Tuesday, 29 November 2011

Medic!

Catharine sent me a text this morning (well, realistically about 12, so not technically morning) which resulted in her having an orgasm or several. Okay, so that's the abridged version; the long version involves lots and lots of BBMs sent backwards and forwards, with her having more and more orgasms and me getting steadily more and more turned on until I was so tightly wound I could have snapped.

"Fuck this," I thought (although my brain translated it as "wrstfuglip"), and masturbated.

And that's where you find me this evening.

Okay, let me explain. My original aim was to read the texts over again, wank, orgasm and then have a break, and then put my clothes back on, rearrange myself and get on with whatever it was I was meant to be doing (I don't know what I was meant to be doing). But for the next six hours I just kept getting interrupted, either by various members of my family, sheer exhaustion, distractions from sexiness and all sorts of other random things like the realisation that I should have something to eat at some point (I made cake with my cousin yesterday, it was rather epic). But I failed to finish and so, however I was feeling at most points throughout the day, somewhere in my body there was a minute, unidentifiable buzzing of an orgasm waiting in potentia, but which had failed to be realised.

I talked to cutieloveheartgirl again this evening and once again the urge to orgasm was too great to ignore. (Besides, I was turned on but denied orgasm, so I just felt dizzy.) I tried again, but this time I had a whole day's sexytime thinkings to support me. I eventually ended up lying on my back with my eyes closed, breathing heavily and audibly (all my family had buggered off to various places by this point) and feeling my cum splash down on my chest, stomach and hand.

I zoned out completely, vaguely aware of bits of my body, but not really anywhere to speak of. I was brought back to consciousness by the feeling on a steady trickle of semen creeping down my side, which tickled me enough to wake me up. Unsteadily I stood up and stumbled about a bit, tapping out apologetic messages to both Blacksilk and the aforementioned clhg, before I was hit by the sudden realisation that I needed to rehydrate. So off I went. I was attacked by the munchies as well; odd, considering that I've had three meals today. I resisted and only had a biscuit with my coffee (really shouldn't have had coffee; it's the worst thing to have when you're dizzy, dehydrated and tired - but I wasn't thinking). And tried to realign myself too.

And so here I am - giddy, tired, hungry, thirsty, neither hot nor cold, tired and woozy... but very satisfied indeed.

Sunday, 27 November 2011

Soft Porn Sunday: Kate Vernon & Lou Diamond Phillips

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to watch this scene, review it, and then listen to Green Day.

Why Green Day? Well, I was struck by a wave of nostalgia last night and, for some reason, found myself transported back to my days in the sixth form, when my soundtrack was almost entirely Green Day (there was a smooth but pleasing transition to James in the upper sixth, though). I do, in fact, have practically all their albums, and their Pop Disaster tour in 2002 contained the first rock gig I ever went to (I'd been going to classical concerts since I was very young, but nevertheless...). As well as that and, you know, A-Levels, the main other thing I can remember from the sixth form is this film... the peculiarity being that it wasn't shown on Channel 5, or Bravo (which was the cust
om at the time), but BBC2. Very late at night, I'll grant you, but... BBC2.

Yeah, I know, right?

I overheard a fellow Green Day fan talking about it, although not mentioning it by name - and thus I knew to what he was referring. I didn't pipe up, as I wasn't at all as open about my sexual desires as I am now, but I knew what film he was talking about as I'd been watching it the previous night too. Everyone else in my clique looked bamboozled, but nevertheless...

So here's to a bit of my youth:

Appearance: Dangerous Touch (1994)
Characters: Amanda Grace & Mick Burroughs

This film had an odd review by a female viewer on IMDb, wherein she suggests you watch it in bed with a lover, which I suppo
se is more glamorous than watching it on my cranky old TV in my bedroom with all the lights off, but that's how I watched it. I was pretty amazed by the cinematography, but now I'm older and wiser I think that the plot has something to do with its appeal as well, and the sex scenes - few as they are - do contain this one little gem, which is what stuck in my memory like a piece of glass. I was pleased to find it for download, too.

The plot of Dangerous Touch is essentially a hustle thriller. The main character, Mick Burroughs, is a con man, essentially, and he meets at a book signing sex therapist Amanda Grace. Burroughs tries to seduce Grace, but she laughs him off. However, eventually (it involves a lot of pleading) they start a sexual relationship, and it becomes more apparent throughout that Burroughs is attempting to pull a blackmail heist and needs to be sleeping with Grace in order for it to work. Nice work if you can get it, I suppose.


It's their second sex scene that I want to share with you.

Burroughs takes grace back to a darkened house where they begin to kiss and things almost get steamy. Suddenly, there's the sound of a key turning in the lock.
"What's that?" says the sex therapist.
"It's
probably the guy who owns this house," quips Burroughs. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, they've broken into a house to have sex! Isn't that Burroughs a cad? I'm surprised they didn't get him played by Terry-Thomas!
Anyway, they escape through a window and climb into Burroughs' open-topped car... assuming it's his, anyway. It's an open-topped car, in any case, and they then drive to the middle of a public wood, because that's a much more private space to have sex.

Anyway.

"I can't believe you'd do something like that!" complains Grace.

