Monday, 31 May 2010

Do you have any condoms shaped like animals?

I'm a bit teary at the moment. My lovely girlfriend has just gone to Liverpool. Not for fun, you understand. Liverpool isn't fun as far as what I've heard has informed me. She's gone there to research. It's only for four days or so, but I'm still a bit teary. I saw a mother on the train making her daughter cry, and that set me off a bit. We (me and TD, that is, not me and the mother) had sex this afternoon and I couldn't even make her orgasm with my tongue - I had to use my cock. Not that I'm complaining about that, but I think I may have broken her somehow. Anyway, enough of that. I'm a sad ILB. So let's talk about something that makes me snigger like the immature git I am.

Condom machines.

I don't know about girls' toilets (even though I've used them a couple of times; completely by accident, you understand), but boys' toilets always have a condom machine, even if they're in the most remote places. I guess sex happens almost everywhere these days, so having some condoms nearby is a Good Thing. I wholeheartedly support the presence of condom machines, even if they also sell those little blue pills that suggest you're entirely incapable of having sex. But then again, there's also this (image taken by me on my phone):

WARNING! The British Transport Police and Rail Staff know that UNACCEPTABLE BEHAVIOUR IS OCCURRING in these toilets. Arrests have been made and we will continue to monitor the toilets and make further arrests if the unacceptable behaviour continues.

Well, of course there's unacceptable behaviour occurring in railway station toilets. Not that I'd go that far, but I heard a couple having sex in some toilets once. I was on the other side of the wall, in the waiting room, so it was probably even louder from their end. It's not the optimum place to have sex, but there you go.

And what was inside the toilets to dissuade such "unacceptable" behaviour?

Yes, exactly.

And then today I saw something which almost - almost - matches the inflatable sheep dispensing machine I saw in Wales. (Or was it Blackpool?) We were having a leisurely pub lunch, insofar as having lunch in a pub when you know that you have approximately two hours before one of you has to get on a train and rock up to the furthest reaches of the country can be leisurely. I excused myself to go to the toilet (I have the bladder of an infant), and in front of the urinals was the compulsory condom machine, advertising - amongst other things - a tattoo parlour somewhere in Oxford (although I suspect that was added). Quite a few things had been added, mind you, among them herbal Viagra (yes, really) and a brand of condom called "Fundom" (yes, really really) whose product was, well, condoms shaped like animals.

Not just animals, either. There were happy clowns and laughing policemen, too. It was perhaps the scariest thing I've ever seen, including Tim Burton's hair.

And when you thought it couldn't get any worse, there was a strict warning on the machine itself:


Um, well, do you want to tell me what to do with these condoms if I'm not meant to use them as a barrier then, eh? Inflate them with helium? And, in that case, what's wrong with the word "balloon"?

*deep breath*

So, as I mentioned, I'm sad. And so I'll go and despair now. But when you see things like this around innocent corners these days, while my girlfriend being away for a few days is the first thing to despair about, there are clearly plenty more... if you look.

Thursday, 27 May 2010


"Could you do me a favour?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"Could you buy me some tampons?"

Ack! I don't even know what those things are for! But I guess buying them wouldn't be too bad...

"No problem."

I'd better think of something to say, quickly...

"Uh... what brand?"
"Oh... Lil-lets. I always buy Lil-lets."
"Okay, what size?"

Fuck! Do they even come in sizes? They're not condoms! I've made a terrible mistake.

*Diplomatic pause.*
"Right. Yeah, that's no problem."

Well, that was easy.

Almost too easy...

Monday, 24 May 2010

Been there, done that.

I was there when my girlfriend's parents sat down in the Sheldonian Theatre.

I was there when she went up and got talked to in Latin.

I was there when she, N and E threw their mortar-boards into the air. I was videoing it.

I was there when we had a meal that evening, and I was there when she felt ill and left. I was there when I returned to her house before the rest of the family, so I could be with her.

I was there throughout a very hot, very long night.

I was there when I took a rail replacement coach journey. I was hot on that, too.

I was there when I eventually got home yesterday and felt something was missing.

I was there during our conversation last night.

I was there when I was at work today.

I am here now.
She is not here.

