Saturday, 31 March 2012

Mini and the Music

There's nothing like a good, solid amateur classical concert, even if you're not playing in one. There are so many little ensembles around London it'd be impossible to see them all, but I've slowly worked my way through some of them, playing for three and being an audience member for a good few others. Professional music is always the best, but there's something special about amateur music that gives it that little quality.

In this evening's case, that little quality was Mini. Yet another inch shorter than the last time I saw her, there she was in the front row, clarinet in hand, ready to give it a toot away to her heart's content. I was also introduced properly to her fiancé, who I've met very briefly before, but that was at their engagement party, and mostly what I did there was hang around in the quietest corners of the synagogue, occasionally looking for some form of vegetarian food to scavenge. I like this guy, but without discussing the music on the programme, conversation with him was somewhat limited.

I was lost as for what to say while still counting it as small talk. I admitted that I'd known Mini for some time, but didn't exactly go so far as to say, "I've known your girlfriend for ten years now and I remember her when she was still a virgin and not happy about it". I didn't mention her fellating reeds, especially as it was on show for us to see anyway. I didn't mention the concept she mooted of having sex with one's friends. I did, however, mention the hotel they're getting married in. I just didn't say that I've had sex in it. But I said it was a nice hotel. Which it is, so really wasn't lying. Just leaving bits out.

And then I spent a while wondering which bits of the concert programme would make for the best music to overlay soft porn with. I'm sure you'll be glad to know I didn't choose West Side Story... and probably just as glad to know that I'm not in this band any more, either.

Friday, 30 March 2012

That extra half a second

How can I describe it, that moment just before orgasm?

It's impossible to describe, although we all know when it comes. That point of no return. That one precise snatch of time when you know you're about to cross the brink, and there's no going back. Just past the edge, that extra half-second. That's what it is, and when it comes. But it's still impossible to describe.

We know what happens. You lose control - mind, body and soul. Your hands don't know where to go (sometimes they flail, wildly, as if to catch something that isn't quite there). Your legs tremble and contort. And your mind flicks constantly, never standing still. You may close your eyes, you may bite your lip. You may gasp for breath, shuddering, deep. You may let out a moan or a word or even a scream.

But that's only what happens. The moment itself is still impossible to describe. It's wonderful, in a way; a fitting prelude to the climax that - at this one point - you know is going to happen. That is all it is. But to put together a description? Impossible.

It just is.

Tuesday, 27 March 2012


Some of you may be aware that recently I got a job. Evidently I can't say what it is, but (also evidently) it isn't perfect. But it will do. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. I'm crossing my fingers that I won't do my first day and come back home to curl up into the foetal position and cry for three hours. It's on Friday, so I'll let you know.

In any case, my dad today decided that I need a supply of short-sleeved shirts and "adequate" trousers for work, because, apparently, it's important what I look like, and that dictates how I do the job. He then took me to Sainsbury's to buy me some. He's a good dad.

I looked at the supply of marvellously bland shirts hanging from the washing line in the kitchen. Nothing more extravagant than blue in there. I didn't even get anything pink (I know, I'm surprised too). I considered trying some of them on. But then I realised that I'd worn them all already - or, at least, one. You wear one, you've worn them all.

Do I look good in a shirt? Do I look sexy? I'm no judge, and it's not important for me to be sexy in a work context. Outside of it, yes. In this blogging world, damn yes. Fail magnificently as I might do, I at least try and put on a sexy front. And sometimes I even try and look good. But, appropriateness aside, do I look sexy? In a shirt? I've been told yes. I even took a picture of my shirted body once to send to Catharine. I've been told I do. But I just don't feel it.

I don't feel sexy in a shirt. Attractive, maybe, but that's not really the same. I feel a lot more sexy when I'm free. It's the spring now, which in my mind translates to T-shirt weather. In a T-shirt, I'm liberated. I'm easy. I'm more me. In a shirt, well... I feel slightly stifled. Different things for different situations, maybe, but nevertheless, still stifled. Maybe a little.

Get me naked, however, and I feel a lot less sexy, because I have to look at bits of my body. At least that isn't a worry. I'm not really going to show up to a new job completely naked.


Monday, 26 March 2012

TMI Tuesday: Music! (on a Monday)

Ah, this looks nice and safe.

Actually, it's a very appropriate TMI Tue... hang on, isn't it Monday? What the fuck?! Ah well, I've done it now. Read it again tomorrow, or something.

Yes, back to what I was saying... I've just spent half a week constantly surrounded by music. Last week I started (and finished) work at a theatre. The company who hired me (I GOT PAID AND EVERYTHING!) was putting on a new musical, the songs of which were so catchy that by the time they did their final warm-up, I was joining in. "You know all the words!" gleefully remarked one of the cast members. And so I did. I'm listening to the soundtrack as I write this.