"Neither can I," replies Burroughs, casually removing her knickers. (There's quite a lot of space in this car, right?)
"Really, I mean it!"
"I know you do." Removal of shirt with a casual throw over his shoulder.
"This doesn't mean I'm not still upset." Off comes the belt.
"I understand completely." He pulls his trousers down and she begins to climb on
...

... and his knee hits a huge, conveniently-placed button, which turns the radio on. Quite conveniently, the radio station happens to have been about to play Itty Bitty Pretty One, which starts just as just as penetration occurs.

And this is why the scene makes me cum.

Yes, she starts moving slowly, and more of her clothes come off as time goes on. And yes, there are the soft sighs and moans, which increase in volume (and pitch). And yes, the motion increases, and is very real. And yes, they're both nice to look at. And the scenery is very pleasant. But the real genius of this scene is the aforementioned song. If you've never heard Itty Bitty Pretty One, where the hell have you been? The song's intro builds up, and as it does, it gets louder and louder, eventually - seamlessly - segueing from background noise in the car's radio to full-on movie soundtrack overlay. And this, my lovelies, is good movie-making. I wouldn't have thought of it... but they've gone and done it. Don't hide this on BBC2 at midnight, media!

Grace, meanwhile, has spread both her arms out and is holding onto the sides of the car as she continues to ride Burroughs, still with the moans, which are getting almost desperate now. And just as our supposed orgasm happens... the scene stops. It's very sudden. But isn't it always?

This is a great scene. As I've said before, the main attraction for me is the choice of the song and the way they work it into the scene rather than just having it come out of nowhere. But it's the forest setting, the camera angles, the car, and even the whole set-up as well (gadzooks! not his house? the boundah!). Both girl and boy are attractive, there's no actual dominance of power (she's a sex therapist on top, and yet it's his car, his idea and he seduced her...), and the movements aren't even that fluid - fluidity is good but wouldn't work in this film. It's jerky, awkward and looks incredibly real. It doesn't even last that long and I doubt that spontaneous sex in a car in the middle of a forest would, really.

So, yes, if you can find it, do. I can't really remember much of the rest of the film (this was ten years ago, remember?) , but I did watch it all, so it must have been good. Check it out, I think it'll turn you on. Works for me, in any case.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to put on some music and listen to some lyrics which suggest that the singer is both happy and angry at the same time.

Saturday, 26 November 2011

Work it!

I made an important discovery during the week that I think boys should know, and it's all down to the Kegel muscles. We've probably all heard of them - this set commonly referred to as the "pelvic floor" - and there are people (mostly girls; OEN leaps to mind) who will boast about religiously doing their exercises, squeezing and releasing their pelvic floor whenever they find a spare moment. Do stronger Kegel muscles make for a tighter vagina? That's debatable... but, by all means, if you want to find the path to sexual enlightenment through tightening and then releasing your Kegels methodically twenty times per day, more power to you. Each to their own.

Which brings me on to the Kegel muscles in boys, or more specifically, me. It may not be widely known, but boys have to be in control of their pelvic floor to stop themselves from urinating when they need to. For someone like me, who appears to have the bladder of an infant, they are an invaluable bit of kit, and (blessed as we are with the ability to piss standing up) if you temporarily stop the flow of urine, whichever gender you are, and then start it again, you're using your Kegels. That's where those muscles are. And they're active in everybody. Physically squeeze them now and you'll probably feel your perineum tighten a little too.

Okay, and this brings me to my discovery, which needs to be said in the name of SCIENCE.

When I masturbate, my Kegel muscles are usually tightened. It's actually a natural reaction during masturbation - for boys, anyway - I don't know about girls (although it might be fun to find out!). It's not something that I've taken much notice of before, really - I'm more concentrated on what's going on it my head and what my hand is doing to my cock, to be honest - but there are other signs that you are heading towards orgasm that we all know about - tightened skin around the testes, a clenched perineum... and tensed pelvic floor. In fact, the fact that the pelvic floor is so tense during the stages approaching orgasm does aid the angle of the erection somewhat. Actively releasing your Kegel muscles may cause the penis to fall back a few centimetres - it won't get any smaller, of course, but it's a noticeable difference if you're actually looking.

And in my opinion the orgasms feel different. I'm not sure how to describe it, but the orgasms I've had this week with my pelvic floor released feel more... natural? It's not to say they're better, or worse, orgasms than usual; they just feel a lot less like you've worked to bring yourself off, and more like it's just... happened. It's a very easy, very pleasurable, smooth feel, and I do kind of like it. And it's not even something I'd really considered before.

I think the inner workings of the body, in some cases, are kind of left out when you're pleasuring yourself, despite the fact that that's what's important! - and it's always good to think about exactly what's going on. Not every time, of course, or the fun of external stimuli has gone, as has the spiritual side of sex! But it's these small details which can cause you, every now and again, to have a brief "oh!" moment.

Have any of you experienced anything different related to the Kegel muscles? I'd love to hear! Or is it just me?!

Friday, 25 November 2011

The Divine Tragedy

I woke up this morning in a cold sweat, stumbled out of bed at 6am and cascaded down the stairs in order to get coffee. Or tea. Or water. Some sort of liquid. My mother, who was making porridge, looked at me quizzically.

