Tuesday, 27 September 2011

It sucks to be me

I'm not a fan of blowjobs. I've always been open about that. I don't dislike them - I mean, who would? - but out of preference, I'd give oral sex rather than receive. Although, of course, both is the best option, after all. In porn, they are everywhere, and from my experience, with very limited amounts of cunnilingus, while fellatio takes preference in terms of screentime and prominence. This annoys me (and is the reason, essentially, why I don't watch a lot of hardcore - although there are other reasons too). But normally, I don't hanker for a blowjob. Not usually. I like getting them, but they're not something I crave. I'd rather be inside other parts of a girl's anatomy than her mouth.

However, this morning I was suddenly overcome with a desire to receive oral sex that was more potent than that desire has ever been before. To further complicate this situation, I was sitting in the Job Centre at the time, and there was no rhyme or reason - no trigger, even - as to why I would suddenly want to be sucked off. I just, you know, did.

Out of the girls who have given me blowjobs - seven, if I recall correctly - cutieloveheartgirl's are the best, thanks to her enthusiasm for the task at hand, bordering on obsession, and the sensitivity of the parts of my cock she likes to suck. And therefore I've been experiencing the best oral sex of my life recently, and that's warmed me to it all the more over the past few weeks (although I've still never reached orgasm through oral stimulation, but that doesn't have to be the aim!), and I think the random fish through my memories, plus the fact that there was a delay at the Job Centre and I was sitting there for an interminably long time...

...plus, the fact that I've been incredibly tired all day and needed some form of relief...

...arose the want to receive oral gratification in me. It's subsided now (although I wouldn't say no, ever, anywhere), but it would have been the best way to pass the waiting time that I could think of, right there and then. And so... I thought.

Monday, 26 September 2011

Let me know...

It's nice to feel wanted, to feel cared for, to feel loved. But it's also nice to feel needed. Evidently, I don't want people to feel like they can't cope all the time. But it's nice, in an admittedly ego-maniacal way, to think - or rather, to be told, that someone, somewhere - someone who you feel you need - needs you too. Those little phrases you pick up from people that they may say casually, or directly, to you, that make you feel good about yourself.

I began to feel that with Rebecca pretty much immediately after we started going out - as she had a mad crush on me. This had never, ever happened before, and I was liking it with an almost indecent enthusiasm. Her phrases, hints, and suggestions to me - that she'd miss college to be with me, or that she could never live without me - were in almost direct opposition to her repeated indiscretions, but I quite liked it when she said that stuff. And I sacrificed a lot for her, as well, to prove that I reciprocated. Although in fairness, when she dumped me, I'd known it was coming for a while - as I'd worked out she was cheating; a few contributing factors led to this, but none as much as the fact that she stopped saying that stuff.

TD's philosophy on life was different - she didn't like the whole idea that someone would have to make your life better for you, you have to do it yourself - but she did have the momentary blip when she slipped and admitted she wanted me - in order to cope, perhaps? I was a terrible repeat offender, missing her over and over and over again and telling her so. And there were times when I absolutely needed her. Of course there were. And there are times when she needed me. But in this case, it was her actions, rather than her words, that let me know this. Certainly she said things - influenced in part by people telling her not to get tied down to one man, and so on and so forth - but she did other things, like coming to see me a mere one hour after I got back from a week-long Woodcraft Camp, which let me know she wanted me.

I haven't felt that way for a while. And then yesterday, I got this text:

I imagined I was grabbing it and you were fucking me as I masturbated this morning.

And a little spark ignited in my stomach, and felt good about itself once again.

Sunday, 25 September 2011

Soft Porn Sunday: Malù & Giancarlo Teodori

Let it never be said that I don't like classy erotic films. I do. I just prefer the cheesy, low-budget ones as they generall have a lot more sex in them. However, I actually own this one on DVD. I bought it merely due to the strength of this one sex scene. There are more in the film... but not that many.

Anyway, Scent of Passion is Italian. It stars Malù as a wannabe dancer named Violette, who is "found" by lecherous choreographer... Jeff. Really original name there for someone played by a man named "Giancarlo Teodori". They could have kept that name in; it would have been much more interesting than calling him "Jeff". But anyway, yeah, Jeff has this lover, Celeste, played by Ángeles López Barea, who is openly sexual. You can basically see where this is going, can't you?


So anyway, as this triangle continues, we present here the inevitable sex scene almost exactly halfway through the movie...