And then on Sunday I took part in a mass gig, with about 15 different artists! I played five songs, and yes, a Justin Bieber cover was one of them. What? It's a cool song, okay? At least I didn't sing a verse from Rebecca Black's Frid... oh, wait... well, anyway, most of the songs were my own. I got to rock out on my glockenspiel as well, which was... pretty incredible.

It's very difficult to feel sad when you're surrounded by music. It never fails to work for me. Oh, I love music!

Anyway, on with the questions. Most of them have links so your ears can fall off. I've used Glee versions for a couple of songs. That's not to suggest anything other than how much I like Glee.

1. What is your present state of mind?

I am a lover, as we know, and so my constant state of mind is focused on love!

2. How do you feel about your spouse, significant other, or someone you lust for?

"Why?" by Avril Lavigne. Not all the lyrics fit (the verses, basically, don't fit), but the bridge and chorus kind of do.
I am aware that's not the most cheerful song. So for something more obscure, yet on a more upbeat note, here's Simply Love You from McGear.

3. Describe your job.

I don't have a job. The closest thing I have is my hobby, being a comedy singer-songwriter. I have a constant desire to sing, but can't actually sing. So I think this fits.

4. What are you hungry for?

There are a few songs that I could fit in here, but they're all by me or a friend like 47, so I'm not entirely sure I should mention one of them! Let's so with "War About Cheese" by Jay Foreman.

5. What’s your favourite colour?

Anything by Blue...

6. What gets you excited?

I already answered this one. I'm still not sure how I feel about that.

7. Who do you think you are?

Isn't that already a song?

Bonus: Describe your life.

Blogging! LiveJournal by Mirrors on Shoes fits nicely, even though I don't write in my LiveJournal too much any more!

Wednesday, 21 March 2012


As some of you may have noticed from occasional rumblings on Twitter, I have intermittent problems with my back. Either it's genuinely bent out of shape, it twinges occasionally, it's the itchy skin that's the problem or I'm just genuinely neurotic about it. To be honest, it's probably bending over my computer slightly that may cause my back to hurt. In any case, my back hurts.

I was somewhat convinced at points that my hurting back was something to do with the chair I was sitting in while at my computer. I still am convinced of that. My old office chair, which I've had for years and years (and didn't really want in the first place, but beggars can't be choosers), has a very weak back and I can't actually lean back onto it, for fear that it will break (I had to keep re-assembling it anyway; two of the original screws holding the damn thing together were left, and I had to keep tightening them with a screwdriver so they didn't fall out). Eventually, my dad came up with the novel solution of taking one of the straight-backed, wooden chairs that we use in the kitchen.

It's not ideal, but it's a good idea. My back still hurts, but at least when it does I can take a few seconds' respite by leaning back on the chair, without fear that it will collapse under my weight, send me sprawling onto the floor and I'll actually break my back, which undoubtedly would hurt quite a bit more.

While the chair is nice, however, the question of what I do if I want to masturbate while sitting on it didn't occur to me until today, when I realised. My old chair has basically a large groove where my bum perched on it, and the areas around it stained with sweat. I mean, I'm sure there are semen stains on it too - not meaning to gross anyone out, of course, but occasionally my orgasm stained the fabric of the chair. Yes, it shoots upwards, but gravity eventually affects it in the usual way. Can't help it, dude.

So I had to come up with some way to be able to masturbate without leaving a stain of sweat or semen (or any other body fluid) on the chair, in case they want it back in the kitchen at some point... or in case I manage to ruin the nice little cushion that you sit on. I'm not barbaric, you know - and it's a nice cushion.

My inspiration eventually came from a memory.

I was lying on my bed, eyes closed. My mind was in a jumble of assorted memories - some good, some not - and a one point I remembered someone I used to know (although I'm unclear on exactly who) telling me that when girls had cybersex, they invariably put towels down on their computer chairs in case they got the chair wet, which they could easily chuck in the wash if the time came. I'm pretty sure that that's a blanket statement, and that not all girls do that, but after dwelling on that dubious statement, I did have to admit it seemed like a good idea. And why not adapt it?

So I now have a towel under the cushion, ready to swap the two around should the urge grab me. Innovative ILB strikes again, it seems... and he has suddenly realised that he needs to stop overanalysing why he does this sort of thing.

Tuesday, 20 March 2012

TMI Tuesday: 31

TMI Tuesday today's title is "31 Sexual Favours". Given my slightly non-exciting sexual tastes, it was difficult to think of sexual favours that I want to do, never mind thirty-one. Ahem. And, of course, there were some things that I've already done, but in order to fill out a list, I had to add them in, so the ones crossed out are off the list. But, as is the nature of the question, these are all things I'd like to do again!

Essentially it's a bucket list.

