as while slididng my hard penis into her soft folds, but I think I managed.

I forgot all about stars when that happened, though, because at that point I noticed something that I'd never experiences before. I was having perhaps the closest sex I've ever had.

It's not exactly intensity that I'm talking about here. With TD, sex is always intense. But physically closely. She was under me, comfortably, and there was a duvet lying on top of us (don't judge, it's cold!). We were merrily having sex - as you do - but there was probably something to do with the angle, the position, the duvet, or the stars (or all of them), which made me feel very... close. I'm hypersensitive anyway, but this time, I could feel everything. I could feel her legs wrapped around mine, her tits pressing against my chest, her hair in my face, my hand around her neck, her inside walls moulding themselves around my cock. Everything, twice as much. I was very aware of her around, and under, me. I just felt - as I said - close. Very fluid, very connected. Close.

I've always liked birthday sex.

Wednesday, 15 December 2010


Retweeted on Twitter (via drakkardnoir by way of thiefree) by me:

We always ignore the ones who adore us, and adore the ones who ignore us.

You probably don't even know who you are, but one day, you'll know how I felt.

Tuesday, 14 December 2010

Seriously, getting a bit worried now...

Woke up with a picture in my head. Not someone I've been dreaming about... just a picture. A girl on a bed, topless. Damn! Who is she? I knew I'd seen her before... but I also knew I didn't know her. But then why was she in my head?

I closed my eyes. Where have I seen her before? Blonde hair, long. Straight but possibly straightened. Slim. Big boobs. A small amount of fluid movement. This is different, I thought. I'd been dreaming about making love to my girlfriend overnight... so where had this woman come from?

I pieced bits of the puzzle together. Blonde... is it the random blonde from Cruel Intentions 3? No, that's a bit too random. Syren? No, this girl's face is different, plus I've never seen Syren topless. Power Girl? No, not that busty. Princess Peach? No, that's just wrong on all levels. Wake up, brain! Wake up!

Thoughts rattled around in my head. Blonde. Slim. Boobs. And a small amount of movement... where's the movement from? Falling... falling backwards onto a bed. A small flop backwards, landing on a bed. It's one of those classic moves. Easy. I must have seen it in soft porn. But whom?

I sat up. Blinked. And then it hit me with full force.

Anna Nicole Smith.

And she's been dead for years.

What the fuck? Why...?

Monday, 13 December 2010

Hello, world!

So, yeah, I'm downloading the new version of MSN messenger... sorry, "Windows Live! Messenger". It's shit. But then again, all versions of this program have been shit since the name changed to "Windows Live!". Fortunately, I still have version 4 of the original program, Windows Messenger, installed on my system (check it out, it comes with all versions of Windows, without any bells and whistles, and is incredibly simple). Just check this out:

Doesn't that look fantastic?

The best thing about this program is that it can run simultaneously with Windows Live! Messenger, so I can easily sign on, both as 'me', and as 'not-me'.

Come and talk to me. I don't bite, mostly because I'm not angry enough.

Sunday, 12 December 2010

Pressure's On

TD likes it when I put pressure on her, although not exactly in the emotional sense. I'm not the kind of person who would even attempt to pressure someone into doing anything anyway, the only exception being talking my mother into giving up eating fish when I was eight, so I'm not likely to do that either. She likes the physical pressure; I didn't realise this until yesterday, when she said so.

I mean, I knew she liked me pressing my knee up between her legs, but I just assumed this was because my largeish knee would be able to touch clit, vagina and anus all at the same time. I knew she liked my arms around her, but I assumed this was because they made her feel safe. I knew she liked me holding her, but I assumed that was... actually, I don't know that one, but I assumed it, okay?

Turns out she likes the pressure.

I'd like to point out that I'm not as strong as she thinks I am. I don't even know why she thinks I'm strong. I'm not. I have trouble with jam jar lids, opening the back door, and lifting the TV. I do have muscular enough arms (well, not really, just arms without the fat that covers the rest of my body), but that's due to playing guitar, violin and drums, as well as masturbating chronically since the age of 17. I do have the urge to stretch so far I feel like I could grow a couple of extra inches sometimes, but that doesn't mean there's muscle there, it just means I'm weird.

Or I'm an angel and my wings are growing inwards, causing the urge to stretch. I like that explanation more.

Anyway, she likes the pressure. She likes my knee pressing in between her legs. She likes my chest flat against her back. She likes my arms holding her. Tightly.