"I had a nightmare," I said as an answer to her unasked question.
She started talking about the dream she'd had, which wasn't very interesting - it involved my cousin who lives with us and hold-ups on London trains - and then went on to criticise my diet. But I wasn't listening intently. I was too wrapped up in the dream I'd had.

It's a really upsetting thing that I was dumped by The Drinker almost a year ago and that even with a new direction, new friends and new lady, I'm still having dreams about her. She was a very important, positive part of my life and nobody can deny that, despite what Nanna might think. But the truth is that I haven't heard from her for a few months now, my assumption being that she is in a library somewhere beneath Liverpool covered in dust, and that every time I play a song by The Scaffold, I quickly think of her.

Nobody who likes The Scaffold can be all bad.

But I don't want to dream of her. I specifically don't want to have dreams where I'm in a relationship with her - that stage of my life was terminated at the beginning of 2011. I haven't had any dreams that are particularly memorable featuring cutieloveheartgirl, and that's the sort of dream that I'd like to have, especially as I miss her so much. Hell, the dream I had two nights ago with Blacksilk, Lady-P and Nimue in it was nice enough (there was no sex, ladies, don't worry!). And then, for no reason at all, last night I had a variation on the same dream I've had before, only this time, the sex is full, it's in plain view, it's with someone I know (and yet someone she's never met), and I'm just sitting there and letting it happen. The only mercy being that it's in softcore and for some reason The Divine Comedy is playing in the background. But I digress.

"I don't like island life," my dream-self says over breakfast. I can only assume "island life" is the name for this form of allowed sexual digression. It's also the title of the Divine Comedy track that comes around the same time as Assume the Perpendicular, the track that was playing.
"Okay," she grinned.
"I don't like you having sex with another man," I pressed on.
"Okay," she responded.
"Okay?" I said.
"You're allowed to touch someone, right?" she said. "And you're allowed to give medicine?"
"Yes."
"Well, he was giving medicine." She giggled.

I wake up and I'm hurting. Why am I hurting? It's just a dream. She's not my girlfriend any more. She wasn't on my mind the night before. I wasn't even thinking about him - I haven't seen him for Glod-knows-how-long. Since May, perhaps? But it still has the power to hurt, to wake me up with an aching sense of betrayal, angry at the world, all the unanswered questions, the ghosts of history stabbing at my insides, and at myself, for letting this get to me when, as far as I'm concerned, it's no longer relevant. It shouldn't even hurt that much, anyway - there are lots of other dreams I could have had which would have hurt even more.

I don't deserve this, I really don't. H said the other day that I've gone above and beyond the call of duty for those I care about. And I have. H, 47, all my friends. Rebecca, TD, clhg... the ones I love. I've coped with so much and I've even managed to keep afloat through the murkiest of waters if someone I love needs me to. I've given my heart and soul to people who have thrown it aside. So why must I endure such pain during sleep as well?

Answers on a postcard?

Thursday, 24 November 2011

HNT: Grow a 'Mo, Bro!

Earlier in the month, ShortList ran a section on how to keep your Movember 'Mo neat and tidy. A girl in my class at college had some sort of lip-hair-related orgasm when she read it, and because this amused me, I said I was considering growing a moustache - as that's what you do this month. Well, it's a pretty useless month for all other intents and purposes.

It was generally agreed that everyone in my class would grow a 'Mo; this concept lasted all of a day to everyone who could be bothered shaving. This left me out, and then on the first day of this week, I shaved everything off except the hair on my top lip. The result looks like this:


...which is actually really creepy when you consider it's a mouth hanging in mid-post with what looks like some sort of dead caterpillar on it.

But you can't blame an ILB for trying.

Wednesday, 23 November 2011

Condobvious

Don't know about you, but I'd like to think that one may just be able to credit anyone who can physically walk into a male pub toilet and look at a condom machine might be able to work out exactly what a "natural sexual performance enhancer" does. But just for those who don't...

Thanks for the warning, guys.

Nice of them to credit me though, on the bottom right there. Very thoughtful.

Tuesday, 22 November 2011

Love your body!

I don't particularly like my body. I've said all this before, so I'm not going to complain about the bits I don't like, although the red patch where my thighs rub together is beginning to get really rather irritating, as are the callous calluses on my feet (but I have cream for those, even though it doesn't appear to be working much). Truth is, I haven't been taking good care of my body recently, especially as I've been doing that course for the last four weeks, followed by a very confused weekend of perpetual motion. I just haven't had the time for more than a quick splash or a comb of the hair before I dash out of the door. And last night I looked in the mirror...

...wow. Something had to be done.

First in the agenda was my facial hair. I'd grown my beard so long that you couldn't tell my Movember 'mo was deliberate. I grabbed my loyal, long-suffering electric trimmer and tidied up the aforementioned 'mo - although this made it too short. So I shaved my beard off. The sole presence of moustache sans anything to hold it up was weird, but at least it looked deliberate. I did feel the urge to put on some ragtime music and tie someone to a railway track, though.