Appearance: Scent of Passion (1991)
Characters: Violette & Jeff

This scene takes place in Jeff's forest hideaway (because he can afford somewhere like that, allegedly) and would be your classic teacher/student sex I mean, can you see anything here? Really?scene, if it weren't so damn weird. First of all we get Violette allegedly dancing for Jeff, although it's actually just Malù turning around in circles wearing something resembling half a sari, before Jeff picks her up, lays her down on a white shagpile carpet and proceeds to... do something we can't quite see, because some twazzock filmed the next through seconds through a fire, so everything's consumed by flame. Oh, is that artistic? I see.

Anyway, with unashamed nudity, Jeff lies down on top of Violette and they
writhe around for a bit. It's not really that sexy, in my opinion, but they are going through the motions, and there is a fair bit of passionate kissing at points, so at least it's filmed well enough. However, then they roll over and what we get here is the bit that I remember vivdly - Violette riding Jeff. In this case, everything's better. The staccato movement of her body, the moans (which mostly come from Jeff, but there are a few of hers too), and the sense that things are gradually beginning to get out of control, all hint at the passion that the title of the film refers to. Here it is, guys! Enjoy! The angle's better here, as well - you get to see more body movement, and more of Violette too, which is good, because although Malù's not the prettiest girl around, Teodori's not much to look at.

This goes on for a while before it's an immediate cut to doggie style. This bit - mostly filmed from behind a fire
This is passion, presumably.(Again? Seriously!) - is largely unremarkable (apart from the clear addition of sweat - not something a lot of producers would think about, I suspect, so kudos for that), until the end, where they clearly are overtaken by said passion, and suddenly the sex is a lot harder, more frantic, until it all ends quite suddenly. Although I suppose the sudden release of orgasm is like that in real life too, so maybe that's a good thing. I don't know.

Okay, so do I like actually like this scene? I bought the DVD specifically for it (sorry, anyone who assumed I have an inbuilt love for Italian cinema - I prefer Japanese), so is it worth it? Well, no it isn't. As I may have mentioned before, the second part of the scene does stick out in my mind. But I think that, since what actually formed the largest memory is the setting - with the fire, the bed and the white shagpile carpet (which just looks like it would be a fantastic thing to have sex on, congratulations for not acquiescing and using the bed) - the fact that I didn't exactly remember what the characters did should have probably been a good indication.

I don't like the music (it's all arty and floaty, but not in a good way), and I'm finding it difficult to connect with the characters in any meaningful way... and, tragically, I don't really find myself turned on by this. I know I used to, but I think that in many ways I've sort of matured since then. If that makes any sense. I've outgrown erotic Italian cinema. Tragic.

It's probably just not my cup of tea though. It might work for you. Who knows?

Saturday, 24 September 2011

Fanny Hill

After about fifteen years' knowledge of its existence, and having seen the film with Lisa Foster in it twice (although I have yet to see the Russ Meyer version or any of the other 4 or 5 interpretations of the story), even enduring a year of working in a bookshop wherein I got over 20% discount, I've finally gotten around to reading Fanny Hill. Took me long enough. And since I downloaded it from Project Gutenberg and thereby depleted my mother's ink and paper supply, it's not really something I can read on public transport, as it's on a stack of sheets of A4 that I'm keeping in a plastic folder. Effectively, it's my bedtime book.

Something I've noticed about this infamous volume is that the language used by John Cleland is explicit, but in a deliberately flowery manner. I didn't know much about this book (other than the basics of the plot...), and although what struck me first is the fact that it is an epistolary novel - although not exactly overtly so, like The Color Purple or We Need To Talk About Kevin - what struck me second (because after a few pages you're thrown straight into the action) is how similar Cleland's descriptions of sex are to mine. I mean, look at this:

We had now reached the closest point of union; but when he beckened to come on the fiercer, as if I had been actuated by a fear of losing him, in the height of my fury, I twist my legs round his naked loins, the flesh of which, so firm, so springy to the touch, quivered again under the pressure; and now I had him every way encircled and begirt; and having drawn him home to me.

And it often doesn't let up. And yes, it is quite explicit. There's no question as to exactly what our Frances Hill is talking about in these passages. But there aren't any swear-words in it (they weren't as prevalent in printed media during 1748, I assume), and although nothing is veiled, nothing is on display either.

I like it.

So much so that, at bedtime (and often I go to bed quite tired, so having to read this ten pages at a time, whereas were it a paperback I'd have finished it by now), within catching a few paragraphs of this stuff, I am captivated, I've often found my instrument of mischief (again, that's a Cleland line - and I quite like that one) ready for - well - mischief. Not that I've ever done anything about it - I'm not one to start masturbating over a masterpiece of English literature - but I have felt the urge, even if I've been up to mischief myself during the day which precedes the sneaky bed-based consumption of words.