What is this? An extra desire for intensity? Probably not. But I'll do it, I'll put the pressure on her.

Just... not too much. Or I'll expend all the energy I need for sex. And where's the pressure in that?

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

Sex Blogger Top Trumps

Innocent Loverboy

Marks out of Ten
Name: 6

Sexual Experience: 5
Explicitness: 8
Bandwagon Whoring: 9
Disturbance Factor: 2
Reviews: 4
Humour: 8
Paparazzi Bait: 1
Corporate Capitalist Scum Rating: 2
Pretentiousness: 11

Feel free to do this yourself. I'd be interested to see how good you all are at self-rating, and all that jazz.

Monday, 6 December 2010

Public Display of Transport

So I had this dream the other day, I've had it before: I'm masturbating on a bus. And people are looking at me strangely. You know, as they probably would.

This being Britain, nobody is saying anything, but I'm getting disapproving glares from motherly-looking women a few seats away. There's nobody sitting next to me, but all the seats have access to a telescreen, which is - naturally - showing porn. I can't exactly remember the specifics of the porn, mind you; I remember it being boy/girl, and the girl has long, curly hair. Is there a story? Can't remember. Where are they? Can't remember. My memory recalls a chair, and varying positions, and a white background. But I can't remember what the porn's about. Maybe one day I will.

The odd thing about this dream - you know, apart from that whole "wanking in public transport" thing - is that it is in fact a sequel to another dream, in which I was doing exactly the same thing on a train. Same set-up, same porn, same activity. Except that in the train dream, I was so far away from everyone else in the carriage that nobody noticed. I think I may have even climaxed in that one (although not in real life; it wasn't a wet dream), which is also a bit of a novelty. And maybe it's natural, since I got away with it that first time, that I did so again, on the bus. That was the second incidence of this dream. The one the other day was #3.

Still with me so far? Good.

The variation between #2 and #3 was more minimal than the train/bus debacle. Dream #2 ended when I noticed the women glaring at me. I remember being pretty scared that they noticed me, and considering pulling my trousers up. But then the dream ended. Whereas in #3, I did pull my trousers up. Or started to, anyway. But then they'll notice, I thought to myself. They'll notice I'm pulling my trousers up, and then they'll certainly know what I was doing! You understand the predicament? Again, I don't exactly know what happened to my dream-self, because at that point, I awoke with a start.


Will I ever have to face the repercussions or pulling my trousers up, as a result of watching porn on a telescreen on a bus, forcing me to maturbate in front of motherly women on their morning run? Well, in real life... no. But, just to satisfy my curiosity, can I push for a threequel? Something which confirms what happens to poor, sweet ILB, who clearly can't wait until he gets home to administer sexual gratification to himself?

Next time, I'm pushing for a hovercraft.

Sunday, 28 November 2010

Test your luck

I dreamed last night that Kylie Minogue was sitting on my lap.

I'd also like to point out that I am in no way attracted to Kylie. I have, however, met her; during my post-university year before I became a TA, I worked for a major chain of bookshops and secured a position in one of the massive ones in central London - one of the shops that had celebrities visiting. We had The Hoff at one point, with his entourage of very excited girls. We also had Matt Lucas and David Walliams, Gordon Ramsay, Michael Barrymore(!), Maisy the Mouse and Poppy Cat (actually, I was Poppy Cat, the costume was bearable; sorry to spoil the illusion), Julie Andrews and, as I've mentioned, Kylie. Kylie herself is very short, Australian, and nice. Much less objectionable than her younger sister who is judging on The X Factor and, ergo, is dead to me.

I don't know too much about her otherwise. I saw and appreciated her on Jools Holland's Hootenanny a couple of years back, doing her 'sultry' act. I've never really listened to her music and I don't think there's much in her physical appearance either (although she's more attractive than her sister); even if I did do celebrity crushes, she probably wouldn't be in the running (sorry, Kylie). I may have worn (and still own, and still wear on occasions) a pink T-shirt with her signature on it (it's quite similar to mine, with a kiss at the end, and everything), but that's about it.

This is, apart from anything else, what makes the dream so confusing.

I don't even remember that much of it. I remember being in a gathering of people, and Kylie walked in, recognised me - although I seriously doubt she would recognise me; she barely even saw me for a few seconds - and then decided to sit on my lap, which was apparently comfortable (bonus fact: my lap is comfortable; TD, H, Mini, Rebecca and others will all tell you the same). She wasn't being particularly affectionate, although not cold either. She was, as far as I could tell, taking advantage of the fact that she is Kylie Fucking Minogue and can do what the hell she wants.

