Monday, 28 February 2011


I finally, finally managed to see last week's Secret Diary this morning. Was amused to see a TV advert for Gumtree in the mid-programme break. Nice and appropriate, ITV. Well done.

Anyway... I had a really disgusting dream a couple of nights ago. I don't feel entirely comfortable thinking about it, never mind writing about it. Nevertheless, I'll have a go.

Okay, so the main point of the dream is that Rebecca - remember her? - was trying to get me to have sex with her. I'm in no way attracted to Rebecca any more, in any case. Last time I saw her, she was falling apart. And from what I can gauge over the internet, which isn't difficult to do since her footprint isn't a small one, her attitude hasn't really changed much. I can't even remember what having sex with her is like; I've had sex with five ladies since those heady days, and I don't wish to stretch my memory as far as to do so.

Anyway, thankfully I wasn't really into the whole sex-with-Rebecca thing in this dream, and yet I was there and she was naked. And I was putting up a token resistance...

...until she sprayed some sort of nauseating substance from her vagina, which looked like urine. And some even more gross substance from her clitoris (which isn't even a hole), which... well, I don't even know what that was! It looked like... like congealed blood. Dark red, and thick. Ewwwww.

Of course, even my dream-self, who makes irrational decisions sometimes, couldn't stand something like that. I jumped up and shouted at the beaming dream-Rebecca, backing away.
"You are sick, lady! How could you think I'd be into... well, into that? Your way of doing things..." (yes, I actually said "your way of doing things," although why I said that I don't know) " just... just wrong!"
At which point I either ran away or woke up. Possibly both. It wasn't pleasant, in any case.

Well, on one hand, I'm glad that didn't turn into a sex dream. And on the other... well, I think I need to go and wash my brain now.

Sunday, 27 February 2011

Soft Porn Sunday: Jesse Jane & Steven St. Croix


I've mentioned Pirates on this blog once before. It's a really odd film for several reasons. One, it's the most expensive porn ever made, with its director Joone claiming it cost up to a million US Dollars. Which brings up a rather random idea for a lyric:

"If I had $1,000,000, I'd make you a porn film... but not a hardcore film, that's cruel."

Actually a snapshot from Pirates. CGI skeletons, complete with gay skeleton on the right there.It is, in fact, a hardcore film. But in another unusual fact for a hardcore porn film: there's a lot of plot, which has clearly been well thought-out and rewritten at least once. In fact, the version I've got has more plot than sex, with most of the high budget going into impressive-looking CGI special effects. There's action, adventure, and genuine acting (although the most convincing comes from Tommy Gunn as the pirate captain, Victor Stagnetti), and although it's been the subject of derision by some people, I kind of like it for what it is.

Perhaps the strangest thing about it, however, is that, although it's hardcore, a cut version was released with an R rating in America, and got its UK release with an 18 certificate. I bought it, evidently. And so the 'softcore' version is in my possession, and with the way hardcore scenes are often shot, it's not surprising that the scenes where you don't see anything graphic are pretty short. They're well-cut though; you'd think this were real softcore, should you see it without any background knowledge. Anyway, so let's pick a scene at random...

Appearance: Pirates (2005)
Characters: Jules & Marco

Jesse Jane is billed first, despite not technically being the main character of the film. But she gets a lot of screen time, and engages in the most sex, so that's almost definitely why. She's in a couple of lesbian sex scenes, one o
f which is actually quite violent - neither of which work for me, alas - but then she's also in a couple of straight ones - a very brief one at the beginning, which is the first time we see her - having sex, giving you an idea of what sort of a person her character is. And then we also see this one later on.

As the plot is complicated for once, I'll give you a brief overview: Jules, who is the first mate on the pirate-hunting boat (captained by Evan Stone as Edward Reynolds, who can't act but looks like he's having a whale of a time trying - he won an AVN award for best actor for Pirates), is on an island on reconnaissance for some potassium nitrate. Really. In a tavern she meets up with Marco, who is an ex-boyfriend. Jules and Marco spar for a bit and appear to not be getting on, until we snap to a scene of them having wild sex. Hmmm, they made up well, then.
Captain's log.

As I've stated before, the scenes aren't particularly long, because they are cut down from the original hardcore
scenes. But, as I've also stated before, they are cut well, and this is an example of how to do that. The scene starts with - and this is ingenious - a few seconds of confused-looking pirates in the main room of the tavern, hearing the unmistakable cries of sex, with a bit of piratical music very faint. Immediate cut to Jules and Marco having very fast sex, with the music now louder (something I don't think many directors would have thought of) as well as, of course, the soundtrack of moans.

The scene's cut so that you can't see anything explicit, so the variety of positions assumed by Jules and Marco is flicked through quite quickly. But it's seamless, and the sound is dealt with very well too - the music's been overlaid in such a way that it doesn't just jump from one part to another - it's one complete piece of music - and the same can be said for the vocal effects.

Plus, the sex looks great, too. Steven St. Croix (another porn actor with the word "St." in his name, tch!), playing Marco, is probably giving it a bit too much, with his face going red and looking like he's in a lot of pain, but Jesse Jane, as Jules, is really playing up to it a lot, with a lot of fluid movement from her body, expressions on her face with copious usage of eyes and teeth (uhm, if you get what I mean by that...), hair going everywhere, and the fact that she is still wearing some of her bodice - another allusion to the spontaneous nature of sex.

It is over quite quickly - too quickly, in this case - and we end up with another argument between Jules and Marco and then back to the plot. But it's actually a very nice sex scene, and for us softcore lovers, it's a bit of a blessing that they managed to get a version of this film out with enough 'soft' sex in it to still be enjoyed, and even - dare I say it - liked?

Nice try, in any case. Arrr.

Saturday, 26 February 2011

Squeaky Clean

I've only ever had shower sex once and it was so long ago that I actually had to search through this blog to see if it had happened. But, despite loving the shower for the fact that it gives me more epiphanies than everything else in the universe combined, and it is a good alternative to taking a bath (I can't have baths because of my skin, dammit!), I've never masturbated in the shower. Well... until just now.

Despite one of my gay friends' claim that "you can masturbate in the shower" (when I was complaining about there not being enough hours in the day), I've never managed it. It's my thinking space, not my wanking space, surely? But nevertheless, despite my misgivings about masturbating while standing up and the horrific memories of tripping, snatching and ripping the curtain down by accident in a student share house, I decided to give it a go tonight. Scarlet popped up on MSN and, after readily admitting that I was horny, the suggestion that I should try came up. And so did I.

So I went into the shower and started masturbating. As I expected, it didn't seem to work. I was very aware that there was a lot of hot water cascading onto me and, although the sensation can be pleasant, it was distracting. I concentrated on the images and words in my head and, although the blood was pumping, my penis was throbbing and I was moving my hand, nothing else was happening. Water was everywhere, but then again, it's just water. It didn't help.

What I was aware of was that, with every pump, there was a slight sound somewhere between a splat and a splish whenever my hand hit my groin. And since there was a regularity to it, someone listening in might well have been able to comprehend what I was doing. No, this didn't make it any more exciting. So I considered giving up. Soaped myself up, washed my back and front, and then decided to have another go.