But nevertheless, it turns me on. And that's always a sign of well-written prose.

Thursday, 22 September 2011

Arsenal

Back in the day, when I was a young ILB, my regular source of erections was my Gran's TV. Gran, who lived in the same house as us until quite recently, is a keen sports fan - which is unlikely for an 88-year-old Scottish lady in a wheelchair, but she is - and for one of her birthdays, although I can't remember which, we decided to get her cable TV for her lounge (our lounge was upstairs; hers, down), so she could watch even more sports. This was good in theory, except we could only do so when we'd surgically detached my sister from the Cartoon Network. I even hogged Sky One myself when there were new episodes of Pokémon up for grabs.

But when I hit about 12, Gran's cable TV became a resource for soft porn, and soft porn only. Back then, I was kind of aware that watching soft porn was wrong. I was, I reasoned, under 18, and shouldn't have been watching this stuff. Because I was also a Spice Girls fan at the time, I had this routine that I would flick back and forth between the soft porn channels and The Box, and Viva Forever would "release me", allowing me to stop seeking sexual arousal and go to bed. Hey, it's a sad song, shut up.

I kept flicking between softcore and music channels, even when I wasn't looking to be released from my thrall, but this time because my mother had told me once that it might be possible to tell which channels you were watching the most (it wasn't), so I used the "last" button creatively to flick between things, assuming that this would fool the channels into thinking I was watching something else.

And therefore, any mention of Arsenal Football Club makes me think of soft porn.

You're confused, I can tell. Well, having grown up in a Tottenham-supporting family (both Dad and Gran are supporters of Spurs, and I suppose so am I, in a passive way... ergo: I'd like them to win, but I don't give a fuck if they don't), Arsenal wasn't often mentioned. My cousin, who's living here now, actually works for Arsenal, so it's got more prominence in the house... well, I think it does. I don't care about football in any way so I don't know. But what I do know about Arsenal is that before a cup final match against... someone else, I don't know what either... is that they released a version of Hot Stuff with genuinely inspired lyrics, such as this wonder:

I want to see the Arsenal playing some hot stuff... Come on, the Arsenal.

Marvellous.

But because of my massive amount of reliance on the "last" button, any occurrences of the track (only labelled "Arsenal FC - Hot Stuff", no album or producer or artist or anything) would be interspersed with channels which, I knew, played soft porn after 10pm, and therefore Arsenal's "cover" was sometimes punctuated with sex scenes, to that effect - appropriate, perhaps, for Hot Stuff... just not so much for a football team.

I still know which one I prefer, too.

Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Oral hygiene

When I am sexually aroused, I usually run my tongue around my mouth. I don't let it hang out or lick my lips, because that's just a bit creepy - and clichéd, and I try to avoid clichés like the plague. But I do run my tongue around the inside of my mouth. Maybe this is an automatic thing. I'd like to think it's a precursor to oral sex. And I do love oral sex.

However, when I am sexually aroused this week, the usual end result is me in quite a lot of pain around my lower jaw. There is a mouth ulcer directly in the middle of the flap of skin that joins the inside of my lower lip to my lower gum and it hurts like buggery to do anything that involves moving it - including talking, singing, shaving, or - tragically - eating, which meant that dinner tonight was a nightmare, especially when the stalk of a lettuce leaf hit it directly, like a finger pressing a button, and I would have screamed, but for a combination of good table manners and the common sense to know that screaming would have hurt even more.

Yes, I am a wimp. I'm hypersensitive. Shut up and pity me.

It's a good thing nobody's trying to kiss me or I may end up crying during the kiss, and not in the whole romantic way.

The top lip - or what I'm going to refer to now as the safe bit of my mouth - is actually incredibly sensitive, and to lick the bit in the middle directly under the philtrum (on a girl, at least) produces a sensation of being licked over a lot of nerve endings, similar to being stimulated in that way via the clitoris (apparently). It doesn't work for everyone (on me, licking my top lip just tickles, but then again I'm ticklish practically everywhere), but I like to think of it as a good indication that what you want to be doing after the kiss is to lick said clitoris. This has never been an idea that hasn't gone down well. "Philtrum," after all, is Greek for "love potion", so there.