I want to hug her, naked, on my (our?) bed, while we swelter in the hot hot heat. Needless to say, she isn't here, so I can't do that.

But at least I can say I was there.

Thursday, 20 May 2010

Finally, an answer.

Women are natural multi-taskers. Unfortunately, they’re so used to thinking and doing several things at the same time that they find it hard to simply be ‘in the moment’ during sex. If most men can be very ‘in the zone’ during sex, women seem to have various thoughts running through their heads all the time (e.g., home chores that need to be done, kids’ homework, dirty laundry, etc.).

Of course! It's so obvious now. Women don't think about sex at all. That explains absolutely everything! Thank you very much, "How to Sex Orgasm". Your advice, just like your grammar, is abolutely impeccable.

I'm going to go and kick some things now, hard.

Monday, 17 May 2010

In the dark of the night...

I know I talk about my dreams too much in this blog, but hell, it's my blog; I'll talk about what I feel like. Anyway, so last night...

I have this recurring dream. It's an odd one and I've seriously no idea where it comes from. It also takes various forms. But the main point of the dream is this: I discover, somewhere either on my hard drive or on the internet, some porn which I know I have seen before, and I know will make me orgasm if I watch it. I understand that this is not an unusual situation, but this supposed porn is unique because:

i) it's hardcore, and I don't really like hardcore
ii) everything is on a black background; there is no discernable scenery, setting or story, and everything (except the performers, who are a straight couple and white) is black, including the floor on which they are presumably having sex
iii) there is always acceptance that I have seen this porn before
iv) I never actually get to watch it

Point three probably relates to the fact that there is some softcore erotica that I've only seen once. There must be. Back in my youth, when I watched late-night Bravo, Channel 5 and L!VE TV, I saw a hell of a lot of softcore movies. Some I liked, some not so much. Some scenes I do remember (and most of them I've reclaimed via the internet), and some are lost in the void on account of the fact that I don't remember the title of the film or (in the case of series) the name of the episode, or simply via the fact that the internet doesn't have the scene available anywhere (hey, it happens). On the occasion that I'll stumble across a scene online that I've seen before, the realisation will hit me.

But hardcore on a featureless black background? That's just strange. I don't even know if porn like that exists, never mind being freely available to watch. I guess it's possible to make, using Chromakey bluescreen technique, but (with the exception of a small clip of Tera Patrick having virtual sex with you, which doesn't count as it's nothing like what I see in my dream) I don't even see how that sort of porn would really work!

And, of course, I never get to see it. Last night I dreamed it again - this time around, I found it in a hidden folder on my hard drive (which is neither there nor anything I've ever had has been; believe me, I checked). I knew exactly what it was, but my little cousins were in the room and I was hardly going to watch porn with them around, was I? I remember trying to chivvy them out of the room, but they wouldn't budge. Very strange.

In any case, if any of you do find some random porn on a plain black background, make sure that you let me know, yes? It may turn out that my dreams aren't entirely unfounded after all.

Although if it doesn't make me cum, I'll be very disappointed.

Sunday, 16 May 2010


1) It involves listening to the soundtrack to Glee, watching a rented DVD of Lesbian Vampire Killers and eating a rough approximation of nachos (tortilla chips with melted cheese and some dips from Sainsbury's)... and is therefore the strangest foreplay ever.

2) It involves singing satirical songs about James Blunt, The Smiths and medicine. We bounce parodies off the walls and our own selves under the covers... and is therefore the funniest foreplay ever.

3) It comes after a week of not seeing each other. A week of almost constant absenteeism, dodgy signal, snatches of intermittent conversation, anniversary gifts that go undelivered on the date itself and the constant feeling of being so far away that something is missing... and is therefore the longest foreplay ever.

4) Its result? Orgasms so constant they roll into one another, yielding twisting, juddering, writhing body movements and screams so potentially loud that they are almost silent, as intuitive reasoning abandons itself and pleasure takes hold of both our bodies... and is therefore the best foreplay ever.

That's sort of what it felt like, anyway.

Thursday, 13 May 2010

Sex from nowhere

I'm not a fan of people doing things just because they can. I mean, not everything has to have a reason, sure, but to do something because you can do it is the physical equivalent of saying something dumb to see what effect it has. It's a waste of time and energy in many cases and, lazy bugger that I am, I'm prone to thinking that doing absolutely nothing is a better use of your time, because in that case at least you're resting.