I stripped off and despaired at my flabby bits, but decided to put an end to the dry skin and turned the shower up to "you sure?". I stood there... just stood there, naked, under the hot rain. Reflecting for a moment, I smothered myself in tea tree oil from head to toe and limbered up for the grand assault, sidestepping back into the water and feeling it throb down, cleansing my skin and making my muscles scream with relief. I did the same with my head, covering the brutally short stubble, corners of my neck, nose, forehead, backs of ears and the incongruous three spots which have appeared in the same generic area (I know not why) in the same Myrtacean substance. And on went the shampoo and conditioner, so much so that I could coat my pubic hair in it as well.

I'd trimmed my pubic hair too, by the way. Not with the electric shaver, though. That's just a bit too wrong. I just tidied it up with nail scissors... mostly for my own amusement.

I dripped onto the bath mat as I finally stepped back into the dry world, the steam of the bathroom billowing around me, obscuring my vision, kickstarting my other senses. I felt the smooth sensation of the water droplets running down my skin, heard the trickle of water running down the marble, could sense the tea tree hanging in the air. I ran through what was left to do in my head. Cleaning my teeth... drying my hair... towelling off. Yes, I could do all that. That was achievable. After the rest of yesterday, wherein everything I tried seemed nigh on insurmountable, this was good. This was something I could do.

Skip forward an hour.

I lay myself down. I was clean and dry. I'd looked in the mirror and grinned at myself, even if I did still look like a silent movie villain. I'd had a bit of toast and even some hot chocolate. I'd even given myself an orgasm, just to take the edge off things. And as I wrapped my arms around Oxford, pulled the duvet over my newly soft skin and felt the blood pulse repeatedly through my limbs, I let out a breath of contentment at last. After all the strain, for a while, at least, I'd managed to love my body.

Monday, 21 November 2011

Weakending

I finished my course (and by "finished" I mean "completed" [and by "completed" I mean "passed" {and by "passed" I actually mean, "everyone passed", so it's not exactly that special, but I still finished!}]), and I was all up for a weekend of resting - "resting" in this case probably being defined as turning the radiators from "off" to "bastard", lying on my back and masturbating myself to sleep, thus staying prone for two days in a decadent haze of slumber, soft porn and Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest. That didn't exactly go to plan as my mother decided that she'd wake me up at 9am on Saturday morning to tell me that I should be looking for jobs.

On a Saturday.
In the run-up to Christmas.
With a qualification that I only got told I'd be getting within the next two months the day beforehand.

As you can imagine, I wasn't best pleased, and so I went downstairs to complain negotiate with Dad, while the cat looked on disdainfully. In order to clarify what happened during this conversation, I'll transcribe it using language that felicitous youth might understand.

ILB: "Yo dawg, what'up?"
Dad: "What'up, G-money?"
ILB: "Yo woman is well up in my case, innit? She like getawp an'stuff."
Dad: "You gotta get a job, innit, blud?"
ILB: "Standard. It's just, I'm hella tired, djagetme?"
Dad: "D'ya for real, gee?"
ILB: "Totes."
Dad: "Okay, coolcat, ya go rest ya' heed, yo."
ILB: "Pizzahut!"
Willow: "I'm a cat."

However, before I could actually do much, I was unexpectedly on a train to Kent. 47 had organised a house party and I was there for some reason. People set fire to things and I sat there unable to eat most of the food. We ended up playing the new Kirby game on the Wii, which is incredible, watching Super Mario Bros. cartoons and getting to sleep at about 3am. 47 also talked about his cock for some reason. I can't even begin to fathom what the reason was.

I was dangerously close to getting the rest that I so desired when I was awoken by 47 with a desire to go to church, which I did (his church, not mine). I then leaned back on the passenger chair in his car as he drove to London... picking up a drum kit on the way to my house.

Yes, really.

By this time I was somewhere between delirious and the beginning stages of a coma, and I just about managed to put the drums in my lounge (they're still in my lounge), mumble something to my mother about food and head to the nearest café for the first food of the day. 3:30 pm appears to be an acceptable time for breakfast now. I stumbled into my bedroom and collapsed onto the squashy duvet, telling @notCatharine (who I'd been texting all afternoon) that I was just having a quick rest.

Evidently I fell asleep, and was awoken about an hour later by my mother telling me we were going to my uncle's birthday gathering...

I got very little sleep this weekend.

Sorry for the random nature of this post. I needed to say something at some point, and in the absence of sexiness (with the exception of 47's cock and sexting Catharine), sleep (or lack of the same) was my natural fallback. If only it were my natural state too...