However, I think it highly unlikely that I'm going to subsist on top lip kisses forever, and that if I don't want to project a scream of mortal agony into cutieloveheartgirl's mouth next time we kiss I need to get rid of this ulcer - if, indeed, it is an ulcer. It may just be benign and what is hurting is actually my lower gum itself, which would be the sort of ironic thing that happens to me. But in any case, I am becoming a slave to oral hygiene.

I've never really slacked off oral hygiene. I know you're meant to brush your teeth at least twice a day and yes, I rarely ever manage this, but I do manage at least once a day, and when I feel I need it, I do get that chewing gum with the teeth-cleaning granules in it. I have and use a tongue scraper almost religiously, I love swilling mouthwash (although mostly because it looks like I am expectorating some sort of corrosive acid afterwards and can therefore I can pretend I'm a supervillain who has that as his power), I steal my sister's plaque disclosing tablets from time to time, and all in all, I love my mouth (even when it hurts). Why some of my teeth still appear slightly yellow is a mystery which plagues me. It's one of the things about my body I hate, like my stomach bulge, the fact that my thighs rub together as I walk and my moobs. But I digress.

Oral hygiene is important to me and thus I have bought a tube of gel. I've never used gel before, preferring instead to suck Rinstead pastilles. But this is desperate. Okay, so I don't have a fixed date for seeing cutieloveheartgirl again, and I'm sure I could still kiss without being in too much distress. I could probably deliver perfectly adequate oral sex too. But I wouldn't be at my best... and considering the fact that I don't have much else going for me, this is not acceptable!

So... gel it is, then. Brushing, disclosure, brushing, tongue scrape, mouthwash and gel. It sounds like a kink.

Cleaning my teeth is going to be interesting tonight.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

TMI Tuesday: Decisions

These questions are quite ominous. Don't make me choose in complicated decisions! I'm just too opinionated for this sort of thing...

1. You encounter a good-looking, lost, and frantic tourist looking for the airport. You:

A) Shrug your shoulders, feigning ignorance.
B) Find the shortest route on your smartphone and get him/her a cab.
C) Direct him/her to the nearest bus stop.
D) Get your car, pick up his/her luggage and speed to the airport.

(This one isn't strictly true, as I don't have a car. But it's the sort of thing I would do. I found a lost old lady once and took her to the bus stop, got on the bus with her, and guided her all the way to her destination.)


2. You’re taking a vacation alone. Your destination:
A) Beach resort — I just want to relax and de-stress.
B) A group tour — I don’t want to worry about the details.
C) Wherever the dart lands on the map.
D) Every country with a hostel — my backpack is my home.

(This is a tie between A, C and D because I like to de-stress, although I'm not too keen on beaches, I like to be interesting and unusual with my holidays, and I like to travel! So yes, a tie!)


3. Blackout! You can’t watch TV, so you light some candles and:
A) Dig up some batteries and listen to the radio.
B) Invite the neighbours, light a fire and sing camping songs all night.
C) Find a friend and play games that don’t require electricity. . . Like chess.
D) Drive to the next town — oh sweet Wi-Fi, I’ve found you!

(Except not my neighbours. My friends. We are The Woodcraft Folk... Plus, I don't watch much TV anyway. It'd be my computer that's the problem.)


4. The man/woman of your dreams has finally proposed. The relationship is perfect, they are everything you’ve ever dreamed of and ever wanted. They are also a multi-millionaire and want you to sign a prenuptial agreement. Which would you do?
A) Sign it
B) Just not get married

(I'm adding my own option C to this - depends what the pre-nuptial agreement stipulates!)


5. If you were going to marry an inanimate object, what would you marry?
Probably a bass guitar. It's the sexiest musical instrument I can think of. And yes, my brain immediately listed musical instruments when it saw "inanimate objects". At least I didn't say a sex toy.


Bonus: You’ve just inherited a manufacturing plant that specializes in plastics. What are you going to make?
Action figures based on things from my youth that I think should have had action figures, but didn't. If anyone can give me a valid reason why there weren't Knightmare action figures I'll be very surprised.

Monday, 19 September 2011

Captain's Blog

Avast behind, all ye saucy wenches and stallion beasts o' the sea! Hop upon me Cap'n's Log an' see why me roger is so jolly! Prepare yerselves to be boarded!

How be ye celebratin' this magical day of true cultural expression? Be ye singin' lustfully o' fish and booty while ye raise a glass o' grog? Be ye flyin' through the air as pirates do, droppin' swords on yer enemies? Or be ye playin' yer way through Donkey Kong Country 2, or even better, Monkey Island, revelling in the piratical glory o' it all? Or be ye merely watchin' that televisual feast, Pirates, shiverin' yer own timbers? Variety be the spice o' piratical life, after all, arrr!