I also remember everyone else in the dream (whoever they were) being rather jealous of the fact that I had Kylie on my knee. What's more, and rather bizarrely, I also remember waking up and still having the sensation of a short Australian pressing against my legs. And no, before you ask, I haven't been sleeping with H, so put your conspiracy theories to bed, observational reader! Keeping my eyes closed, the feeling was very apparent. But, even if I had wanted it to be so, Kylie wasn't there.

Which is probably a good thing, in hindsight. Because that would lead to some very interesting rumours... and probably a more exciting blog post than this one, in which the most interesting thing you've found out is probably the fact that I dressed up as a cat once.

Ah, well. As I said to H at work the day afterwards, "did I mention I'm not a cat?"

Friday, 26 November 2010


My BlackBerry is acting up and taking a few seconds more than usual to load anything at the moment. I've cleared the caché and have put it on charge. I hope the change is temporary.

It's probably my fault for attempting to watch soft porn on the train, so I'll admint my guilt here in the hope that a blessing from the community will heal my BlackBerry spiritually. But probably not.

In my defence, I wasn't actually attempting to watch soft porn for tittilation, or ejaculation - it's a TRAIN; there were COMMUTERS. I was bored, tired, cranky and boxed in and so I decided to see if I could load soft porn in order to see if I could. If it were physically possible. TD and I watched this and this and this via her BlackBerry the night before, so a scene from The Virgins Of Sherwood Forest shouldn't be so hard to find.

In all honesty, it wasn't hard to find. It was loading that was difficult. And after a few minutes, my thoughts (which had previously been "this is naughty, loading soft porn on a train") turned into "attempting to stream soft porn on a train? what was I thinking?". Streaming be the operative word. The angle my BlackBerry was at, my cold hands could only touch a few keys at a time, and I wasn't about to expend energy by attempting to find a version for download. Streaming it would be fine - if only for a few seconds.

Except it didn't work. Because it refused to stream. And then when I gave up (because we were actually pulling into London, that's how long it took), my BlackBerry got all grouchy and didn't want to work to the best of its abilities. I managed to field a call from TD at that point, but on the Tube, it just wasn't switching screens (signal or no signal) without a little "loading" icon appearing first.

I didn't even know that icon existed.

Still, I refuse to be defeated. I'll use a USB cable and transfer an MPEG onto my BlackBerry myself. Because, apart from anything else, I just want to PROVE it can be done. No other reason whatsoever.

Because, after all, if at first you don't succeed... fail, fail again!

Tuesday, 23 November 2010

Boutique Erotique

The first time I heard of an "Erotica" show I must have been about 13 or 14, a short segment having been played on L!VE TV's The Sex Show. Interestingly enough, the main thing I remembered about it was the name of the founder of the corporation - Savva Christodolou. The reason for this being, of course, that I had a Savva and a Christodolou in my school at the time, and would have bet ten to one that one of them would be claiming to their friends that he was their dad (although, to my knowledge, neither of them did, but then who would?). I didn't particularly imagine exactly what would have been at an Erotica, and indeed I forgot they were happening until about three years ago when I noticed the posters first appearing on the Tube. One of the things I could do when I started writing ILB, I reasoned, was to go to Erotica, and I then managed to miss Erotica 2008 and 2009 completely.

Wow, failure. No change there.

But, thanks to some gentle persuasion from the lovely Lady Pandorah and a need for something to do to drive away the incredible mundanity of my life, I dutifully booked tickets and, after an "interesting" journey across London during which I almost began to think we'd be stuck in a timeloop for ever, I finally walked across the threshold... into a sandwich bar. Oh, and then I went to Erotica.

Maxine told me at the last CCK social that Erotica was more like a market than anything else, and naturally I envisaged the one from Sex And The City 2, although thankfully it was nothing like that. Indeed, the majority of the hall was like a market, with stalls every-which-way advertising supposedly erotic goods (although most of them were clothing-based; I guess every market carries a common theme). There wasn't particularly anything for me there, as none of the stalls were selling softcore DVDs and I already have a bag of sex toys and lube ready for perusal and possible use, but it was really interesting to have a look around the goods available. I did buy a bag of fudge, a mixed juice and a decadent strawberries-in-the-chocolate-fondue mixture, so it wasn't a total loss for me. Oh, and I also got a kingfisher badge from the RSPB (yes, the real one), although they probably missed a trick not making a bigger deal of the fact that there's a bird called a swallow. Nevertheless, they managed to do the great tits joke, so credit to them for that.