Anyway, here it is. Some of these are favours to another person, some are favours to me. I'd hope most would be mutually gratifying, though - and I think that my girlfriend would like to do most, if not all, of these! And some of them are wishes that have already been expressed by other people, as if I'm some sort of sexually attractive being!

1. Orgasm from being given fellatio
2. Have full penetrative sex with a large amount of clothes still on
3. Have sex with a virgin
4. Have sex outside
5. Have sex with somebody wearing kitty ears
6. Feel someone up in a swimming pool...
7. ...and have sex in one
8. Feel someone up in a hot tub...
9. ...and have sex in one
10. Sex with someone with really long hair
11. Administer oral sex in a public place...
12. ...and/or be given it
13. Have sex in a field
14. Have sex with someone else in the room
15. Bring someone to orgasm without touching or using any genitals
16. Bring someone to orgasm by lying on their back
17. Have dry sex...
18. ...and orgasm from it
19. Kiss someone's breasts in public, and/or get my penis out outside (for a brief period only; I am innocent!)
20. Have sex to music...
20a. ...James
21. Watch soft porn...
22. ...without touching myself
23. Be an actor or crew member in some form of erotic film
24. Have sex in another country...
25. Africa
26. ...and Asia
27. ...and America
28. Have sex in a tent, preferably during the rain
29. Spank someone (but lightly, I don't want to hurt anyone!) - and have them turned on by it
30. Use a sex toy that I actually seem to like
31. Have anal sex

I may even cross some off this list, if I can be bothered, if I ever do any of them. Isn't sex fun?

Sunday, 18 March 2012

Pizza Sexpress

"I was in this Pizza Express once with a couple of colleagues," I said. "We were having a discussion about blogs. And, noticing the topic, I said brightly - oh, I've got a blog! And they said - where is it? And I said - uhm..."
H and 47 laughed. It had taken us long enough to find the Pizza Express, but we'd eventually got there, on account of the fact that 47 has an Android 'phone... and I sort of know where it is. Sort of. We were there, anyway.

I had an OK birthday. Nothing special, but then again, it wasn't a particularly special age either. I've still got presents coming in - they have been somewhat staggered - but, among the gifts I've received, I'm happy with the Wii game, satirical songwriter CD set, hoodie, book that I knew I'd get because my sister works in a bookshop, and... erm... the DVD with the Japanese swimwear model in it. I've no idea where Robinson goes in his spare time, and frankly I'm not sure I want to know. The film looks good, though.

Oh, and I got enough money to clear my overdraft. That's actually what I needed.

On the day itself, though, the main thing that I had to look forward to (apart from CAKE!) was the whole going-for-a-pizza-with-friends thing. I'd decided to opt for 47 and H, as I don't see them as often as all that, and get Robinson, Mane, et al. over for a drink at some point during the week - read as: "stretching the birthday as far as it could conceivably go without turning it into a farce". Anyway, so. Pizza Express.

It is indeed true that I had a conversation about blogs last time I was in said joint. The culmination of the conversation I alluded to above was that some people read this post, and then this happened, me being at my most frustratingly enigmatic. Only yesterday was different - here, I was with people who I wasn't trying to impress. I mean, they weren't going to be massively impressed anyway, were they? They already know who I am. So I was pretty convinced that I didn't need to mention orgasms or soft porn or semen or... well, sex at all, really... to enjoy the evening.

I didn't mention orgasms. That's something at least. And now I know not to describe my penis as much in these posts. Because describing my penis is not cool, apparently.

My dessert was HUGE and BEAUTIFUL, and very satisfying once I got it into my mouth.

Saturday, 17 March 2012

The twenty-seventh step

I am now 27 years old.

It's not that impressive. It's just like 30 really, only a bit less. It's just one more step in that inexorable spiral downwards, inevitably culminating in my own slow and painful death, for which I will probably be alone.

It's nice to know that I have my boundless optimism to keep me buoyant through these dark times.

I love you all.

Thursday, 15 March 2012

Innocent Runnerboy

I've started doing this running thing. It's a kind of curious fast way of moving; a bit like walking, but speedier. It also hurts a bit more and I'm doing it in the same place, rather than actually going anywhere outside the boundaries of the park, so it's also completely pointless.

No, I don't know why either.

My parents read an article by Charlie Brooker in which he talks about downloading and obeying without question the dictatorial ministrations of a missive entitled "NHS Couch to 5K". A couch is a bit like a sofa, apparently. I wouldn't know. I sit on chairs because all the sofas in our house appear to belong to the cat. Nevertheless, my mother has decided that she is fat. She's not. But she's decided that she is, because she clearly needs something else to worry about, so she downloaded this podcast and started obeying it. Apparently, her aim is to become thin by my cousin's wedding, which is this July.

Because that will make such a difference. If my mother looks exactly the same but the scales show a slightly lower number, my cousin will be happy to be getting married. That's how it works, clearly.