Fer yers truly, today has been a day o' voluntarrrrry work - but there be a promise o' a trip ter the local waterin' hole this autumnal evenin', with many in tow, like Jolly Jack Robinson, the bounding Mane, an' the young sailor, maybe wi' man-lovin' lubber costumes intact! Who knows? It be an evenin' o' high adventure and good spirits, ter be sure! An' although me schemin' sister has me treasure, I be sure to keep an eye (patched or not) on her! I know fer sure she be owin' me £2! Ha-har!

Me lady has been tellin' me this evenin' that I be the best pirate she has ever known! Warms the barnacles of me heart, that does, an' deserves a fine comment to go wi' it. So here it be:

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!

Saturday, 17 September 2011

Rah!

I woke up this morning; everybody was a dinosaur
Every motherfucker in the world is a dinosaur
Dinosaur! Everybody give a roar!
Every motherfucker is a dinosaur

Today is, according to Blacksilk, "Pretend To Be A Dinosaur Day" - although why they put it two days before International Talk Like A Pirate Day I'm not sure, but nevertheless, it's still a pretty cool idea for a day. And, as you may have surmised from the fact that I haven't been posting for a while, I was elsewhere until today. I was, in fact, spending a few days with my girlfriend who, coincidentally, likes dinosaurs. They're even making a BBC documentary series SPECIFICALLY IN HER HONOUR. And although consisted mostly of my leaving, we did celebrate the day pre-emptively. How? We painted some ceramic Stegosaurus moneyboxes, that's how.

You know, obviously.

That is, however, pretty much all we did that didn't involve being in bed. I mean, we got
out of bed, sure, but that generally centred around having meals or showers, or maybe procuring orange juice (but keep that a secret). The days have been pretty miserable, and in order to not get buffeted around by wind to an extreme degree, rained on torrentially, or frozen in the cruel North temperatures (it's very cold in the North!), all we could do was stay inside, and since we've only been a couple for a while, exploring each other's tendencies was perhaps the best idea. Well, second best. Stegosaurus moneyboxes were hard to beat.

I'm not sure how much I'm able to say. I mean, we've been together for a while and we've even had plenty of non-penetrative sex too, on holiday in Buckinghamshire. How much more do I say? Her blowjobs are fantastic; she is very keen and very good. Her hair is long and can be annoying, but it's very attractive and nice to stroke. I can bring her to orgasm by playing with her clit, sliding a finger inside her, or licking her briskly for a few seconds. I can also do that by licking her ear or kissing (although not biting) her shoulder. We had full sex this time as well, and although the shared orgasms were incredible, I think the main thing is that without even moving my hips, once I pressed my cock into her she was over the peak once, and would be so again if I just stayed where I was.

But for all the good that was, I think the main point of discovery with this girl is something I have experienced with her before, but failed to register exactly. She is very intimate. Even the smallest hug is very close - her bed is small, so whether we were trying to sleep, indulging in pre- or post-coital cuddling time or laughing our heads off at 2am about nothing in particular, there was a lot of shared warmth, body heat, skin on skin. She could wrap her whole body around me and think nothing of it. I could lie on her back - or she could lie on mine, pressing her boobs into the expanse of skin around my spine. And even in our least intimate moments - when waking up from sleep or merely discussing what to do - we were entwined within each other, a tangle of limbs, hair and hands holding whatever they could reach.

So that's what I've been doing this week. She is, after all, a lovely dinosaur.

Tuesday, 13 September 2011

TMI Tuesday: Dating

TMI Tuesday is about dating this week. This is difficult for me to do as, although I've been in three relationships, I haven't had many "dates" in the traditional sense characterised in the Point Romance books. I'm not even sure that's how it works. I don't quite get the concept of going on one date with someone. It seems a bit weird. But then again, how am I to know how it works? I'm rarely that successful. Anyway, here goes.

*

1. You’re on a speed date. You’ve got 7 minutes with the potential partner. You already know the person’s name. What are the first three questions you would ask?

- Do you like chikity china, the chinese chicken?
- Have you a drumstick and your brain stops ticking?
- It's all about value, isn't it really?


2. Have you ever participated in speed dating? Did you get a regular date/second date out of it?

No, I haven't done speed dating. My mother suggested I do so once, but I don't think she'd get a work in edgeways (the date, not my mother); I can talk for 7 minutes without realising I'm doing so.