TD was more fortunate, managing to get her hands (and all else) on a beautiful underbust corset (we split the cost; I was more than willing to see her wearing it), which was beautifully embroidered, but above all, made her tits look about three times bigger. Couldn't keep my eyes off her, of course, but then again, we were at Erotica. That's allowed, right? We also engaged in coupley activities such as, er, getting our shoes polished (both her leather boots and my vegan-friendly smart shoes got a good polishing, although I suspect the salesman may have been lying about the "you'll never need to polish them again" malarkey) and, uhm, pretending we had enough money to buy a £4999 adjustable bed with massage function (although, to be honest, that was an incredible experience, and it would most certainy help with the troubles I have with my back!). And people-watching. What better place to people-watch?

Undoubtedly the main person to watch, however, was the mind-meltingly sultry Dita Von Teese (find out where I've mentioned her before in any context and get a prize!), who brought to Erotica what was allegedly her new show, although I'm not convinced; I think it was a portion of the same. It was a feast for the senses, though - the whole thing was faux-East Asian (and I've got a certain affinity for that sort of thing), her dress was sparkly enough to compensate for a thousand camera flashes, her moves were fluid and certainly sexy, and the music was very fitting. She carried herself with an enormous amount of confidence, her (uncredited) assistant was also stunningly pretty, and the performance was worth the admission price alone, in my humble vanilla opinion.
I would complain, though: I wasn't around for any of the other shows on the day. I would have liked to see the contortionist, the woman with hoops of fire, the one dressed as a cat and all the others. And Dusty Limits, who is always worth watching (although I bumped into him in the toilets, so I got to say hello in any case). Surely it would make a lot more sense to have Dita headlining a fuller show avec the other performers, rather than just giving her 15 minutes in the middle of the day?

Still, that's my fault for not sticking around for any of the other shows. I'm sure YouTube will provide.

In conclusion, it was a fun day. It wasn't spectacular (Dita notwithstanding), but we got an amazing corset, a ride on a special bed, and some fudge which I'm chewing at the moment, so who can complain at that, really?

And who knows, I may go again next year... if only to procure another kingfisher badge.

Tuesday, 16 November 2010


The fog presses at my bedroom window. If I opened my window, it looks as if it would pour in. My main light is on. My radiator, too. And my fan heater, which exhumes heat right next to my computer chair. Outside, it is cold and dark. Fog and chills. Here, I am enclosed. Safe in a little oasis - a pool of light and heat.

If sexual desire is the "yin", today is the "yang". Yesterday, I was horny. Very, very horny. I was turned on, and this lasted for hours. I ran my errands, I did the jobsearching thing, I watched University Challenge, Only Connect and Miranda. But every time I had a spare moment, I felt the urge. A lull in activity? Turned on. Post-lunch break? Wanting it. Got up to stretch my legs? Third leg. Interesting analogies á go-go? Erection.
I just had the feeling. I couldn't get enough. I didn't take matters into my own hands for hours - because I'm not entirely sure I wanted to. Although I knew an orgasm would stop it, I quite liked the feeling-sexually-aroused thing. Besides, I wasn't going anywhere. I was staying at home because I had things to do at home. I did, in the end, masturbate, but it was the last thing in the day. Just before TD called me from Liverpool to say hi. Good timing, ILB!

Today is the antithesis of that day... although I've done basically the same things. Jobsearching (although this time I actually applied), lunch (watching a DVD of My Family in the absence of a decent sitcom on TV), errands. In the fog. Walking to the end of the road to book a haircut, claim a refund on some unused train tickets and grab some medication for my stomach. I thought, when I get home, I'll be turned on. It's bound to happen. This is me we're talking about.

But it didn't happen. I am drifting, but I am not horny. I don't feel the urge. It's very, very strange.

The fog outside my window has turned my garden into a beautiful shade of blue. I have never before seen anything look so calm.

Sunday, 14 November 2010

Not another chunky Sunday morning...

Although Sunday afternoon sex is pretty damn good, it has a contender in Sunday morning sex. As evidenced by what happened this morning - although, having been too tired for sex the preceding night, perhaps it was the result of pent-up energy. Energy, perhaps, sourced from the large amount of Mexican food, rendering us tired in the first place. That, coupled with the fact that it's Remembrance Sunday, and we wanted to go to church, and therefore we needed to get up at some point.