Wednesday, 16 November 2011

Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2011

Oh, hey. Rori's Top 100 Sex Bloggers list is out. And not before time, too! So... after last year's result of not being on the list at all (despite there being a fake person at #1), did I make it in this year?
  1. Guy New York (@quickiesnewyork) and The Dirty Gentleman from Quickies in New York
  2. Charlotte Times (@charlotte_times) from The Life and Charlotte Times
  3. Kendra Holliday (@TBK365 and @beautifulkind) from The Beautiful Kind
  4. Amie Wee (@crevicecanyon) from Crevice Canyon
  5. Riff Dog from Ashley and Me
  6. Catherine Toyooka (@Catcoaches) from Sex Spoken Here: Secrets of a Sexuality Educator
  7. Vineyard Road (@vineyardroad) from Vineyard Road
  8. David (@DavidinVegas) from A View from the Top
  9. Quizzical Pussy (@quizzicalpussy) from Quizzical Pussy
  10. Athol Kay from Married Man Sex Life
  11. Dick and Jane from Dick-n-Jane
  12. EA (@easilyaroused) from Easily Aroused
  13. Axe (@unspeakableaxe) from Unspeakable Axe
  14. Joan Price (@JoanPrice) from Naked at Our Age – Better Than I Ever Expected
  15. Oatmeal Girl (@oatmeal_girl) from Submission & Metaphor
  16. Dark Gracie (@darkgracie) from Dark Gracie
  17. Mistress Lilyana (@MistressLilyana) from Mistress Lilyana
  18. Kyle Jones (@butchtastickyle) from Butchtastic
  19. Cheeky Minx (@LoveHateSexCake) from Love Hate Sex Cake
  20. Adam from The Mind of a Married Man
  21. Dr. Marty Klein (@drmartyklein) from Sexual Intelligence
  22. Lady Pandorah (@ladypandorah) from Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary
  23. Holly (@pervocracy) from The Pervocracy
  24. Brooke from Puppy Tales
  25. Lady Dragonfly (@miladydragonfly) from Lady Dragonfly
  26. nilla (@swirlednilla) from Vanillamom’s Blog
  27. Wilhelmina Wang (@wilhelminawang) from Heartbreak Nymphomania
  28. Holden (@packingvocals) from Packing Vocals
  29. 25 Things from 25 Things About My Sexuality
  30. Thumper (@thumperMN) from Denying Thumber
  31. Kake (@poeticerotica) from Poetic Erotica
  32. Lucas (@top2bottom) from Top to Bottom
  33. Ms. Diane D from Bi and Large – Cuckolding with a Twist
  34. Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross (@dodsonandross) from Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross – Sex Information Online
  35. Kat from Prowling with Kat
  36. The Gentle Nibbles Writing Team (@gentlenibbles) from Gentle Nibbles
  37. Pandora (@pandorablake) from Spanked, Not Silenced
  38. Molly (@mollysdailykiss) from Molly’s Daily Kiss
  39. Vixen from Secrets of a Blue-Eyed Vixen
  40. DDD from Dick Dyke Dick
  41. Jade (@piecesofjade) from Pieces of Jade
  42. Jiz Lee (@jizlee) from Jiz Lee
  43. Sin from Finding My Submission
  44. Kris from The Phone Courtesan
  45. SapioSlut from SapioSlut
  46. Rockin’ (@RockinwithaCock) from Light Switch
  47. Rachael (@rabbitwhite) from Rachel Rabbit White
  48. Neo Dom Tom from A Bedroom Dom
  49. Daisy Danger (@daisydanger) from The True Life Sex Adventures of Daisy Danger
  50. Violet & Rye (@UCAppetites) from Uncommon Appetites
  51. Kaya from Under His Hand
  52. Lilith (@lilith9465) from Lilith Land
  53. Lady Grinning Soul (@LadyGrinSoul) from Lady Grinning Soul
  54. Septimus from Dirty Art by Septimus
  55. Roxy (@sroxy) from Uncommon Curiosity
  56. Anakin (@AnakinDarth) and Padme (@padmeamidala) from Journey to the Darkside
  57. Dr. Charlie Glickman (@charlieglickman) from Adult Sexuality Education
  58. Lily from theblackleatherbelt
  59. Arabella (@askarabella) from Bombshells & Rockstars
  60. SN from Peel It Off!
  61. Bre from Owned, Collared, Loved
  62. Adriana Ravenlust from Of Sex and Love
  63. Delilah (@definingdelilah) from Defining Delilah
  64. Arthur and Annabelle (@lustandconfused) from Lust and Confused
  65. Lorelei (@suggestive) from Suggestive Tongue
  66. Kitty Stryker from PurrVersatility
  67. Mollena (@Mollena) from The Perverted Negress
  68. Naughty Lexi from Exploits of Lexi
  69. Karen Blue (@kissinbluekaren) from Kissing Blue Karen
  70. Arti (@ArtiAbsinthium) from Absinthe Cocktail
  71. Figleaf (@talkingfigleaf) from Real Adult Sex
  72. Miranda and Aarron from The Swingers Attic
  73. Blacksilk (@BlacksilkBlog) from Blacksilk’s Boudoir
  74. Violet (@violetscreaming) from Screaming Violet
  75. Ferns (@Ferns__) from Domme Chronicles
  76. SlipperyWhnWhet (@SlipperyWhnWhet) from A Slut’s Memoir
  77. Fruit Taster (@fruittaster) from Fruits of Libido
  78. Mrs. Discontented (@DiscontentedMrs) from Mrs. Discontented
  79. Aisha from Being Aisha
  80. Ruby Ryder from Pegging Paradise
  81. Chrystal Bougon from Better Sex Radio
  82. Lipstick Lori (@lipsticklori) from Rarely Wears Lipstick
  83. CarrieAnn (@CarrieAnn_) from A View from the Floor
  84. Dangerous Lilly (@dangerouslilly) from This Could Be Dangerous
  85. Electronic Doll (@electronic_doll) from Post Modern Sleaze
  86. Jerome from Let’s Talk About Sex
  87. Dusk (@dusk_in_chains) from Dusk (in chains)
  88. Innocent Loverboy (@innocentlb) from Innocent Loverboy
  89. RHS from The Redheaded Slut
  90. Violet Blue (@violetblue) from Tiny Nibbles
  91. Amy (@AnalAmy) from Anal Amy
  92. Curvaceous Dee (@curvaceousdee) from Curvaceous Dee
  93. Jason Stotts (@Jstotts) from Erosophia
  94. Mistress Kay (@mistress_kay) from Kinky World
  95. Viemoira from Cavern of the Beast
  96. Lucid (@lucidobsession) from Lucid Obsession
  97. ♀ & sss (@sweatshopsissy) from Sweat Shop Sissy
  98. Kat (@shackledkat) from She Makes the Rules
  99. Yummy from Sexual Adventures of a Married Woman
  100. Anyone else
Thank Glod! I made it back on! And at #88, I'm in at 9 places above where I was in 2009, where I clocked in at #97. So, yes. In the top 90. Not too bad, I guess. And I'm glad I was at least nominated, and deemed worthy enough to make it back on. After four years of tapping away at this blog, it's good to get some sort of ego boost.