Abandoning mny previous thoughts about shower sex and naked ladies in the shower, I just replayed scenes from soft porn in my head. And eventually, after a far-too-long period of trying and a lot of wasted water (I'm a Green Party member, damn it), I did come. Or, at least, I think I did. I felt semen coming out, I hand to hold onto the wall to stop me from falling over, and my penis pulsated as it does when ejaculating semen. But I didn't see any. My immediate thought was that I'd had a dry orgasm... and then the realisation hit me.

I was in the shower. The water would have washed it away.

I'd been in the shower for a long time. I finished washing and stepped out, groping for a towel.

So there we go. One more box ticked; I've managed to masturbate to orgasm while having a shower. But it's hardly a time-saving, multi-tasking exercise. I wasn't able to concentrate on any specific this and, as a result, it took me even more time than it would have if I'd just maturbated to orgasm and then had a shower! But I had to do it at one point, I suppose... and tonight was as good a night as any.

Amd due to the length of the shower as a result, I can truly say that I feel very clean indeed... even if the thing that I've been doing is, technically, dirty.

Friday, 25 February 2011

Chasing the Orgasm

I've never been one for enforced abstinence. As far as I'm concerned, the ability to pleasure yourself is an extremely fortuitous thing to be in possession of, and for those of us who have mastered said art (yes, it's an art), there's little to no point in not indulging. There's a lot of stigma, and even guilt, attached to masturbation - more so if you are over the age of 18 which, of course, I am. It's called childish, immature, inappropriate, and something that is reserved for:

  • sad people
  • single people
  • sad, single people
  • dirty uncles

  • However, as we all know - or should know - is that masturbation is not a crime. And if it is, it shouldn't be. It's one of the pleasures in life that is free and easy. There's no shame in exploring yourself - because if you can't have adequate sex with yourself, how are you going to manage it with anyone else? And yet some people, for whatever reason, feel like they need to fight this urge, for a sort of righteous cause. That's fine too, you know. If you want to give up masturbation, more power to you. I spent years repeatedly trying to give up, because something in the back of my mind told me I was wrong. Eventually it dawned on me... was I wrong? Why?

    I'm finding it more and more difficult to self-love these days, though. When I was in a relationship, it was easy. I had in my mind the person I was having regular sexual intercourse with, and I loved her. I thought about her and I masturbated. My love of soft porn never abated and I had that most peculiar of fetishes, the desire to see other people pretending to have sex on screen, which also helped. I even knew where to find hardcore, if I actually wanted to see penetration happening. And I had sex blogs, which are often good at igniting a fuse, should I lay one out.

    But now I am once again single, I feel like I am in a state of disarray at some points. Wanking is fine, but sometimes it seems as if I've lost the ability or the will, even if I do feel as horny as a rutting rhinoceros at points - and there have been times over the past few weeks where I've just been unable to finish the job at hand. Yes, I understand it is the journey, and not the destination. Yes, I also understand that occasionally, through the grace of God, I have combined that with cybersex - or retained logs of cybersex from three years past - and that is essentially pleasuring somebody else, so it's not just me. But with masturbation, the general aim is for an orgasm, whereas I've always maintained that during sex, one should really be concerned with the giving and receipt of pleasure, and that if/when the orgasm comes, that should be a spontaneous thing, the cherry on top of the icing... or mattress.

    Anyway, there have been days recently where I've masturbated but been interrupted, say by my parents wanting to give me another amazing chance to break several bones doing manual labour in the garden (shovelling broken stones, really my sort of thing), my grandparents coming around for general interference, my sister wanting me to count her collection of dice, or general frustration generated by a huge amount of mess and noice, resulting in the inability to come and the urge to have sex replaced by the urge to saw my own arms off with the sharp edge of a softcore DVD.
    And then there are the days when events get in the way. I'm not one to forego the chance to go and catch a film or see a play, or even drink Lemon Fanta at a local public house, in favour of spending an hour or two with Mistress Palm. I'm not that far gone, people.

    So there are the times when I've not been having orgasms. They're nice but by no means necessary, and not having one doesn't mean I can't have another.

    But the upside to this is that, of course, when I do have orgasms, they are incredibly intense. I had one the other day when I'd been teasing myself on and off for the better part of about eight hours. It started with me thinking I'd have a tiny wank, but then I decided it wasn't going to happen, and thus the mazy dance started. I was doing other things at the time, such as job applications and eating food, but I was turned on at many points throughout the afternoon, and when I finally ramped up to 11 and masturbated lying in my back until I eventually came, I temporarily paralysed myself and realised, with an unpleasant shock, that the situation I was in, with part of me holding the bedcovers tight, and the rest of me frozen in a single position, was scarily similar to what TD looked like following a session of oral sex on the very same bed. Only... more masculine, and less good-looking.

    TL;DR? I'm not in any way advocating the act of abstaining from pleasuring oneself, far from it. I'm just slowly coming to realise the fact that it isn't a tragedy if it doesn't yield results immediately. On the proviso, of course, that it does... eventually. Because to just give up entirely would be silly.

    Quite, quite silly.

    Wednesday, 23 February 2011


    Following a quick Twitter-based conversation with Theatre Girl last night, and a related question asked of me on Formspring this morning (which recently seems to have become a "flirt with ILB" column, not that I complain about that!), I came to the realisation that I have never indulged in sexting. This should be rectified somehow.

    I've never been that into sexting. I do like texting though, it's a good invention. It's just declined in recent times. Being part of the last-year-tech bandwagon, I use a BlackBerry, and so I get BBM too, which is also a good invention. Back in the heady days of rudimentary Nokia phones, however, texting was in its heyday; I got pointless text messages from everyone, including the customary death threats, news on the next series of Pokémon, and primitive ASCII art of boobs and cocks, mostly from one girl I knew who was convinced she was funny.

    And yet it never hit me that one could have sex via text message. A friend of mine in the sixth form discovered a service whereby you could sext, so it claimed, genuine ladies, akin to phonesex, for the mere cost of £1 per SMS. He used it, idiot boy. I was amused, although not intrigued. But it's only recently dawned on me, why not?

    I've always been good at cybersex. I've not had it that often, but me being who I am, I've always attempted to keep up a prosaic, yet explicit, style that resorts to neither swearing heavily nor txt spk, which is perhaps the most abhorrent thing in the universe. Of course, one of the main benefits of cybersex is that you can do whatever you want to (as long as it's within the limits of the person you are cybering, natch), as well as the fact that you are effectively pleasuring each other from whatever distance. Although [insert necessary "no match for the real thing" comment here], I promote good cybersex where you can find it. And I flatter myself that, physically repugnant as I may well be, I'm quite a dab hand at wordsmithery.

    And I'm not afraid to write about vaginas, which helps.

    So why not sext? Well, I don't know anyone who would engage in sexting with me, but the more and more I think about it, the more it appeals. Especially as my current contract adorns me with unlimited free texts. Cybersex on the go? In a quick, concise format that you can revisit? And with a BlackBerry, stored in a thread format? Brilliant! How is this not unequivocally awesome? It's a form of sex you can have on the move... and how else is that possible?1

    Yes, there are the flaws. It lacks the spontaneity of cybersex, or the passion of real life sex. But what doesn't? And flirting by text, especially with someone you know you're going to have sex with, is always a lot of fun, and may be more fulfilling than sexting. And I fail to see how it would be likely to elicit orgasm while holding your phone, especially in a public place. But it's the fact that you can sext in a public place which makes it fun, surely?

    So, yeah. Blisters on my thumb notwithstanding, I want to try this. Although it's probably too much to ask for volunteers. Craigslist, here I come! (Hopefully.)