No energy. No time. No question. We had to have sex.

She started it ("I want... I want..."), but I was up for a bit of naughty Sunday morning sex as well. I mean, this is me - when would I ever not be in the mood for some sex? Really?!
I moved on top of her, kissed her neck. She moaned, a low guttural roll which I could feel. I kept kissing her neck, stroking her wrist. There was no need for oral sex - she was wet, and she wanted me. I was hard, and I wanted her too. I moved forward and pushed into her in one fluid stroke. Very nice. Good control, ILB. Well done. And we rubbed against each other as we moved. Slow, steady, increasing in pace. Very deep, very close. Closer. Closer. She laid her hands on my back, curling herself around my body. And then, seemingly from nowhere, she came, with a shudder and a gasp as her body seized up and I found myself coming into her as well.

We finished, got up, went to church, came home, watched Glee, ate lunch and watched some more Glee. I saw her off at the train station this afternoon. It wasn't a happy goodbye, but then again, they never are. Nor was it a particularly warm one. My coat can't keep the cold out forever.

"I was just thinking..." I speculated.
"You know when we had sex this morning?"
"That was really good, huh?"

As evidenced by this song.

Saturday, 13 November 2010


Beware! Lazy post with many pictures, ahoy!

So, I went to this month's CCK social and...
...this is a fairly adequate visual depiction of how it felt. Exactly like a Belgian waffle with melted chocolate on it.

And look at this!Time printed = amount. This is probably why they stop serving at 00:00.

And look at the exact amount of loose change I found in my wallet!

Aquinas, eat your heart out... this is proof of God's existence.

Towards the end of the night I decided to make a sculpture by wrapping the salt-cellar in white napkins and sealing it with melted wax from the candles on the table. I also used melted wax to seal a brown sugar cube to the top. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Next week: Erotica 2010. A rather different experience. I probably won't take so many pictures, though.

Monday, 8 November 2010


This is beginning to physically hurt, so I'm trying to liven it up a bit.

(click to embiggen)

Sunday, 7 November 2010


I was in church. Having added my name, address, phone number and one of the seven e-mail addresses I have into the paper directory in rather shaky pencil, I handed it to our assistant minister (we don't have a regular one, mind you).

"Is that still your e-mail address?" asked the smiling elder. It was, I saw looking over her shoulder, an e-mail address which clearly routed through the church's e-mail account. If the domain was still functioning, and mail forwarding was configured properly, it should have been working. Our assistant minister replied that yes, he thought it was.

"I'll find out myself," I said, whipping my BlackBerry out of my pocket, and thereby removing the shockingly low-tech method of writing things on paper that the smiling elder had been using - all was balanced in the world once again. "Hold on, I'll open my web browser..."

It's a good thing that I sidestepped at that moment, because I'd clearly forgotten to close Things to excite the Easily Aroused, and lo and behold, there was some rather delicious erotica displayed on my BlackBerry screen. And right behind me were the assistant minister and smiling elder. And in front of me were my grandparents. I think my finger moved faster than Billy Whizz on speed at that point, hitting random buttons - any buttons - to close the web browser. Opened it up again, then, to find the start page winking at me. Phew.

Of course, the recently opened links all had some rather risqué words in them, but at that point I put my BlackBerry cover over the 'phone itself and slipped it back into my pocket.

A few people were looking at me.

"I'll look at it later," I explained.

Saturday, 6 November 2010


wheee, say the fireworks. wheee. bang, crackle, bang, bang, bang. bang, say the fireworks. the night sky lights up briefly. fireworks battle with pollution. pollution wins. the fireworks become invisible. black like the night sky.

throb, says my head. throb, throb, throb. i am lying there, sprawled. my bed's surface is soft underneath me. i feel the soft, warm, jumper. trousers hang helplessly off my waist, socks are odd. white poppy impaled, pinned to my top. i am helpless, a slave to my own lazy inclinations. my head throbs continuously and all i can do is lie there.

ahead of me, my toy rabbit lies on his back. i cannot reach for oxford, he is too far away. guitar tuner, cordless telephone, newspaper with job adverts. they are all there. they are all useless to me. bang, say the fireworks.

a tear works its way out of my eye. i am tired. i am lazy. trickle, says the tear. it snakes down my nose and falls onto the cover. drip. drip. drip.

no more thoughts. feelings all gone. i just exist. i cannot move. energy is a concept now. one which i do not possess.

soft sheets. clothes. radiator heat. oxford. bang. brief lights. throb.

i cannot move.

drip... drip... drip...