3. Do you participate in online dating? How many dates have you had as a result of online dating sites/matches?


I've tried, but not through conventional means. I mean, I've tried conventional means too, but they don't actually make much of a difference, even though my sister is still convinced I meet people off match.com. I've never actually had a romantic date from any sort of dating website. I don't really think they work.

But in answer to your question, yes, I met all three on the internet.


4. You are attracted to:
a. Who people are?
b. What people have?
c. What they can do?

Why don't you phrase this in the form of a question? Anyway, all three.


5. What “little red flag” will cause you to end a date or immediately decide this person isn’t for you?

I'm not the sort of person who would do something like that.


6. What do you feel you need to sacrifice or have sacrificed to be a part of a relationship?

Oh, Lord. I've sacrificed all I can before. I don't plan to do so, of course, but I've ended up doing so because of the relationships I've been in. The worst thing was that I had to sacrifice some of my most deeply-held values because they didn't gel with the person I was with, particularly. I got less tolerant after a while and all I got for protesting was a telling-off. See, I can't win.


7. If you cooked for your date, what would you cook?

Depends what they like. I've cooked for girlfriends before, and it's been a range of things, but then again, I rarely get to, so when I do, it's usually something planned. Generally with pasta in it. I like pasta.


8. At the end of a first date, how would you kiss your date?
a. Press your lips against theirs
b. Gentle kiss on the cheek
c. Lots o’ tongue, like you’re on a tonsil exploration
d. I don’t kiss on the first date

It depends how well the date went, surely?

This is, of course, a guess, as - I've said before - I've never done the traditional date thing, really. Not really. I suppose on the only occasions I've had what you could term a date, they've ended with a full-on snog, but we'd probably have been doing that already anyway. I don't know. These questions... were they written for 14-year-old American girls? Because they "date", allegedly.


Bonus: You just put up a profile on a dating site. You must describe yourself in 10 words or less. What are your 10 words?

I've done this before. They are usually, "I am not interested in viewing girls on webcam sites," in huge bold capital letters. And yet they still try to scam me! What the fuck?

*

Anyway, if you need me, I'll be in the North for the next few days. Ta-rah!

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Soft Porn Sunday: Pegg Landon & Paul Michael Robinson

The first in the Emmanuelle in Space sequence is a bit of an incongruous beast, when you consider what comes after it. For a start, although Emmanuelle is in the title, she doesn't actually have a lot of sex in this episode, and for two instances of such (it seems a lot, but consider the amount of sex scenes in these films... 9 in this one alone), she is in disguise, so Krista Allen only appears in two. And for another, it sets up the plot nicely, but doesn't appear to have much relevance to the remaining six storylines. It's not a total non-sequitur, because it's a set-up... but it does mostly consist of Haffron having sex. Not that I complain, of course.

Appearance: Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy, aka First Contact (1994)
Characters: Louise & Haffron

First of all, I don't like the title First Contact. It's too cheesy even for soft porn, and when I first watched this (how old was I? 14ish?), it was introduced as Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy. The DVD's even labelled as such. I don't know how First Contact came into being. Not that I care much, either.

This scene is the last of three sex scenes to happen on a riverboat presumably going down the Nile. There's a very limp explanation for this: Emmanuelle has been abducted by aliens at a very inconvenient point: she is about to take a totally unexplained cruise in Egypt. Haffron decides to come with her, although how he can do this without having any form of ticket is unexplained (the Doctor would have used some psychic paper), and during the boat ride - you can tell it's a boat ride because there are occasional shots, from afar, of a boat - he sleeps with three women, one of whom is Emmanuelle in disguise. This is not Emmanuelle.

Say hi to Louise. She introduces herself briefly and jumps into bed with Haffron after an incredibly quick conversation (causing the barman, played by John Huey, to throw his list of pick-up lines away in a wonderful piece of bit part acting), thus begins the scene.

Whoever Haffron's having sex with in these scenes, they are all quite formulaic. There are brief cuts to bits of a boat (you do expect to hear this song after a while), more brief cuts to shots of Haffron's crew on their motherfucking spaceship (with the inane computer voice saying things like, "intuitive reasoning down thirteen per cent... mathematical reasoning down twenty-five per cent..."), often looking confused, music that sounds vaguely Egyptian in places and entirely naked Haffron. But strangely enough, in spite of this (or maybe even because you know what's coming), these scenes are all pretty good. I'll say this last one with Louise is the best, though.