Congratulations also to my friends Lady P and Blacksilk, who both made it back onto the list. In much higher positions than me. I guess they're more exciting, or something. Nice one, ladies.

Right, now to edit the buttons on my sidebar...

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Sleep with us?

Okay, so you know how I usually have my sex dreams in soft porn? This one takes some beating.

I went to bed at about 10 last night, which is early for me. I was being good and really needing some concentrated rest, and presumed that going to bed at 10 would mean I got more sleep. It worked... sort of. I was dozing by about half past, and by some point around eleven I was properly asleep, during which I had the following dream:

I was wanking while watching a soft porn scene starring two hardcore actors (at least, I assume I was watching - this was all I could see). This scene doesn't actually exist, and I've forgotten who the hardcore stars were. I don't watch enough hardcore to have an in-depth knowledge of their identities, so let's say Peter North and Laura Angel. I found it unusual that they were appearing in softcore... and strangely enough, so did they. North was in fact narrating how unusual he found it, and kept putting his cock in different places to find which one was most comfortable (apart from inside Laura Angel; this was, after all, softcore). At one point, I said out loud, "of course, both he and she usually do hardcore," at which they nodded sagely, as they could, of course, hear me.

I felt like I as about to orgasm, so I scrolled back (I know, right?!) to the beginning of the film, and got ready to let loose, when I... woke up.

It was 11:30. I hadn't even been asleep for an hour, and since I'd woken up in the middle of it, the dream was fresh in my mind. I was horny too, with an almost apoplectic rage storming through my crotch. I wrapped my hand around my own cock - feeling possibly one of the biggest erections I've ever experienced. I considered dealing with it myself - finishing the job the dream had so graphically started. But I couldn't. I just couldn't finish. I was so hard it was starting to hurt, but I just knew I wouldn't be able to finish the job. What's more, I wasn't even able to go back to sleep, either - half of me wanted to get back into that dream, while the other half wanted a blowjob, but the persistent voice in my ear came from the shoulder angel telling me that I really should just try and get to sleep.

I went and made myself a hot chocolate, and sat up in bed for a while, thinking of the dream that was still buzzing through my mind, the faces and bodies of the two having pretend sex, and exactly how I had felt when I was nearing the climax that never came.

I didn't get much sleep for the rest of the night.

Sunday, 13 November 2011

I'm bringing sexy back...

Last night @JillyBoyd linked me to rainymood.com, a site which makes you feel warm and cosy by playing the sounds of rain indefinitely from your computer's speakers. I left it on in the background and continued doing whatever the hell it was I was doing on the Internet. I can't remember what it was. It probably wasn't important. But listening to ther fake rain did help me feel a bit better. I gradually re-aligned, found my centre again. And I was browsing things I used to browse a year or so ago, wondering idly what happened to @drowningnight and @Nabokov_Junkie. I even found some of Naive London Girl's blog via the Web Archive. It took me back to easier times, as the rain went pitter-patter on my screen and I read back through things I'd already seen.

@notCatharine came online and we chatted for a while. The conversation peaked and troughed, but it ended up in laughter and thoughts of shared cuddles and sex, and when it was about ten past midnight, I decided I'd stayed up far too late. I bade my adieus, turned the rain off and undressed for bed.

I lay back, a faint buzzing in my ears, feeling calm, feeling attuned to the world around me. I felt peaceful and serene on my soft bedsheets. My naked skin prickled and then lay still. I closed my eyes and wrapped my hand around my penis, which - to my amazement - was engorged. I'd obviously been ready for some time. I didn't need to do much else that required effort; my imagination worked by itself. Before too long I let my orgasm go. My stomach, chest and crotch ended up wet with cum...

I grabbed a tissue and cleaned up, crawled under my bedcovers and clutched Oxford to my chest. I let my thoughts go, closed my eyes and let myself drift. I fell off the world pretty soon afterwards, and when I awoke this morning, I felt nothing but thankful that it had been a dreamless slumber.