    1 Don't actually answer this.

    Tuesday, 22 February 2011

    I, to the end, will be your friend.

    Mini once had a relationship with a boy who, prior to going out with her, had sex with his friends. I didn't approve of him, not because of the sex with friends thing per se, but because I was convinced he would be bad for her. I didn't say anything, of course - it's not my place to decide whether a relationship is right or not - but he later broke her heart and resumed his lusty, hedonistic ways, or so I believe. Mini is now due to be married soon enough, so I guess that worked out all right in the end. Anyway, I didn't exactly start this post to talk about Mini.

    The concept of sex with friends intrigues me. I can see a perfectly strong argument for it and another one against it. I myself have never had sex with a friend I haven't exactly been attracted to. Rebecca and snowdrop were both friends of mine before developing into something more, whatever that more was. TD was heading that way too, as was Alicia, although we became friends after we met for the first time. Louise was and is one of my closest friends of all time, and someone I'd tell anything to - even if I don't talk to her that often these days. But all these girls I've been attracted to at some point, with the possible exception of Louise, who basically proposed friendly sex as a method of stress relief. I readily agreed.

    Of course, there's a difference between being attracted to someone and appreciating that someone is attractive. I've got plenty of friends who are incredibly attractive, yet have never felt anything for beyond friendship. I know, me not falling in love. Odd, right?

    Anyway, back to the argument. I can see a good case for sex with friends, which goes something like this: your friends are perhaps the most important people in your life; if your friends make you happy, you want to make then happy too. Sex and the other aspects that go with it, such as orgasms and foreplay, feel good; ergo: having sex with a friend is a way of sharing good feelings with each other.
    Evidently this is flawed, considering your views on sex. If, for you, sex is only something to be shared with a lover, then sex has a value, and having it with friends makes it lose its value. And, of course, there's always the danger that it may damage a continuing friendship - so you have sex, where do you go from there, especially if you only consider that person a friend? What if, following sexual intercourse, one of you develops feelings for the other? That's very complicated, and a risky business overall.
    But then where do you draw the line? If you have a one-night stand, does that count? How about a fuck buddy, or a casual sex partner? Do you watch films or have meals as well as have sex? Those are things that friends do!

    I've talked to lots of people - mostly on the internet - who will admit to having had sex with their friends. One girl lost her virginity to her best friend at the age of 12; they were both aware of exactly what they were doing and are still friends now. One girl asked me casually when I'd last had sex; I responded and asked her the same question. The previous week, it transpired, with "just a friend". And, of course, there's Mini's ex, and an old friend of mine, Lightsinthesky, who suffered from extreme virginity until the sixth form, then started sleeping with everything that moved, including one of his friends - practically every day, including a few months when she had a boyfriend. They had no interest in each other, Lightsinthesky claimed, beyond friendship and sex, and they managed to combine the two and justify doing it behind her boyfriend's back. While I'm not sure that I agree entirely with the whole boyfriend deception thing, I have to admit that he put up a reasonable argument in favour. And it does appear pretty common.

    It's a subject that's been puzzling me for a while. I'm not sure whether I'm weirded out by it or not. I kind of like the idea, but not that I've actually envisioned me with any of my friends - I'm too close to a lot of them to really consider it - plus, as we know from my catalogue of near misses, it's not as if I could just "get it" from one of them on a random suggestion. Sex has only happened for me through luck, and (now I think about it) always at some form of initiation from the other person involved, however small or large that may have been. (Well, it's a two-way thing, why shouldn't it have happened like that?) But, then again, however you view sex dictates how you may view who you have sex with, and that's what shapes your decisions in the end!

    Before you ask, no, I haven't had any offers! But would I have sex with one of my friends, if the offer came up?

    I'm still not sure... but I think, to be honest, I probably would.

    Sunday, 20 February 2011

    Soft Porn Sunday: Taylor St. Clair & Joseph Daniels

    Why, hello there. I am here to tell you a rather amusing little tale.

    [Sips his tea and smiles genially.]

    By way of entertainment the evening of yesterday, I went to a marvellous party. It was rather corking, don't you know? A ripping wheeze wherein we all came in costume - I was an Arabian prince, and it was all jolly spiffing, and rather topical in my case! Most extraordinary!

    [Adjusts his monocle.]

    And, do you know, I met the most delightful of people there, my dear ladies and gentlemen. Oh yes, I did. A veritable collection of characters - honestly, outside of the Riviera you've never met such a bunch - it's enough to make the most learned of anthropologists blanch!

    [Laughs politely; sips his tea; reclines a little into the comfy chair; continues.]

    This included a young lady named Cookie - yes, delightfully unusual name, I know! Makes you wonder if she'd come from a travelling fair... anyway, she was dressed as Isis, some sort of Egyptain goddess... and do you know, meeting this Cookie reminded me of something I'd seen one day, some months ago...

    [Lights his pipe, takes a few puffs, wheezes a little and smiles.]

    It was something like this...

    Appearance: The Exotic Time Machine (1998)
    Characters: Cookie & Leon

    I've already reviewed a scene from The Exotic Time Machine II. This is from the first in that sequence and, being made by Surrender Cinema, some of the regular cast members are on rotation again here, including Gabriella Hall,
    Nikki Fritz and Taylor St. Clair. Although, to its credit, it's also got actors you don't see that often in Surrender productions. I haven't recognised Joseph Daniels anywhere else, and Tiffany Gonzáles (who appears as a French aid named Mimi... really original casting there) only really appears in this... and, apparently, Love Games, but I haven't seen that in ages.

    Anyway, yes, this scene stars Taylor St. Clair. Not to be confused with Sara St. James, Chris St. James or any of the multitude of erotic actresses who appear to have the word "St." in their name. The set-up is ridiculous, but not as ridiculous as it could be. You know, apart from the whole time-travel element. So some stuff happens involving F
    rance, and some stuff involving Arabia, and there's Aladdin, and Marie-Antoinette (which Daniels pronounces, "Maree-Annwanet" - kill me)... and eventually the main characters end up in Al Capone's Chicago.

    I don't think Al Capone actually appears in this movie. He's not in the cast list on IMDb and I don't remember him being in it, unless I'm grossly mistaken. Anyway...

    Cookie is one of Al Capone (boo!)'s girls and, for some reason, she has sex with Leon (our hero!). I can't actually
    remember what the reason for this is - I don't own a full copy of the movie, sadly; I did buy it off Amazon on VHS once, but it turned out to be a heavily cut-down version, so I sold it on eBay to some bloke named George. Maybe there isn't really a reason. Maybe they just wanted to have sex. Maybe she was tired of sex with Capone and wanted to have sex with someone else. Leon's already had sex with Mimi, Marie-Antoinette and, I believe, the female protagonist (whose name escapes me currently... she's played by Gabriella Hall, though), but he's in a softcore movie, so clearly he has the stamina of a rutting rhinoceros, so he effortlessly makes love to Cookie on top of a bar.

    If you look closely, you can see Del Boy falling over in the background.

    Right. Anyway. Why do I like this scene? Well, there are some neat little touches. The sex isn't that spectacular and the scene could be shot better (in fact, it could be really hot if it were shot a little better - the same problem occurs in all the sex scenes in this movie - there's too much camera movement), but they've put a little thought into this one. There's lots of foreplay, with tongue use. Cookie is wearing stockings with pretty bows on (a nice visual touch). She doesn't take off her neckless of black beads, so that is in evidence all the way though the scene. Again, a nice touch. It also provides St. Clair something to play with. And the expressions on her face (grins, smiles, nice looks in her eyes) all work well. Can't say the same for Daniels, but never mind, can't have everything. So visually, this works.