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

Optical Confusion

When I'm with my girlfriend, we can be very affectionate. In fact, it's something of a given. There are kisses, and then there is sex. There's also nuzzling, brushing each other's arms, cheeks, you know... all that stuff that you generally baulk at when done in public by anyone else, but automatically becomes okay when you're doing it. That sort of stuff. Of course, I didn't expect my optician to be doing the same stuff to me. She didn't... quite. But she came close.

I am aware that is is her job to look into my eyes. I like my eyes anyway, so it doesn't really bother me that someone can appreciate their colour. With the ridiculous apparatus on them, they probably don't quite look as good. But nevertheless, when it came towards the end of my eye examination (all fine, by the way), she told me took at a corner of a window and leaned very, very close, while she shone the light into my eyes.

It was like a mixture of being seduced and interrogated. She leaned closer and closer (what she was looking for I don't know), until my hypersensitive cheeks noticed the familiar tickling sensation of hair against my cheek. Is that normal? my brain shouted at me. Surely she can see your eyes from further away than that?! Further in she leaned, until I could feel her nose gently pushing at the side of my face. Oh God, I hope she doesn't kiss me. I don't think that's very professional of her.
"Okay, that's good."
"Now look up at the other corner of the window."

I obediently did so... and she leaned in so close that her forehead touched my forehead, a sheet of her hair cascaded down my right cheek, and I could feel the line of her nose. Fuck! What do I do? I stayed cool and focused my eye on the light (her hair would have been in my eyes if anything else).

And then she pressed her forehead so hard into my forehead that my head was resting against the back of the chair and couldn't actually move. Newton's Second Law in action, evidently. Head, hair, nose, cheeks... I could even feel her eyelashes at one point. Not that I could see anything, of course, because she was shining a fucking light into my eyes. And she seemed to be taking a very long time to do so, as well...

"Okay, that's all done." She removed her head from mine, and the light snapped back on. I was still slightly scared, but she told me that I was fine (or that my eyes were, anyway) and, as I turned to go, she shoved a piece of folded paper into my hand. I stumbled out onto the shop floor and made for the exit. What's this? Her phone number? I looked around to make sure that nobody was watching,then unfolded it with trepidation. It was, of course, the date of my next eye examination.

Sooner than I'd expected, too...

Sunday, 31 October 2010

Whole lot of nothing?


I started doing NaBloPoMo at the beginning of this month not because I wanted to show off being able to write a vaguely coherent blog post ever day. I was fully aware of the fact that I'd need to backdate some entries. In fact, if you scroll back through the month you'll find that a lot of these entries are backdated. That's not really my fault. I've written the right amount of entries, if not exactly at the right times. I've put in as much effort as I can. Does that count as a fail or not? It doesn't really matter, to be honest.

I started doing NaBloPoMo in order to chronicle what I was doing with my life, due to the fact that at the beginning of this month I'd lost both job and girlfriend. I've no idea exactly what I thought the situation would eventually be at the end of the month, but I'm pretty sure I imagined it as being more dynamic than it is at the moment. I've got my girlfriend back (that much is evident if you've been reading these posts) and I had a mini crisis in the middle of the month, which thankfully didn't take hold, but I don't have a job.

Not really. There's been ad-hoc work for a few days here and there, but I'm not in possession of a permanent or even temporary job. No real solution.

I started the month by applying to a job I really wanted. In fact, it's the only job I've seen, ever, which I thought would be perfect for me. I haven't had much of a response from it - I've had two contacts from the company, both of which seem to indicate that they don't quite understand where my application's coming from. It's not a no, but it's sure as hell far from a yes. I'm now assuming that I won't get that one. Which makes me very, very sad. I worked ad-hoc after this and have applied for four other jobs. Things which require writing skills and experience with the internet. Yeah, I'm predictable.

Plus three agencies and one more job I applied for today. That makes nine routes into getting a job and no responses from any. But then again, I wasn't expecting much of a response. It would have been nice, of course.