Saturday, 12 November 2011

Deflate

My mother has spent a large amount of today coming in and out of my room. She is floating, allegedly interested in what I've been doing, which is - of course - college work. I've been doing a lot of college work and still have a lot left to do, natch. I've also been playing Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest on my SNES and practising guitar. But mostly college work. My mother also insisted that I go out for a walk this evening. On my own, not with her. Or anyone. So I took my iPod and went for a walk with Tim Booth.

I haven't been doing anything else. Certainly nothing sexy. I don't feel sexy. I'm fairly sure that I don't look sexy, but then again, I'm not sure I ever have. But I don't feel sexy either. I'm not sure I'm up to it.

I haven't a clue what's wrong, if anything actually is wrong. Maybe I'm tired. I spent the last few days getting to college in the morning still not awake properly and swearing to myself that I'd be going to bed at 9pm, and yet still staying up until 11 or 12 for no reason whatsoever. Not much productive either. Maybe a bit of work for assignments or whatever, but no shower, shave or change of clothes. Barely even making lunch for myself for the following day. No change of bedsheets, no laundry done. I've been doing that today. There's still a load left.

Am I tired? Or is there something else? Am I developing CFS? Am I just lethargic, like my cat? Am I in a room which rapidly changes temperature too much, making me too hot or too cold? Or am I, as I have often suggested to myself, bored... bored with this house, with this room, with this situation, this mother who keeps coming in to check I'm in the same spot I always am? White middle-class boy problems.

But why don't I feel sexy? I just don't. I really don't feel sexy. Why not today? Why not today, Saturday, the day when sex is abound and there's no pressure to do anything else? I went for a walk. I should feel refreshed and energised from strolling through the cold air. I do not.

An explanation I lack... and that is what worries me most of all.

Thursday, 10 November 2011

Lurker Love

Moar!This blog gets an average of a hundred views a day and, even though most people are being referred here via Twitter, searching for reviews of Durex products, and, for some reason, The Edge of Vanilla, it's still heartening to look at Blogger's stats function and see that you can type "innocent lover boy" into Google and it will come up with one of those results with six further options underneath it... followed by results for me on Twitter, Formspring, and Quora.

I didn't even know I was on Quora.

This brings me to the subject of lurkers. Due to the fact that only about three people comment on my blog with alarming regularity, and also on account of the fact that most pageviews are me, I have to conclude that a lot of people who read my blog - those who don't just rock up and sift through all the lack of smut there is until they find that Durex review they've been looking for, or a picture of Danny Masterson naked - are lurkers. I may even (and, given the trend in sex blogs, probably do) have regular readers who have never commented.

But I'm OK with that. I mean, when I started this blog, I thought it would be successful if one person who wasn't me started to read it. But other bloggers started networking, and at some point I got linked to on Todger Talk, which probably boosted my lurker count by about 425613298756138576. Some lurkers even went so far as to e-mail me and start actual conversations - yes, Jess, Green Eyes, Tiffany, Lisa... I am talking to you - and one even started a blog - Glamour Girl, I mean you. Some stuck around for a while - yes, you, Prufrock, and Beau from Seattle, wherever it is you've gone. And, of course, a few ended up talking to me via MSN or Twitter, although most of those are other bloggers (do they count as lurkers? Probably not. Bloggers are a higher power. And they hit the comment button).

But I wasn't expecting to get any comment or any kind of communication at all. So, all in all, thank you, if you are a lurker. You genuinely don't need to comment on this post at all. You probably haven't commented on any of my other posts either. But you're reading this blog, and I wasn't expecting that.

So, thanks.

But lurk moar.

Tuesday, 8 November 2011

Kong Kollege

Colleague 1: "[Our college] is putting us under so much pressure."
Colleague 2: "It's hardly their fault. [The external organisation] demands that we do this course to the letter."
Colleague 1: "[TEO] needs to calm down."
Colleague 3: "[TEO] needs to get laid!"
[General laughter from all. ILB, curious, looks over from the world map on the corner.]
Colleague 4: "Is it possible to lay a university?"
Colleague 5: "Oh, okay, I'll do it, you talked me into it."
[More laughter.]
Colleague 5: "I'm taking one for the team!"
Colleague 6: "You could do it in the form of one of the lessons we've been having. I wonder what the warmer would be like?"
Colleague 3: "Never mind that, what about the lead-in?"
[ILB starts writing this down...]

Sunday, 6 November 2011

Alone

My mother, cousin and cat are in the house and yet I still feel alone.

I have spent the last two weeks in almost constant contact with people. At college, at the James gig and last night wherein my friends and I walked up to town to see the fireworks (although I got bored after fifteen minutes as they were essentially just pretty lights and got repetitive), then went back and had jacket potatoes and played Cranium and Articulate! (which I won). I've been surrounded by people. Yes, I feel really ill (still), but I've had lots of people around me, and suddenly I feel all alone.

For no reason whatsoever. I thought I'd be glad of a Sunday free of any distractions. I even started some college work. It's nowhere near enough, but it's something... and something is a good thing. Downtime, I thought, is my aim for this Sunday. I just want to rest. And yet I'm finding it difficult to rest. I don't even feel as if I can. What I need is someone to take my hand and lead me to a restful place. Someone to hold me and feel my heart beat and tell me that everything's okay. Someone to give me a cuddle and send me to sleep... getting me exactly what I need.