    They also have sex two ways: missionary, followed by doggie. And both are played out quite well, with enthusiasm by the actors. There aren't any vocal aspects here but the music is suitably "ooh, sex in Chicago" music. Okay, so jazz or blues would have worked much better here - they really missed a trick there - but there's some evidence of blues inspiration in the track. It could be a hell of a lot worse, in any case. But what it boils down to, in the end, os your basic pointless sex scene. There's no plot relevance (the sex with Mimi has actual effect on the plotline, this is just tacked on) and although it's a nice enough scene, there's no character development either - Leon is well-established enough, Cookie isn't seen again and this is the third act, so it's clear they are just filling up time.

    But it's the neat little touches that do it for me. Makes me think that someone put some thought into this one, and for that amount of effort, it really does deserve at least one viewing.

    Plus... her name is Cookie. And that's pretty cool.

    Saturday, 19 February 2011

    Homeland Security

    I've been asked to sign this:

    We, the undersigned, can attest to the fact that [my hairy friend] and [his American girlfriend] are in a committed relationship. We can further attest that we have met personally several times; we witnessed this last in January of 2011.

    They're getting married.


    Thursday, 17 February 2011


    My jaw ached from laughing so much. I washed my hands, shook them vigorously to compensate for the lack of a hand dryer, and pushed my way out of the men's toilets with the aim of finding my way back to my seat for the second round of intelligent stand-up comedy. On the way through, I passed the welcome desk where I had originally bought my ticket.

    "Do you have any vegetarian sweets?" I asked as I passed, vaguely remembering the promise that by the interval there would be free sweets that weren't part of the Haribo range.
    "Chocolate Orange slices with popping candy inside?" offered the girl who, at that moment I realised, wasn't the girl who sold me the tickets at the beginning of the night.
    "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah," said my brain as I meekly took the pieces and my eyes took in perhaps one of the best-looking girls I've ever seen. It was dark, but it was unmistakeable how she looked. I said a thanks and then tried to walk away, but my legs stopped working. I had to say something or I'd have looked like more of a moron than I already did.
    "Do I know you?" I said. This wasn't a ploy. She looked very, very familiar, like a memory of a dream or something. It wasn't a generic face, so I was sure I'd met her before. Certain of it. But I couldn't place her.
    "I'm not sure, where might you have met me?" she said.
    "I'm not sure either, but you're very pretty," I said without being able to stop myself.
    "Thanks," she responsed. "I come to a lot of these, maybe you've seen me here?"
    I debated in my head whether or not to lie and say that I'd been to these too, but this was my first time at this particular small-scale-standup-and-music thingy. "This is my first time," I admitted. And then, to avoid an uncomfortable silence, I ploughed onwards. "Well, if I remember where I've seen you before, I'll let you know!"
    "I'll be here!" waved the girl as I managed to crawl away. "I'm on in the second half, wish me luck!"
    "I look forward to it!" I said with a grin. I returned to where H was sitting, having kindly bought me a drink, and awaited the second half. She was first on and I did a lot of staring. And thankfully laughter.

    On the way out, I caught her.
    "I remember!" I said. "You're like my friend Louise. She plays the 'cello, and you play the double bass... well, I tried to envision you behind a double bass when you said it, and although it's a totally different instrument, the picture in my head associated the two! So I haven't met you!"
    "Ah... well, okay!" she said.
    I walked off. I hadn't meant to namedrop swallow so blatantly, but it seemed like the right thing to do - and to be honest, the red hair mixed with playing a bass string instrument does ring vague bells. But there was someone else, other than swallow, who I'm sure reminded me more of her.

    I got back to wondering who as I attempted to sleep last night. At about midnight, I suddenly yelled the name of my sister's former housemate. In bed. I hope nobody woke up. Or heard.

    But at least I'd solved the mystery. Next step: acquire some damn confidence.

    Wednesday, 16 February 2011

    Valentine's Week

    So, apparently it is still Valentine's. That was two days ago, morons. But I've seen shops still display Valentine's banners and selling the stuff they didn't manage to sell on the actual day itself. Tell me if I'm wrong, but teddy bears with pink hearts will keep for another year. Hell, they manage to fight off Dr Coldheart on a regular basis, so who not just use them next year? Idiots!

    Anyway, so, yeah, on Monday I dated myself. It wasn't in any way difficult and was, in fact, really quite pleasant. I went for a leisurely walk with myself around the delights of the local neighbourhood... until a bus went past and I flagged it down. It was cold and windy, and I was trying to look nice so I didn't have my raincoat on. So I got on the bus.
    I took myself to Old Orleans. I've never been there on my own before, and to be honest, it's not exactly a place one can go on his own. A sandwich bar, surely. Pasta place? Fine. Pizza buffet... yeah, bring it on. It's always nicer for two, but on one's own it's pretty okay. But I waltzed into Old Orleans anyway and got a table for... two. Well, the concept of a table for one doesn't really exist, especially if said tables are square. I turned on the charm and was polite, if not flirtatious, enough to get served swiftly, the main advantage of dating oneself being that you know exactly what you want, almost immediately before you sit down. I ordered their veggie burger and one of their non-alcoholic cocktails, and got it promptly enough.
    I had a conversation in my head (as opposed to my usual internal monologue) as the rest of the place filled up with couples. I didn't have too many odd looks, although I was afraid that somebody may assume I'd been stood up, even though the staff knew differently.

    Enigmatic mode, activate! I HAVE OVER 9,000 ENIGMAS! (And other such clichés.)

    Ordered their mint chocolate surprise thingy for dessert after detoxing on water. I almost conquered it. Almost. I was enjoying it for a while, particularly the sticky chocolate brownie section, but when I got two thirds of the way down, I kind of stopped enjoying it. My mind flashed back to Grandpa and the Pink Volcano, which I red at the age of about a month and a half. "The Pink Volcano took ages to eat." But I'm older, wiser and single. I ferreted out the bits of meringue and ate them, and then admitted defeat.

    Detoxed on water (again!), and then paid £22 for the meal, which - although steep - is considerably less than paying £400 to go to Center Parcs. Although, as much as I enjoy my own company, I would have preferred that instead. Nevertheless, it was a cheap(ish) date. I decided to stop by at a bar on the way home - tottering down the steps to Tesco to get some money out for this purpose was only a slight detour, but I remember it because I almost threw up in my mouth a little - but the only bar in our town appeared to be closed. So I just took a sojourn home, with no wish to actually drag on the evening and distract from the main focus, which was - of course - food.

    I got home in time for Glee and inadvertently interrupted my sister, who was having a romantic meal with one of her best friends (whose boyfriend is a lame-ass and was on jury service, thus unable to take her out... allegedly). Nothing else happened of note, but then again, with the multitude of possibilities, it's probably best that it didn't!

    Monday, 14 February 2011


    I wish I could be more interesting on this point. I even wish I could spout some drivel about how I hate Valentine's, how it's commercialised, how it's driven towards couples and there's nothing for me any more, how it's all pink... but in all honesty I can't. I'm not a Valentine's hater. Of course it's commercialised, what festival isn't? But to be totally open about it, I love Valentine's. It's the perfect festival for me. Saint Valentine was an iconic tragic romantic hero, and I actually feel sorry for the bastard. Since I'm focused on love most of the time anyway (and at those points where I'm not, I'm focused on sex), this is a day when most people are like me. Do you share my pain now, world? Do you?!