I've also spent a considerable amount of time putting together a portfolio of reviews and articles (although mostly reviews) I've done in the past, ranging from the videogaming website I was a staff member of to the student newspaper I wrote reviews for and back to the monthly "magazine" I wrote and published (via an inkjet printer and home PC) by myself, from the ages of 11 to 16. Scouring, scanning, and typing up every damn word. The scans aren't great quality and, much as I like my own writing - even the reviews I may use from when I was about 15 - all this typing, when I know Im not going to use much of it, is a bit tedious. Nevertheless, a lot of the jobs I want require a portfolio, and if they want one they can have one.

The most galling thing, however, is that I know full well that the best things that I've ever written are all on this blog, and these jobs (apart from the first one) certainly aren't likely to take much stock in a sex blog. Needless to say, it's not something I'm freely mentioning in every application. I'm meant to be anonymous, for one thing. But there are plenty of humorous, thoughtful, erotic, and just plain daft entries in this blog for anyone's perusal. I like that, but it's not getting me anywhere financially. Then again, it was never supposed to, and that's why I've never freely advertised or put up epileptic flashing ad banners or massive adverts for porn or sex toy sites. It's just annoying that all my best writing is anonymous and some of the things in my portfolio are frankly quite shit.

So, yes. This is a bit disappointing. No high-powered, attached and positive Innocent Loverboy achieved over the space of a month. But at least I've managed to write some of my favourite ever posts this month, plus I had a fantastic time with the CCK social. I also did a musical thingy the other day which is part of my "IRL" perona, so I won't mention it here. And I have enjoyed the ad-hoc work so far. I've had some amusig conversations today with 47 concerning his new love interest. Plus I had a cool night out in London for the young raver's birthday. So - in some ways - I've been enjoying myself this month.

And when it comes down to it... isn't that what really matters?

Saturday, 30 October 2010

Total Agony!


My first experience of seeing sex on TV was on L!VE TV's Agony!, which was a version of an "agony aunt"-type show which had laughably bad actors playing laughably bad people in laughingly bad situations. These "agony" situations were clearly entirely fabricated to give enjoyment to the viewer who clearly either had no life (which explains why they were watching L!VE TV during the daytime) or was about 11 years old. Luckily, I was the latter. To make it even worse, L!VE added thought balloons to the acted sections, which usually involved the same lame jokes over and over again, and then some self-proclaimed "experts" (including one named "Miff", who was straight out of "irresponsible lad" subculture) talked for a while about how stupid everyone in the world was.

Great TV, eh?

The problems, lies as they were, all involved sex in some way. Evidently, as a pre-watershed programme, even L!VE couldn't show Agony! before 9:00pm (and, in actual fact, L!VE's late-night TV scheduling started at 10), but since they were tabloid TV at its very worst, "sex" appeared, insofar as they had male-actor-in-bed-with-female-actor, who was wearing nothing but a bra (well, she probably was but we never saw anything below the midriff). This, allegedly, was sex - or, at least, the moments immediately preceding or following it.

Because real women wear a bra in bed, sensibly cover up their lower half, and in the moments following orgasm enter into a deep and frank conversation with their men about whatever problem that's haunting them at the time, accompanied by huge thought balloons which appear out of nowhere and make sexist jokes. Evidently.

Still, this was the first time I saw any semblance of sex on TV, and there followed a few weeks of religiously watching the ridiculous channel so I could catch the few seconds of sexual non-activity, followed by a few years of watching L!VE TV after hours, which consisted of more awful home-produced shows, with occasional runs of Compromising Situations and then good-quality softcore erotica at 10:30.

Well, I say good quality. It didn't have any thought bubbles, and that was a step upwards.

Friday, 29 October 2010

"Culturally rich" is a phrase now.


So why did we go on holiday? Well, it's complicated.

But the main reason is... it's nice. Yes, I'm unemployed, and she is a student. Neither of us have any money, despite my initial estimate of £210.77, which was swiftly raped by £155.90 hotel bills, £35.00 restaurant meals (with rude waiter included), and the necessary £28.20 train tickets. Plus money to get into Shakespeare's houses (you'd think, being dead, that he'd be okay with us not having to pay. But nevertheless...)

By the way, it's okay. I have a £89.52 cheque from the tax man and some money from ad-hoc work probably coming at some point. But you're not interested in that, right?

However, whatever the price, it was totally worth it (if I'm allowed to use the word "totally" and not end up sounding like a douche). Stratford is lovely, but it's the pleasure of enjoying each other's company without being on either one's premises - on neutral ground, to put it another way - which always gives the biggest thrill. It's the joy of travelling together, it's the absence of parental interference, and it's the deciding for yourselves what you do which makes the option of exotic sex in a place with more style than suburban Oxford or a random London borough that bit more exciting.