The above statement is voided whan the thing that you're doing is sex.

Sex is better when part of love. I've always held that belief, although I also fully support the idea of comfort sex, sex with friends, sexperimentation, Edward Woodwood, and casual sex (as long as it's protected). However, when it comes to media designed to tittilate, such as soft porn, sex games in Flash or even erotica, the best sex scenes - I always find - are the ones in which sex happens because - well - because it does.

Example: Virgins of Sherwood Forest. One of those late-night films that you see on Bravo, or any time of the day if you happen to own the DVD. Ridiculous plot, lame acting. Opening scene shows a video for a rock star being filmed... or not, because they can't find the rock star. Where is he? Well, he's making love to the makeup girl. (It's a great scene, cinematographically speaking - the rock music works for his character, the flirtation beforehand and the sequence in which they disrobe is wonderfully shot. He lifts her onto a table and has sex with her standing up while she reclines. The music is in sequence with their movements and the way the girl curls her legs around his abdomen looks fantastic. But I digress.) Why's he making love to her? Because he can. They're clearly not in any sort of relationship and it's hinted that they've never talked before.

Yes, it's absolutely ridiculous. And it's very cheesy. But it's hot. It's hot because there's no reason for it to be happening, and yet we have two people having sex. Brilliant!

This is one of the reasons that cybersex works, especially when it's with a stranger. Not that I indiscriminately go into sex chat networks and have cybersex with random strangers. I know that swallow does; ask her. But I get the theory - IRC wasn't designed for virtual sexual encounters, yet two people who randomly meet under their usernames can sometimes - in some cases, instantaneously - go into incredibly long and detailed descriptions of sexual acts they are performing on each other. If you know each other, fine. But apropos of nothing? That shouldn't be happening. And yet it is.

Think of Jake, from the Booty Call games. He has sex with young ladies because he can, not because he needs to. And Paul, from the "Meet'n'Fuck" series of games you'll find on (try Sexy College Quiz, the grammar is hilarious). The best games are the ones where he happens to screw every girl he comes across (..."because I have a HUGE cock, and a strong knowledge of history"),
even though that's completely unrelated to the task at hand. And think of that scene in the first Emmanuelle, where Emmanuelle's husband, teased and tempted by Ariane (played by Jeanne Colletin), walks towards her, unzips, penetrates her and takes her there and then. No reason, no preamble. He just does it.

Sex is a very pleasurable thing, we know. It's the best feeling in the world, in many cases. And so it happens, but in real life it usually happens by arrangement - whether you're in a relationship with someone or you agree to meet up with the general consensus that you may have sex, or even if you just have sex with a friend. In the media, it can just happen. Because it can happen... so it does. Randomly. For fun.

And I think that's so dirty, it's marvellous.

Tuesday, 11 May 2010


My 'phone rings. I glance at it. "Seamstress", says the glowing text. I never bothered to change that name and I don't think I ever will. My weary hand gropes for the 'phone. "Hello?" I whisper into the mouthpiece.

Crackle crackle, buzz. It's her. She's in a place with very limited reception; plus, she's hiding under the bedclothes so as not to disturb her mother. They are on a trip together for work (for those of you who are curious, she works part-time in addition to being a postgrad student; this trip is a work-related thing). It's in the west, past Bridgwater. There's nothing good about Bridgwater. And there's nothing good about the reception she gets there. There's hardly any.

I tell her that I love her. I tell her about my day. I talk to her. Anything to keep her on the 'phone. If I weren't so loquacious, I'd repeat the same word over and over again, just so I can keep talking to her. I don't want this conversation to end prematurely. What I want is to read her a chapter of our story, tell her I love her and lull her to sleep with my voice. I'm talking and I hear a foggy buzz on the other end. Most of what she says in response is masked by the lack of reception.

Beep, beep, beep. I've lost her.

Today I'm at work, I'm thinking of last night's conversation. I'm thinking of her singing voice and I'm thinking of us together. I'm far away, very far away. I think to myself...