    But I love Valentine's. It's never been as vomit-inducing as a lot of things seem to make it out as being. And for those of us who are in romantic relationships, it's as good an excuse as any to indulge in trips out and light PDA, and of course, intense sex.

    The last time I was single on Valentine's, I wrote on here about how couples can work this day to their advantage in the way described above. But this is new, forward-thinking, active ILB - so how can I work this to my advantage? I'm not one to go out and pick someone up - neither do I have the confidence or urge to do that, or a place to take them back to which doesn't have my parents in it (I have got to get out of this house!). Plus, it's not something you can see me doing really, is it? Not my style.

    So. Tonight I'm dating myself.

    It's perfectly simple. I go on a date. Alone. I take a walk to a nice restaurant, have a couple of drinks, and then have a good, indulgent meal. If I have any time left after this, I may well go to a bar, or just walk home (have got to be home in time for Glee, which is the most important thing about tonight, after all). But, after all the hurdy-gurdy of events that have been crashing around my head as my life gradually falls apart, getting the fuck out somewhere and away from everyone is a pretty good idea, if I do say so myself. And I need a good meal and some quality time with someone I can trust. And at the moment, that's me.

    This is, of course, unless a better offer presents itself. I'd date anyone else (within reason) given a chance tonight. But hey, this is me. That's not going to happen. So the plan still stands. Hey, shut up, it's a good plan, let me have my moment.

    And it'll be fun to write about.

    Happy Valentine's!

    Sunday, 13 February 2011

    Soft Porn Sunday: Krista Allen & Paul Michael Robinson

    I knew I'd get around to doing this one eventually. This is probably the first sex scene I ever downloaded - in reality, that's probably true for lots of people, but as those other people moved on to hardcore, this remained my favourite for a very long time.

    Appearance: Emmanuelle In Space 2: A World of Desire (1994)
    Characters: Emmanuelle & Haffron

    The Emmanuelle in Space series has always been remarkable. Allegedly originally a series, this was made into seven - seven! - full-length films. If the 'being a series' bit is true, then it holds up on account of the fact that there are tw
    o (or more) sex scenes per half-hour. It's also filmed in 3D - or so it claims, but the 3D scenes don't really hold up much - bits of the furniture are 3D, but that's about it. And the 3D scenes are filmed in a merry-go-round style, which makes me feel slightly nauseous anyway.

    Oh, also, besides the name, it holds no resemblance at all to the original films with Sylvia Kristel. Emmanuelle is now American, rather than French. And there are aliens.

    It's cheap, but nobody seems to care. Aliens come to Earth, disguise themselves as humans and explore the boundaries of human sexuality - well, you would, right? And their captain, Haffron (Paul Michael Robinson), finds himself in a bind, from which he's helped by Emmanuelle, played by the mind-meltingly hot Krista Allen. She teaches him how to have sex...
    and that's it. That's the plot. For seven movies. Occasionally we get Emmanuelle, Haffron, or one of his crew (who all have human names - Theo, Raymond, Tina, Cara, etc. - what happened to alien names? Did they just think of "Haffron" and leave it there?!) having sex with somebody else - in fact, Haffron having sex with random people is a very important part of the plot - but the majority of the sex scenes are straight Emmanuelle/Haffron - and why not? They are the central characters, after all.


    This scene happens during the first third of the second movie, A World of Desire. Theo - the goofiest-looking alien of the bunch (Timothy Di Pri) - has been taken to Earth by Emmanuelle, who is meeting up with one of her former lovers, Dirk Langstron (Steve Michaels), who is far too old to be having sex with her, but does a pretty good job of playing the experienced mature man. While Theo's off seducing a farm girl, Dirk approaches Emmanuelle, and then starts to touch her. We cut away to some aliens doing random shit on the spaceship, then cut back to Theo, and then back to Emmanuelle, who's having sex up against the bedpost with Haffron.

    There's a point to this, honestly.

    There are many reasons I like this. A lot of the fans of this series seem to agree with me. The position looks realistic, Emmanuelle is wearing nothing but a bedrobe (but she's not naked; a nice touch there, actually), the sex is slow and steady (so not unrealistic) and the music, a low thrum with a drum beat, is cool and not distracting. The thrusting movements, the look of Emmanuelle's face, and the fact that Allen curls her fingers around the bedpost - in fact, even the fact that she's holding on at all - gives the impression that this is very intense, very passionate sex. Given the fact that this guy learned how to have sex a day or so ago, he seems to be getting pretty good at it already. Fast learners, these aliens.

    But the best thing about this scene, which nobody else seems to mention, is the vocals. With every thrust, Allen lets out a little moan. Only a small one. But it's very, very sexy. Whether she was dubbed on afterwards (and I think she probably was) or not, each moan - different in length and sound - is in time with the position, the thrust, and the music! It's masterful! And she's moaning - that means she's enjoying it! Right?!

    With a final moan and a little laugh, she orgasms (or maybe he does, who cares, it's soft porn) and it's all over, after which she says the lines that spoil the whole thing.

    "The reason for my presence is as follows..."
    "You transmuted yourself into Dirk Langstron and came into my room to make love to me?"

    Whoah, whoah, whoah. You thought he was Dirk? You'd actually have sex with Dirk? And... is that a form of rape? Call the police, Emmanuelle!

    "How romantic."

    Oh, so it's all right, then. Happy Valentine's, guys. Let the disrobing in exotic locations recommence.

    Sorry, Krista. I know you're trying to leave these films behind, but if I could recommend any softcore sex scene to anyonw, this would be it. It's one of the best. It's filmed well, it's acted well, it conveys the message of sex incredibly well, and it's actually quite a pivotal scene in the series. It's one of the iconic scenes of one of the most successful series of soft porn films in the '90s, and almost an icon for the genre entirely. Seek it out, if you can(along with the rest of the 7 films, if you can stand the accents) - it's genuinely very hot.

    Saturday, 12 February 2011

    Ignorance is bliss

    "I don't understand this job," my mother said, after I foolishly agreed to letting her trawl the job sites looking for something for me to do. It's Saturday, my dear. My mother doesn't understand many things, including 1337 5p34k, so I wasn't surprised when I took a perfunctory glance at the screen and saw that it was a job with internet stuff.
    "Go ahead, send it," I said without enthusiasm. "I'll apply, on account of the fact that I've got, as the ad states, an Internet presence that's more than just Facebook."
    "Have you?" my mother responded, with a note of surprise in her voice.


    I have two blogs, one of which is read by at least a hundred people per week! I have seven websites, one of which has won awards and been updated regularly for over ten years!

    "Well, how am I suppose to know that?" my mother spat.
    "I've been doing this stuff since I was twelve!" I replied.

    But at least this means I don't have to worry about her finding out that I write a sex blog. Nice to know she doesn't really pay that much attention after all.

    Funny thing is, she teaches IT.

    Thursday, 10 February 2011

    On the other hand, with regard to sex...