And hotel breakfasts. They're the best bit, of course.

Thursday, 28 October 2010

Sex in Stratford


The outside of this hotel looks like a Tudor building, the reception looks like that of a modern hotel, some bits of it look like a pub, the corridors look like they may fall apart at any moment and the rooms all look nice enough. It's a building that's paused mid-evolution. Very strange; very cool. This is as opposed to my girlfriend, who was so hot she had taken all her clothes off.

No, seriously, that's the reason. I hadn't seen her naked for some time, though, which is probably why I got pretty excited upon seeing her that way. Of course, the soft, gentle brush of skin against skin worked, too, as we got down to some pretty intense cuddles (intense cuddles are like cuddles, but to the max). It had been far too long. Too long. And we were on holiday, yeah, what are holidays for?

I slid downwards, kissing her cleavage, her belly button, and her thighs. Her legs steadily opened, and I dragged the tip of my tongue steadily up the lips of her vagina, as I am wont to do. She let out a long, guttural moan. I've missed that moan. I've missed the taste, the feeling. I've missed this girl. But there's no time for reflection, I reflected, this is time for action! So I took action. The repetitive action. Long, careful licks. Occasional changes of pace: flicks back and forth, gentle prods at the clit, using both lips, and the space between. Breathe. Do it again. Breathe. Blow gently along the line. Again. Again.

I adjusted my body, bent my neck to restore its feeling. Licked precisely between her lips, so I could taste the opening of her pussy. Warm, wet. Familiar but delightful. I kept licking, dutifully hitting the points. I could feel her orgasm vibrate before I heard her announce its presence, and I kept my head there, licking still, helping guide her through her orgasm. It subsided (although it took a while to do so), I stood up and cleaned my face.

We exchanged heavy breathing for a few seconds. I was hard. Throbbing. Needy. Eager. No lack of energy, no question as to what should be done. I practically fell on top of her. I penetrated her easily. A few seconds pause while I thought to myself, it's so nice, this. Being inside a girl. Inside this girl. I could feel the muscles of her inside walls squeeze, moulding themselves around my shape. I'd forgotten that even happened, or the degree to which I could feel it. I looked down at her, and started to move.

"I'm coming... I'm coming again!" she whispered into my ear.
"Come on then, do it," I grinned back. And continued to move as I felt it. More girlcum. More thrusting, more movement. Cresting a wave. It spurned me onwards. I kept going, faster and faster and faster. Good old honest-to-God sex. But to the max.
I felt myself about to orgasm as she was somewhere between three and four (I wasn't counting, particularly, I was more concerned with other things). I let out a little phattic utterance of my own as I felt my cum shooting out of my cock, filling her up. I knew she'd be feeling it drip out of her in a while, along with her own and whatever other liquid that may manifest itself along the way. Fantastic, intense vanilla sex. Awesome.

I lay down next to her. There was a huge wet patch where her pussy (my face, cock, &c.) had been. We exchanged smiles.

I love holidays.

Wednesday, 27 October 2010

I wonder who went?

Nice to see my (former) university's keeping up with the dating world's lingo:

(Seen at Senate House, University of London's Library, on a random door - no indication)

Tuesday, 26 October 2010

Sex sells

Just a quickie because I'm going to Stratford (upon Avon, not the suburb of London) tomorrow and really need to pack.

Porn spam. We've all had it, and even if you haven't, you've probably had porn, spam, or both. And porn spam is the bastard offspring of the two. With worse grammar. I got this little doozy in my inbox today:

Stay here he shut himself
Repeated mr nickleby was required to talk. Replied in company with his wife
End of some new friend

Wow, that sure turned me on.

Of course, this wasn't all. For all my sins, two of my (seven) e-mail addresses route through Yahoo! Mail, which is perhaps the worst system known to man or beast. And there, in the signature of this very e-mail that was sent to me (automatically, I've no doubt), was the proudest boast since Beowulf:

Do You Yahoo!? Tired of spam? Yahoo! Mail has the best spam protection around...

...which clearly didn't work on this one. Or did it? Maybe it looked like spam that needed to be in my inbox. After all, with the subject line...

Remember Jan*ine? She work~ed in our o~ffice. The g;irl with delecious ass! I saw her video:s her*e. Is i:t really her?

..wh!o can it f.0.r th~i##nkin>g t€hat? It'*s s%o obviousl©y no≠t spα