And so I reach out my arms to the big, cold world outside and proclaim that I, despite what anyone may think, feel... alone.

Saturday, 5 November 2011

Wheezy

Am I capable of doing any work for college? I don't know. Probably not in this state, anyway. I may have the same thing that Lady P has and I'm suffering quite heavily from it. I made it through college on Thursday, and even yesterday, by some miraculous circumstance (although I burned myself out completely in the afternoon), and I also made my way through a James gig yesterday evening - seated, of course, as it was at the RAH!, but a marvellous spectacle, so I'm glad I went.

I woke up this morning a physical mess however. My voice has shifted from tenor to baritone to alto (at least it would if I could sing) and when I do try and say anything it comes out as a cross between a squeak or a quiver or a moan. I could play Yoshi's Island in bed, but that was about it. Getting out of bed was an uphill struggle when the hill is particularly grumpy, and going downstairs to make myself lunch was akin to throwing myself against a wall of rusty spikes. I don't do well when I'm ill.

"Thanks for doing me that favour. I'd kiss you," I said to one of my fellow students the other day, "but I'm not sure if you swing that way."
"I do, actually," he replied, "...but I don't want your cold."
I don't blame him.

So what's a boy to do? I got my college work out this afternoon, and just stared... blankly. What do I do with this, again? How do I execute such a bold move? I've already done two assignments, what do you mean by two more? Where? How? Why? What? Help! I stared at my blank computer screen, the cursor flashing back and forth, mocking me. And, what's worse, I found myself inexplicably aroused. Damn you, overactive libido. Why do you make yourself awkward at the worst of times?

I figured, eventually, that if I took matters into my own hands, I'd end up feeling better, and maybe even able to tackle this work. So, my head in a fog, I put on some softcore and masturbated to orgasm.

And an incredible thing happened. I felt comfortable. I felt peaceful. I knew what was coming - every note of music, every movement of bodies, every contortion of limbs. I knew it would turn me on, and it did. I just lost my addled brain in the moment and let my feelings take me over. And suddenly, every unpleasant sensation dulled itself. This was before orgasm. Yes, after orgasm, it returned, slowly but surely... but in those minutes before orgasm, flicking through the soft porn and occasionally delving into my imagination, all I felt was peace. So, all things considered, indulging myself wasn't such a bad idea actually.

Even when I'm ill.

And now to check whether I can do any of that college work. It seems the answer is still no. Humph!

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

TMI Tuesday: OMGZ SEX!

I was going to write about how we ended up talking about how to mention blowjobs in sign language at college today... but then I saw that TMI Tuesday's actually about sex this time around. About time too. So let's crack on with this...

1. What sexual act arouses you the most? For that matter, what nonsexual act arouses you the most?

Delivering orgasm via oral sex is definitely a turn-on for me. I love the sight, sound and feel of the female orgasm - and the knowledge that I've delivered it with only my tongue and patience makes me feel ready any time, anywhere.
Non-sexually, it's being tired. And also the act of stretching after sitting down for a long period almost always makes me hard. It may not be a turn-on, but it's an interesting curio. And the aroma of patchouli, for an olfactory stimulus. Dancing sometimes turns me on too... seriously, more people are turned on by dancing than you think. It's often apparent on Tim Booth and he dances a lot.


2. What is your signature or “go to” move that is sure to get a lover in the mood for sex?

A kiss on the neck. It almost always leads to something even if it's not sex.

I used to kiss girls on the hand, or the shoulder, when I was at university. They were always friendly kisses, of course. But for a lover it's almost always the neck that I go for if I would like some sex.


3. Do you queef?

What? Me? I've got a penis. I don't think it's physically possible.


4. What’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to YOU as a result of your sex writings (e.g., blog, erotica, sex toy reviews)?

Loads of things. Being invited to review a sex documentary and ending up drinking with a group of people in a private club will always be an enduring memory. Being asked to review hardcore porn and breaking my DVD drive as a result. And, of course, getting two girlfriends out of it... that's odd too.
Needless to say, without writing ILB, my life would be in a very different place by now.


5. Have you ever had sex while someone watched?
…someone else was in the room?
…someone else in the bed, next to you and the person you’re having sex with?

No. No. And no. Sorry, I'm boring!


6. When it comes to sex, and discussing it with your teen have you or would you:
a. Let school sex education handle it
b. Hand the teen a book or point them to a website
c. Talk frankly and openly
d. Avoid it altogether–society, friends, and the internet will give all the info needed

I don't have a teen and I've never been asked by a teen about sex so I can't answer this question. But hypothetically, I'll go for C - I'd try not to let on that I know too much about the subject, though...!


Bonus: Remember the song "I’m Too Sexy?" What are you too sexy for?

I actually own the album with this song on it - Up, by Right Said Fred. It's an incredible album and if you can seek it out, listen to it. Seriously, it's got some great stuff on it.
In any case, I've performed "I'm Too Sexy" live before - during a pantomime I wrote for my family, in which I played both Father Christmas and a twisted version of him, Evil Santa. My original plan was to wear a skintight catsuit, but I couldn't find one in the dressing-up box. So I just played the part in my normal clothes. But I sang it anyway. Maybe I'm actually too sexy for clothes at all. Yeah, I'll go with that.