    ...I thought, up until today, that I was suffering from some form of sexual inadequacy - or had been over the past few months. Since the combination of the "more kink" resolution and being dumped assaulted me on January 1st, the urge to orgasm seemed to, at points, be temporarily deserting me - the implications of which scared me a little. Old age? Surely not. But in situations which I used to find arousing, I wouldn't be turned on as much as I used to be. And in some cases, I'd need to touch myself, whereas I used to stand to attention at the slightest suggestion of such an event.

    But I watched no more than one soft porn scene today and had a really long orgasm, the result of three days of being thoroughly depressed and totally unable to summon the energy or will to masturbate. So it's nice to know that I haven't lost the ability... and also have the sufficient knowledge to know exactly which scene to watch to effect the event.

    And on that note, although I'm not happy about it, I'm now on Formspring. Ask me anything and I may deign to answer it, although I'll most likely be overly snarky or overly emotional. Fun, though, right?

    Wednesday, 9 February 2011

    Fears for TD, fears for myself.

    However many odd dreams I seem to recal having, I actually don't sleep a lot, due to the grinding bugbear that is insomnia... and whoever invented it should be shot. It's worse than IBS, seriously. I don't have any memories of waking up and feeling rested. Sometimes it's tolerable. Sometimes I can just rest my body and eventually doze off that way. The sleeps are light, which explains why I dream so much. And, of course, I can sleep when there's somebody with me. That sensation is very soothing.

    Two nights ago, it attacked me.

    It's very difficult when this happens, but it occasionally does. Because of the way my mind works, I find it difficult to let go of situations in the past. It's not a failure to move on - it's just a persistent memory coupled with the way I am wired. I wish it could be different. But it isn't. And one of the things my mind wants, in the case of all these memories, is closure. And I lust after closure. I mean, everyone wants it, right? But my emotions scream at me, during the long nights. I need closure. I need answers. I need reasons.

    This was bad enough after my first relationship ended. At least there was a reason I agreed with for that ending, although I didn't have to like it. I was being cheated on. Repeatedly. And then I was dumped (and I want to make this very clear - I was dumped; I did not dump Rebecca, although she was the one who was cheating). And yet I never got closure. She never told me why she cheated. I didn't ask her for a while, and then eventually when I did ask her, she raged and stormed and gave me anything but any reason. Note to self: never provoke someone with severe Asperger syndrome if the answer is important to you. But because there was never a reason specified - a perfunctory "I went off you, and I lack the common grace to dump you before fucking someone else" would have been enough - I still consider the fact that that relationship ended largely my fault.

    I started to identify the symptoms of feeling the same way a few days ago. I began to consider on the first of February, or thereabouts, that I was no longer sad about having been dumped (again!): I was, in fact, now sad about being single. Wow, and isn't that a maudlin feeling of which I have lots of experience? No TD is one thing - no sex is another - no relationship is a third. I'm averaging 2.5 at the moment, I think. But I've got over the shock, and perhaps even the readjustment.

    And so the same feeling manifests itself now. I reflect and then the feeling gets its teeth into me. Closure, dammit, closure! And this time it's worse. This time I was sure we were in love. This time I was sure we were going to last the course. Go the distance. I had something to work on, to look forward to. And I don't want to know why it ended. I was given a reason this time. I didn't agree, but at least I was given a reason, even though it didn't make any amount of sense.

    I want closure on things that happened within the relationship. I want reasons. I want to pick them out of the air and pacify my burning questions with reasons. They don't even need to make sense, they just need to be. Why so angry because we had to walk a bit faster to catch a train? Why slap me because I was making a silly face? Why threaten to punch me because we had left a cum stain on a sheet? Why yell at me for being passive-aggressive, when I was just being me? Why drop the hints that I wasn't as educated, because I didn't go to Oxford? Why brutally slice a wasp in half with a knife, despite my protests, knowing full well that that is going to upset me very deeply indeed, and then call me pathetic for protesting? Why yell at me that you are going to slap me for looking scared, when it's that sort of threat that scares me? Why think that, because I was looking the wrong way upon re-entering the room, I had changed my mind about us, despite proposing marriage ten minutes beforehand? Why hit me in the stomach when I searched for keys in my pocket, forgetting that we had left them at the hotel desk?

    And I am scared, scared of the repressed anger, the violent side that TD holds, that thankfully didn't manifest itself as much as it should. Scared of the power which she holds, the rage that occasionally broke free, and what could happen to her to push her too far. I fear for her when hearing about her past relationships, especially the last big one before me, the man who made her cry, the man who sent her home in tears, the man who broke her heart, and the man I had to wean her off. if you are in love, you do not willingly upset someone. You do not send them home in tears. You do not hurt them!
    And that is what happened to her. It shouldn't happen again. It must not happen again!

    I fear for TD and I fear for her future. I want to protect her and yet I fear being in any form of contact with her at all.

    Because I will want the answers. I want the closure. I want the reasons. Give me the reasons, and I will be satisfied. Give me the reasons, and the questions will not plague me. Give me the reasons, and I can spend my hours of insomnia sketching in my head, planning my days, songwriting or even just dreaming of the superpowers I long to have. Give me the reasons and you spare me the pain.

    Two nights ago, I was a wreck. I was shivering. I was scared. I was upset and even a little angry. I wanted comfort, I wanted security. I didn't know what to do. In desperation, I sent for help via Twitter. A few people, notably Anna, answered that call. Slightly empowered by the fact that other people still had the ability to hear and care, I found the energy to get up, pull my pyjamas on and stagger downstairs, 'phone in hand, to talk to the Samaritans. There was nowhere else to turn, partiularly when you consider the fact that I don't trust my mother not to be just as violent, and my father was unwell and it would have been unfair to disturb him. I stuttered down the phone, stammered my way through the line to salvation. We talked for an hour and a half. I was given reassurance, advice and even a little hope. I returned to bed and lay awake, a little more stable, yet no more able to sleep. The following day I slept in until 12pm, which is - in this case - understandable.

    I have been told that I never will get closure. The implications of this are dark indeed. If I don't get the answers my brain screams for, then I will continue throughout the rest of my life utterly convinced that, despite putting in all my best efforts, despite being the kindest, most loving, most giving, most self-sacrificing person that I could possibly be, despite just being me... my first two relationships ended badly and it was all my fault.

    And because this was perhaps the most depressing post I've ever written, here's a cat macro to lighten the mood somewhat.

    Monday, 7 February 2011

    Lovers' Guide

    Although capitalism equals unpretty, I thought I ought to point out that the film I reviewed last month, The Lovers' Guide 3D: Igniting Desire, is out today. It apparently made 18, according to Amazon, and if you're unsure about whether to buy it or not, read my review.

    Right, now that's done...

    I know someone else who needs a lovers' guide.

    I've been talking to this girl for a few weeks. She's French. She's an au pair looking after two children. She likes clothes, shopping, horse riding and other things that stereotypical girls like. But critically, she also likes reading, quiet, romantic walks and relaxing. And Camden. And going to the cinema (we both want to see Black Swan). And Natalie Portman. These are all things I like, although I have to admit that, were it not for Star Wars, I wouldn't know who Natalie Portman was. Nevertheless, these are all things that still stand. Perhaps more critically, she lives about 20 minutes away from me. Walking time. Ten, maybe, if we met half way.

    And she is charmante. But she's also very shy. Then again, so am I.