I'm on a boat!The reason I quite like this scene has to be the position. Haffron spends most of this time standing up, while Louise is lying on her back with her legs open. In real life, of course, this results in deep, intense sex. I know this is soft porn, so it's not happening, but as we all know by now, Paul Michael Robinson is very adept at making you think it is, and Pegg Landon, as well as being a very attractive lady, does quite a lot with her face (which quite compensates for her not having that much to do otherwise). Haffron's movement is quite mechanic - hip thrusts - but Louise is moving quite fluidly in response to him, which actually makes for a good motion that complements the scene well.

As I've mentioned before, the music really isn't great. It's not well-thought-out and it could be presented better. But if it's not an integral part of the scene, at the very least it's unobtrusive, which helps a lot. And the soft moans here (which mostly come from Louise, it seems) are nicely timed with the thrusts. So it all fits together nicely.

The problem I have with this scene is its second half. They switch to the reverse cowgirl position after a while and, although the switch is somewhat seamless, the scene is a lot less "involved" this way. The position was working fine initially; why change it, especially when some of the best scenes only use one position? Maybe it's an easier position to do the fall back which seems to have to happen during every damn scene in this film.

Still, that's a minor gripe. It's a good scene. Not the best in this series - not even the best in this film, perhaps - but definitely the best of the "Egypt Boat Collection", and worth watching if you happen to own or be seeing a copy of this film. It should just be longer, more intense, and have more of that great first position in it.

Oh, and Haffron... grow a love trail. I know you're an alien, but at least try to look a bit human, will you?

Friday, 9 September 2011

Sharing a word...

"What would you to do me?"

That one question - a statement not exactly made in innocence, but open to interpretation any way you want - started me off. It sounds almost like an invitation, a dangerous substance to play with - what would I do to her? Where do I start? With a lyric - do with me what you want, but don't tell a soul? With a question of my own? Or with an action? I fell back on words, spurned on by my own imagination.

I spun words. I talked of sucking nipples, kissing the stomach, titillating the clitoris and licking the labia. I spoke of the ecstasy of penetration, the feeling of the penis entering her, and of her hands placing themselves on my back. I left a question hanging in the air in the knowledge that she was enjoying the words I was tapping out. She orgasmed, in my absence. She slid downstairs for food. I sat and waited.

My erection was present. I had turned myself on. A mark of good prose? Perhaps. Maybe it was my own words, maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was a combination of the two.Whatever the reason, I had turned myself on. MSN blinked at me to remind me that she was not there. I had nobody to concentrate my affections on but myself. And so I did. I took myself back into my imagination. I read and re-read the words with which I had indulged the girl from 200 miles away. And by the time she returned I was ready to finish. A few lines of conversation followed - we talked of shared orgasms, licking, and how turned on I was. And I brought myself to my own orgasm through that.

A shower followed. I got myself wet, scrubbed, clean and then dry. I needed it, that moment of refreshment during which I reflect. I always reflect. Another lyric came to me, from the same song. One that didn't need an answer - how was it for you? A rhetorical lyric, perhaps. I returned to the computer. She was there... waiting for me. I dried my hair (yes, I use a hairdryer!), and re-entered the conversation. We talked of Wikipedia, Coronation Street, chocolate biscuits and Aldi. I said, "your life has me in it." She said:

"I want you in me!"

My stomach flipped. My penis began to harden up once more. I began to confirm my suspicions... that there would be more orgasms shared between us tonight.

Thursday, 8 September 2011

VILF

Struggling to think of anything sexy to write about, I was just about to make some tea to activate my brain, when three sharp knocks on the front door piqued my curiosity. I hurried to open it, to see framed in the door four people I'd forgotten about temporarily: Robinson, Mane, his gay sailor brother, and looking casual and hanging back a bit, the young raver. They practically dragged me out of the door.

"Give me something sexy to write about," I commanded Mane as we entered the pub. "And don't say sex. Just think of something sexy."
"How about a Japanese girl drummer who looks down?" proffered Mane, leaving me to marvel at how he had recalled a list of things I found sexy from about five years ago. He didn't give me any other ideas, but he did question me about a picture of a towel which appeared to be covered in a red liquid, which I had, of course, casually deposited on Facebook. They all seemed to think it was virgin blood, but I reassured them that I wasn't taking part in any Satanic ritual. And despite having been bitten on the neck, I'm still not a vampire. I did, of course, spin a story involving washing strawberries, but they didn't buy that one. I don't blame them. We all know deep down that it's the blood of my mortal enemy, who I have, eventually, defeated.

"So are you now no longer a MILF virgin?" Robinson asked casually over a pint. I barely had time to ready an answer before I realised he wasn't actually talking to me. I am neither a MILF nor a virgin, so I shouldn't have been so on edge. Maybe it was all this talk of strawberry juice on towels.