Upside, love you
Downside, miss you
I'm here, you are there
Updise, working
Donwside, hurting
Hear my echo, dancing bear

Yes, it's only for a week. Yes, she's not gone forever. Yes, she will come back. And yes, it's only 'phone reception. But today is our two-year anniversary, and it was a lot less lonely last year.

Sunday, 9 May 2010


Naughty ILB. Bad ILB. That is not the way to be.

ILB got himself all hot and bothered just before bedtime. He could have gone and got some hot choolate but he chose to read some erotica instead. Silly ILB.

He read some erotica and felt all flustered. He began to feel turned on and his cock started throbbing regularly, and it grew into an erection, and ILB looked at it and fidgeted. And still he read on, even though he knew he had work tomorrow and ought to go to bed and call his girlfriend, read her some story and try to sleep, he was worked up and turned on and throbbing. Poor ILB, what was he to do?

ILB was in a naughty mood. He was in a horny mood and he was craving it right then. He wanted the feeling of soft lips around his cock, he wanted the clasp of two feminine legs around his head, he wanted the warm, wet softness of the inside walls moulding their shape around his as he enters the girl. He wanted it all. The erotica did this to him. Poor, silly, naughty ILB.

Distracted ILB.

ILB needs some hot chocolate. ILB needs to cool down. ILB needs to stop thinking such bad thoughts. ILB should not be so lustful, it is wrong.

ILB has every reason to grin.

Saturday, 8 May 2010

Innocent Smoothie

TD's legs are very smooth.

Like, totally smooth. I watched her shave them in the bath this morning, although that wasn't intentional; I'd just finished having my hair cut (by her mother - the haircut was brutal, by my own request; I now have one third of what was there before) and I decided to go and find her. I found a relaxed, watery TD shaving her legs. She'd complain that seeing this ritual happen takes away some of the feminine mystique. I'd claim that out of all the things girls do, there's enough that's mysterious as it is. So I watched her shave.

And now they are smooth. Not that they weren't anyway - they usually are. She's one of those fortunate girls. But, y'know, more so.

We've been out shopping - we bought lots of food, a dress for her graduation, some trousers for some roughing it she has planned (another of those things that girls do, buying more clothes for new occasions), and... er... a Sainsbury's magazine. This, of course, required walking into town, which we did. We had sex first, obviously. But the chill causes goosebumps to rise on the skin, and this house has no central heating, so upon getting back the chill hadn't exactly vanished.

Don't worry, I am going somewhere with this.

So we're now on her bed, and she's lying face down, propped up on her arms, reading Sainsbury's magazine. I'm sitting cross-legged, tapping away at her laptop's keyboard, when I glance down at her legs. Well, they look a bit cold, but that's because it is cold. But I don't have goosebumps any more (I acclimatise after a while, like some sort of heat chameleon), and she's used to the slight chill, so maybe they're all smooth again. But it's hard to tell just by looking, and I'm curious.

There's only one way to find out...

Quick hand movement, flip up the skirt, hand against skin...


Thursday, 6 May 2010

A good reason not to vote Tory

I voted Labour for my MP vote and Green, Liberal, Labour for my local council.

I didn't vote for the Conservatives because they are fucking idiots.

For free speech, freedom of expression, continuation of public spending and sexual liberation, do not vote Tory.

That is all.

Wednesday, 5 May 2010

Review: Durex Play Massage 2 in 1

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I'm stressed.

This is, of course, nothing new. But then again, you consider the facts - I'm still doing this stupid course, my entire future is thrown into uncertainty, and Forbidden Planet don't have Green Arrow #32 rendering my collection incomplete - you can probably work out that I'm stressed. As I told the doctor this morning, I have a history of depression, anxiety, insomnia, IBS, itching, hypersexuality, hitting my fingernail with the hammer, getting all socialist, and stating the fucking obvious. Yeah, I'm stressed.

Fortunately (and this is the kind of this-is-why-God-exists fortunately), my girlfriend is a trained masseuse. Not that she does it for a living, but nevertheless, she's very good at it. You know I'd say that, but bear in mind that after sex I'm usually up and about fetching her water. After a massage I'm usually collapsed into some sort of heap, trying to remember what walking is, which sort of puts this into perspective. I'm not lying, anyway.