    So, not long out of a realtionship and not sure if I should be crushing on anyone particularly, I decided to chat to her. She was a tough nut to crack, but eventually I got her on Facebook and then she added me to MSN. And then finally I got her phone number (+10 Geek Points for also having a BlackBerry). After a couple of weeks, I decided that I'd want to get to know her. Going out for a drink couldn't hurt. But then again, I've never successfully asked anyone out. So I'd no idea how to do it. So I asked, and she said that she wasn't sure, because she was shy. But it wasn't a no, so that was a good start.

    A week later, I asked her again. She was busy at the time, but to her credit, she didn't say no. I left it in her hands.

    Yesterday, she sent me some pictures of herself. One of which showed her in some new underwear. I think she was trying to show off the clothes she'd bought, but you are well aware of the fact that you've sent a picture of yourself mostly naked if that is indeed what you have sent. She originally think that because I didn't respond, I didn't like them. The truth was that I did like them - I like her and I liked the clothes. I got back to her and confirmed that I did like them, but I was away so didn't respond immediately. That is also the truth.

    Anyway, so we got chatting on MSN and, after the obligatory "you're not fat, you're just curvy and feminine and anyway, I think you're sexy" conversation (also true!), she said she was bored, and so I asked her for a drink, quickly confirming via the wonder of Google that all the local coffee shops closed at 6:30 and then the pubs at about 10 (I wasn't sure about Sunday opening). She, again, said she wasn't sure, so I flirted a bit and she did eventually confirm that, although she was shy, she did want to date me. That's a yes in my book, and eventually, I got a yes. We were going for a drink! Although she did want to shower first, and accordingly I shaved and washed my hair and put on a nice enough shirt. I thought I looked OK. Which made her laugh.

    So I asked her when and where, expecting to meet about 5 or 6 and then have a drink and see what happened. But I didn't get a response at all. No MSN, no Facebook, no text, no BBM. 47's girlfriend, via IRC, told me that this is what girls do. 40 minutes for a shower, 20 minutes drying, 30 drying hair, followed by powder, a change of clothes, another change of clothes, makeup, jewellery... and I thought I took ages to get washed. I'm pretty sure the French girl didn't take this long. But it hit 8pm and I started to get worried and fired off a text. 9pm and I decided that it wasn't going to happen.

    I turned off my computer and my mother, interfering busybody that she is, suggested I send her a messgae via Facebook, something along the lines of, "hey, sorry we didn't get to do it, maybe see you some other time, lol!". I used my mother's laptop - because it was still on - to access Facebook and, lo and behold, there she was! Speed of light activated, open messenger, say bon soir!
    She said hi back. It turned out that, so she claims (and I believe her), her mother called her and, of course, she is in France, so there's not a lot of conversation overall - an hour or so may be customary - and then her best friend, to discuss her weekend away to (you guessed it) France. Next weekend. But just for a weekend; she's coming back, evidently. Part of me secretly thought that she could have at least given me some indication that she wouldn't be available to go for a drink with me, but I can overlook that.

    What I can't overlook is the fact that I've been trying to ask her out for about three weeks and then the one day she eventually says yes, her mother calls! Inconvenient, or what? And then again, what is the 'what'? And, me being me, a large part of me spouts the Americanism, "she's not that into you". But we haven't even met yet - so how could she know? Ay me.

    And so I went to bed very confused and a little sad...

    ...but safe in the knowledge that she has very good taste in underwear.

    Sunday, 6 February 2011

    Soft Porn Sunday: Jenna Jameson & Danny Masterson

    Yeah, I know what you're thinking, right? Jenna Jameson, hardcore. But I'm reading How To Make Love Like A Porn Star at the moment and, as it turns out, she did a lot of softcore in her earlier days. Not that it is particularly early days for Jenna at the moment, but this is, perhaps, the first softcore scene I've ever heard her do. And it's very tongue-in-cheek, as well.
    Jenna comes across as a really affable person in her book, which is good, because it's always a shame when you come into contact with someone you've long admired from afar, and they turn out to be a bit of a prat. I haven't experienced that so much (
    I've even met Boris Johnson - in the street - and he was nice enough even though I wouldn't vote for him), and I'd imagine (although I'd need to meet one to actually know) that porn stars, who have to put up with a lot, might be some of the nicest of all. In any case, here's the scene.

    Appearance: Dirt Merchant (1999)
    Characters: Dirt Merchant & Holly So Tightly

    "Sorry for using you like a helpless sack of meat, but, y'know, sometimes a girl's just gotta have it." Holly
    gives the Dirt Merchant a consoling smile and floats away.
    I wouldn't need an apology if I were the eponymous Dirt Merchant. Holly So Tightly (what a name - cheesy as hell, but if you've ever seen Buford's Beach Bunnies, you will have had to put up with Amber Dextrous for an hour and a half, so you'll forgive that) has been vigorously riding him in her swimming pool, letting out apoplectic grunts of lust - as you do, you know. The Dirt Merchant looks as if he's having fun, but taking a bit of a battering. All in all, it's good sex.

    This is an odd film, to be sure. Slacker-turns-PI goes off to solve a rock star's murder. And billed as a comedy. But I may have to dig out a copy and give it a watch, because I like some of the lines I've heard from it (see above), and
    I like this scene, even though it may not strictly be softcore. The sex bit is very brief and it's hammed up beyond all measure (think Sex and the City without trying to work out why it's Sarah Jessica Parker), but then again, that's not what this film is for.

    Jenna looks really nice here. I'll admit to having enjoyed a few of her harder scenes - they're all over the darker corners of the Internet - and she looks OK in those (she's a very attractive lady). But here she looks especially nice. It's a good bit of inoffensive nudity and, under the careful narration of the Dirt Merchant, we get a gratuitous
    naked swimming scene. Hooray!

    But what really wins me over about this scene is the quality of the acting. It's actually really good. It's real acting, with real dialogue and real cinematography. Both Jenna and Masterson are putting in good performances. The voices, the body language, the situation - even the relevance to the plot. It all fits together like a jigsaw. With boobs. And togerher, Jenna and Masterson have good chemistry - their act is particularly good when they are bouncing lines off each other.

    So, all in all, this isn't a scene which I'd use when I'm wanting to get particularly het up. It may work to get me a little hot under the collar, but what I present it here as is a good example of how sex scenes don't need to be cheesy or irrelevant, very brief flashes of sex can be hot, films can take you by surprise...

    ...and that the world's favourite porn star can really act.

    Friday, 4 February 2011


    Although sex dreams can be disturbing, they can also be nice, even if you don't think so at the time. I guess the scientific medical explanation, or something like it, is that having sex dreams is a part of the body's dealing with sexual urges in a healthy way. One does have to wonder, therefore, exactly what a dream in which you are failing to have sex is about. A manifestation of your lack of confidence, maybe?

    The common plot point about last night's dream is that I had managed to pull my teeth out.


    And that some sort of process had been invented via which they could put my teeth back in. Or artificial ones. Not false teeth, but actual ones that go into the gums and grow there. And I readily agreed, although still being unable to explain how I'd managed to pull all my teeth out with one small tug at them; I also attempted to get a general anaesthetic. After all, if your mouth were to be completely reconstructed, you'd probably want a general anaesthetic too.

    The conversation went something like this:
    "Do I get a local anaesthetic?"
    "No, it doesn't hurt any more than getting your ears pierced."
    "In that case I need a general anaesthetic!"