"I wasn't one anyway," said the young raver, "but if I was, I would be now."

I, of course, hadn't heard about this. But it didn't take me long to find out that our young raver had been sleeping with a girl of 21, who has a daughter of five years. Were it anyone but him, I'd be slightly worried.

"Besides," said Robinson, "you were only half a MILF virgin beforehand anyway."
"I wasn't in any way a MILF virgin!" protested the young raver.
"It doesn't count if it's your own child," interjected Mane.
"Yes yes, very funny," said the young raver.
"It doesn't count if you pay for it either!"

There was a very pregnant pause.

"€30 for 45 minutes," said the young raver, finally. "That's not such a bad deal, when you think about it."

Everyone went a bit silent.

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience," he pressed on earnestly.
"Not for her, it isn't!" burst out Mane, at which everyone dissolved into welcome laughter, any tension having dissipated.

And it got the conversation away from whatever may have been on the towel, at least.

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Totally pure, right?

It's been a while since I took TheFerrett's purity test. Out of curiosity (and through trying to distract myself creatively from the very real possibility that I may be going to stay in cutieloveheartgirl's actual house next week), I idly Googled it, and found that not only is it still extant, there's a version two. So, er, here it is.

Oh, and for clarification, because I too was confused by this - the lower your percentage, the more along the scale you are. A low result means you have ticked more boxes.

Your Ultimate Purity Test 2.0 Score Is...

Your Score:Average For All:


Dating26.92%34.58%Dated seriously
Self-Lovin'63.64%60.67%Master of your domain
Shamelessness80.65%77.3%Has yet to see self in mirror
Sex Drive78.57%75.04%Monks are envious
Straightness9.26%39.44%Knows the other body type like a map
Gayness94.44%77.52%Repressed, are we?
Dominant85%86.45%Afraid to cross at "Don't Walk" signs
Submissive92.06%86.7%Submits to no one... almost
Fucking Sick91.84%89.69%Refreshingly normal


Total Score


73.76%


73.58%



Can't argue with that, I suppose.

Friday, 2 September 2011

Glad to be straight?

If I say "I'm comfortable with my sexuality," will people think I'm gay?

Okay, that's a really odd question to ask. Sexual orientation is always a thorny issue as everyone throws up the arguments of how to define and whether definition is even necessary - with the generally accepted convention that everyone is on some sort of spectrum somewhere, or that you fancy who you fancy irrelevant of gender or whatever, but a lot of people still make the broad distinctions, gay, straight, bi or asexual. While this can cause problems, if you have to label, you have to label.

A friend of mine who suddenly decided he was bisexual (although I don't think it's something you decide; maybe he was trying to be interesting) introduced himself to Knightmare Winner with the phrase, "hello, I'm Drew, I'm bisexual." He kept repeating the phrase throughout the following week. I eventually said to him, "hello yourself, I'm ILB, I'm straight." It has just as much value as a phrase, in my book.

I am straight. That's no surprise. I am attracted to people of the opposite gender. I've never been attracted to anyone of the same gender - I'm sure the potential is there, but it's never happened and I don't suppose it will, not when I have a particular weakness for pretty ladies. And I can say with certainly that I am very comfortable with my sexuality.

But some people don't think I have a right to say that. Some people think it's a gay phrase. I was once discussing a friend with Rebecca, and I said of this friend that she was in touch with her sexuality. "What, is she gay?" quipped Rebecca. Why make that assumption, girl?! (She wasn't gay, by the way. Turns out that Rebecca, in fact, was struggling with her own sexuality - still, it's a worrying sign that that's the conclusion she leapt to). It's sad, really. To think that being anything other than straight is something you have to deal with - something you have to achieve comfort with through time and/or effort.

Well, gosh. I'm glad I'm so normal. I'm so glad that I'm one of the few people from the CCK crowd who aren't in the least interested in BiCon. I'm really pleased that the majority of the Knightmare community is bi, and that I'm a curiosity because I'm not. I'm totally happy with the fact that Woodcraft used to have a rainbow support network for people who aren't like me. I'm totally happy with the fact that because I'm the least threatening boy in existence, people naturally assume I'm gay and then it's funny when they find out I'm straight! What fun it is to be me.

But I'm comfortable with my sexuality. I am perfectly within my rights to use that phrase... because, frankly, it's the truth. I am a straight boy. I hope you can all accept me for that, and acknowledge that I am what I am.

I hope this doesn't change anything between us.