Durex did this thing. I'm calling it a thing because most of the stuff in their Play range - cock rings, special condoms, lubrications, stimulating gels, massage mousses - have a specific purpose. This one doesn't, really. Hence the name - "2 in 1". And I'm still not sure what it's meant to do, except I can tell you that it does it well.

I think primarily this is a lubricant, except I've never actually used it for lubrication. What I have indulged in, however, is having my back massaged with copious amounts of this stuff, which is almost as addictive as the hands that massage me. Nevertheless, I can see why it would be an attractive lubricating option. It feels gentle, it's light and it's not greasy or sticky either. There's no danger of feeling dry when this stuff's on the agenda, which eviently means that if you're wanting lubrication, this is a certain winner. According to the packaging, it's safe for all sorts of intimate areas, which, y'know, helps.

As for its massaging capabilities, well - these are awesome. It has a very pleasant scent to it, and even tastes nice (so it's kiss-safe, which is great). It's apparently cold, but my lovely masseuse warms it in her hands before putting it on me - always feels nice to me anyway - and it contains aloe vera, which - frankly - is genius. My skin's easily broken and I have hypersensitive skin which constantly itches, so a massage product containing aloe vera, noted for its healing and soothing properties, is perhaps the best thing since whatever was the best thing before sliced bread became possible.
This stuff's even water-soluble, so if you've had a particularly long massage session and want to clean yourself up afterwards (especially if sex follows the massage; that's usually the natural order of play), it washes off really easily. Really. You barely feel it wash off. It doesn't stain and it's not sticky. The perfect crime.

And the bottle. Well, it even looks good. It's a lovely shade of purple, it feels good in the hand - like a SNES controller - is a nice shape, and has a good design on the front. Simple, yet effective and tempting. And the cap is non-drip. Somebody's tried hard on this.

In fact, they've excelled themselves with this product. It seems as if it's some sort of wonder liquid - a lube with a pleasant, gentle aroma and no messy fuss to worry about crossed with a massage oil that easily beats both their mousse and melts about ten times over without even trying that hard. There's a sort of marvellous neutrality about this thing, and it really - really, really - helps.

Bravo, chaps. Bra-vo.

Saturday, 1 May 2010

First of May

I woke up this morning
I had a scone and a large house blend
And then a little conversation with my squirrel and chipmunk friends
I said I'm sick and tired of winter
And I wish that it was spring
And then a little fellow named Robin Redbreast
Began to sing

And he sang
Ooh ooh child, what'd you think the cold winter's gonna last forever?
Ooh ooh child, now's the time for all the people to get together


Cause it's the first of May, first of May
Outdoor fuckin' starts today
So bring your favourite lady
Or at least your favourite lay
The water's not cold baby, dip in your big toe
Maybe I'll see you in flagrante delicto
Grass below you, sky above
Celebrate spring with a crazy little thing called... fuckin' outside

I thanked him for the information
I cried a little when he flew away
I watched an episode of The People's Court
And I tried to plan my day
I called up my old lady
She wasn't home, so I called my girl
I asked her if she'd like to join me as I
Entertain the world

And I said
Ooh ooh child, I'll bring a blanket and I promise I will brush the ants off
Ooh ooh child, you're gonna like it when we're taking each other's pants off


Cause it's the first of May, first of May
Outdoor fuckin' starts today
So bring your favourite lady
Or at least your favourite lay
The water's not cold baby, dip in your big toe
Maybe I'll see you in flagrante delicto
Grass below you, sky above
Celebrate spring with a crazy little thing called... fuckin' outside

So we went to the park together
We were walking in the midday sun
We met all kinds of people and we
We fucked everyone
We fucked a lady who sells ice cream
We fucked a man with a tan Shar Pei
Everyone who needed fuckin'... well they
They got fucked today

So come on
Ooh ooh child, open your mind and your heart, feel the spirit moving through you
Ooh ooh child, you'll feel the warmth of the love when I stick it to you


Cause it's the first of May, first of May
Outdoor fuckin' starts today
So bring your favourite lady
Or at least your favourite lay
The water's not cold baby, dip in your big toe
Maybe I'll see you in flagrante delicto
Grass below you, sky above
Celebrate spring with a crazy little thing called... fuckin' outside

Fuckin' outside

Fuckin' outside