    Okay, it didn't go like that. That conversation's actually from Beneath A Steel Sky. But it went something like that. Anyway, they ended up agreeing to give me a syringe full of general anaesthetic. Unwilling to inject myself with it, I drank it, and they said I needed to wait until I fell asleep. The best way to do this would be via sexual activity, so naturally, I went into a room covered with drapes and coloured sheets and attempted to seduce Brittany out of Glee. Being Birttany, she said yes, but there was a bit of a fracas involving her going to get a condom, despite the fact that I had one with me anyway, and then us being discovered. Needless to say, we didn't have sex. I went to sit in a room with my parents, who noticed I was upset, and I sent Kurt to go and see if Brittany was OK. That didn't go too well.

    Later in the dream, I attended a fair in America, complete with new teeth and bags of confidence. And Robinson and, oddly, my ubiquitous parents. There was a very pretty brunette running a game stall (the only game stall there, now I think about it). I played the game (it involves rolling foam stars into holes), I won, and she gave me a prize which she said was appropriate for a lover. I didn't know why she thought I was a lover, but I didn't disagree with her. (The prize was a bag full of goodies, including a jacket not too dissimilar to the one I wore as part of a brass band...) The girl, whose name was Distinction, then decided to have sex with me, as I had clearly impressed her. The problem, as was the eventual problem with Brittany, was that we couldn't find anywhere more public to do so. We did kiss a lot, but never got further. I ended up getting her phone number as I was dragged off by my parents to return to Britain.

    I'm pretty sure I know what this dream is referring to. Maybe, I'm not sure about it, but I have a fair idea. I think it may be a reference back to years ago, when I was single the last time around, and my failure to have sex with people, even though I got close. I've no idea what Brittany's significance was (Robinson has a crush on her, but not me), nor that of my teeth. Distinction's significance has got to be a reference to the fact that I missed out on a distinction in my recent academic exploits. It's the only thing I can think of to link with the name.

    Of course, it could not mean anything. But it's nice to know that I can add two more to my wonderful list of virtual near misses.

    Thursday, 3 February 2011


    I started the day in a swimming pool and ended it by talking about QUILTBAGs.

    (Note: QUILTBAG is, apparently, the new LGBT: Queer, Undecided, Intersex, Lesbian, Transsexual, Bisexual, Asexual, Gay. It's more inclusive, but I am somewhat dubious. It trips off the tongue quite nicely, though.)

    It wasn't a very good day. I'm not sure exactly how to explain this. I'll try.

    I am still single, and I am still unemployed. I'll grant you, I've now been single and unemployed for just over a month, which isn't actually that long, but nevertheless, it's grating. As I was trying to explain to James on the way back from Spiritual Space, I am trying to divide my days into three factors: music, work, and sex.

    Music is the easiest to explain. I'm doing a musical endeavour at the moment and, although there's no way in hell I'll tell you exactly what it is, it's not difficult to work it out, considering what time of the year it is. It's not easy to write songs, especially when you've hit a massive creative block. I think I've been doing all right, but I still need to get back into the groove of creating music. This musical endeavour is the impetus for doing that.

    I don't have any work to do, but I am looking for work. And I'm doing some. More on this later.

    I'm not having sex, evidently. But going to events like Spiritual Space, CCK, and talking to people about sex will have to suffice. I think that kind of counts. And, of course, writing in here counts.

    So. Two days ago I applied to an online site which publishes nonfiction articles, and hires you on a freelance basis to write these articles. You write, you submit. If the article is good, it gets published - if people view it, they also view the advert on the sidebar. This generates revenue for the site, who then pay you. That's how freelance works, apparently. But, although this is slightly dubious, I like writing and I need some money, so I applied, and was accepted. That seemed easy.
    But, of course, the first time I logged in as a writer, I immediately thought, "I don't want to do this." It was all a little suspect and was now totally looming over me. Oh God, what do I write? I can't write about sex, because I have ILB to do that! What do I write about? Are they watching me, expecting me to churn something out immediately? I panicked a little, and settled on the idea that I'd write about the musical endeavour I'm currently undertaking. That seemed logical.

    What was less logical was that I had no ideas whatsoever about how to phrase the article until 1:12am last night. Out came the notepad and HB pencil. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Down went the words. Okay, I thought. Simple. I'll finish this article tomorrow morning, then record a song, and then I'll have the afternoon to write a post in ILB and maybe do a quick jobsearch before I go to Spiritual Space. It all seemed so easy.

    Dad woke me up this morning and immediately "requested" that I go swimming with him. I did. We then went shopping and visited my gran. This took us up to lunchtime. I had a quick lunch (pizza), and then hurried to my computer to pick up on this article, because I've always been a firm believer that when you have something to write, you should do it in the light (sex blogs notwithstanding), and it gets dark earlier these days. So I did a bit of research, and ended up turning in a halfway-decent article for the editors' perusal. Hey, if it ends up buying me a drink, that's something, right?

    So then I turned to music... and this is where things went wrong. I had the lyrics and the necessary instrument to make the music. I just couldn't find my guitar cables. They had gone. Entirely.

    I spent hours looking in every drawer and every cupboard in every room in the house. As my very delicate plan had been thrown out of kilter again, I freaked out a bit. Not knowing what else to do, I ended up walking around in circles. I didn't want to stop moving but I needed my guitar cables to move forwards. I've always been quite meticulous with where I place my guitar cables.
    Dad came and helped me look. We couldn't find them anywhere. Freaking out a bit more, I made some decaf coffee and sat reading a book. My mother returned and, after a search, actually found the cables under a pile of junk in the attic. I thanked her (actually having feared that they had genuinely gone forever), but was then faced with the decision: do I do the song now, or go to Spiritual Space?

    Brian Eno says, on one of his cards, "When faced with a choice, do both." This was, in hindsight, the right course of action. It was a short track and didn't take long to do with my guitar cables back in my hand and a spark lit back into my heart. I got a later train that I'd planned, due to taking some time to make the track, but I ended up at Spiritual Space as planned and ended up discussing QUILTBAGs.

    So, in the end, I did manage everything I wanted to do. But I ended up rushing a few bits of my carefully planned plan of plans, and having a mini-panic (although it wasn't a panic attack, thankfully) in the middle really didn't help. So I think the lesson here is: don't plan so much.

    Writing it all out here has made it seem much more simple than it actually is. But it's helped me clear my head a bit, which is good, in a way. But I think I really do need some sleep now... I didn't get any last night, after all.

    Tuesday, 1 February 2011

    Blast off, valley girl

    HAY GUYZ I'm like SUPER BUSY, lol. (but as an aside to the ladiez out there, i'm not too busy to HAVE SEX WITH YOU, lol.) I wrote this list, it's like waaaaay long! it says, like, do this open mike thing, so I did and OMGZ I was so funny, everyone was laughing, deliberately I hopez! lol. anyways, so it also says, like, today go to the job centre, so I did and then tonight it's Secret Diary, and that is IMPORTANT to me cuz she's like inspirational or sumfink! lol. anyways, it also says that on Thursday I go to spiritual space! && on Friday, I to do the CCK meetup, its so cool that we can be, like, super kinky, like more than holding hands and stuff, its naughty, lol. && this is followed by a meeting wiv my friends from loooong ago, and then the loverz' guide is out next week, so it's gonna be really busy, lol. and it's also FAWM so i'm gonna play my guitar and if this wasn't a totally anonymous sex blog I'd tell you what my artist name was! lol lol lol. olay, i love ya all, gotta go masturbate now, lol!