I digress. My dad's been doing this, too. He's not an overly sporty man, but he's quite a healthy guy for 62 years old. In any case, he's downloaded the podcast too and he's started going to the park and running around in squares. So, partially in order to get out of doing any real work, partially because I am aware that (unlike my mother) I actually am a bit overweight and could do with losing a bit (although I never touch the scales, but I look in the mirror and groan), but mostly because she's suddenly become unbelievably smug and won't stop with the snide comments about how I never do anything, ever, I started doing Couch to 5K at the beginning of this week.

Not that it's much fun. But I don't think it's meant to be fun. People say that running is addictive. It isn't. It's putting unnecessary strain on your body - it's keeping healthy in an incredibly painful way. They also say that the woman ("Laura") on the podcast is encouraging. Again, that's a lie. She's patronising. The "you're doing really well!" comments sound like she's talking to a two-year-old finishing a macaroni picture. I already have Nanna to talk to me like that; some pretend woman isn't really helping much. And the biggest lie is that one of the painful pop songs they have on the podcast sounds a bit like Tim Booth.

It's nothing like Tim Booth. It's some generic singer with meaningless lyrics. The only recognisable piece of music that's on there sounds a bit like an instrumental version of Don't Stop, but cunningly changed by about one note so they don't have to pay Fleetwood Mac any royalties.

So I started running. It got boring quickly, seeing the same trees and grass and stuff over and over again. So I changed my route, running zigzags. Heading straight for pillars and veering out of the way. Jumping over bits of the track. Running with my hands held stiff by my sides or up in the air like the YMCA dance move. Skipping for a bit instead of running. Being followed by someone's dog (even though that wasn't deliberate). But whatever I did, or however I did it, I couldn't get away from the fact that everyone else in the park clearly thought I looked like a bit of a prat.

Which is true. I didn't look like someone running. We've all seen them, those strange people who jog along the side of the street with headphones in and cheap-looking jogging shorts. I don't look like one of those people, thankfully. But that still didn't stop people looking at me with their judgemental eyes, tracking my every move, clearly aware that I was an outsider. I don't jog. So they watch.

I've done it twice. I continue to do it. I have people glaring at me, their secateurs tapping out morse code for, "I'm a gardener, look at you - you're a guy trying to run, but looking like a complete prat while doing so, so clearly you don't know how." Laura, in my ear, keeps telling me how well I'm doing in such a falsely warm tone I'm expecting her to pop the question at some point. And the final censure comes when the music, upon my taking those first running steps, shifts in pitch and tempo, crescendoing into crashing techno, with apoplectic beats which serve to transliterate the state of my brain into the sounds that drag me through this self-imposed form of physical exhaustion.

But, y'know, it's good for me. So that's okay, right?

Tuesday, 13 March 2012

TMI Tuesday: I wish...

OK, so apparently this week's TMI Tuesday is about wish lists? Inspired by Miss Catherine Gail? Honestly, where do they get these ideas? Still, it should make for some interesting answers. Let's have a go.

1. We all know and love a Top 10 list, who or what is number one on your wishlist?

Am I meant to say an attractive celebrity here? I'm not sure I can really do that. Okay, well, like Rory, it's my birthday this week, so I asked for money, because I don't have any. And when pressed, I reeled off some books, CDs and DVDs, because I am starved for entertainment.
But top of my wish list is a flat, because I really want to move out. I'm really sure that's not too much to be asking. Of course, I'd need to get a job first, but that doesn't look like it's going to be happening...

2. Tell us 2 naughty things you’d put on your wishlist and 2 more naughty or nice things you’d add to the list.

Naughty things:
Cookies, because they are delicious and very bad for you.
And doughnuts, for pretty much exactly the same reason. Except slightly more sickly.

Nice things:
A new computer - although this one (which has been fully repaired; behold! a thing of wonder!) is perfectly serviceable, my old laptop is slowly dying and I really need something to record music onto. So a powerful desktop with a line in socket, a microphone lead and Cool Edit Pro would be good.
A working drum machine. My drum machine has stopped working. Fair enough, it is quite a cool model, but it's not very useful if it's going to stop working, is it? And my sister has taken my keyboard so I can't record drums on that.

3. Your order has been mixed up and instead of your selected gift you receive Fireman Sam. What do you do?

Damn it, now I'm singing the theme song again.
Anyway, I'd like to be on the list of people who go on a date with Fireman Sam! We could play video games together, and stay up late swapping manly stories.

4. The miss-delivery is sorted and you get the right order. Because of the mix-up you’ve also received a free gift voucher for one of many new accessories available to enhance your new wishlist item. What do you choose?

Assuming it's a flat as stipulated in question one, maybe some furniture? I don't fancy sleeping on the floor, although I'm not exactly unused to that. Or maybe a fish tank... with some fish, evidently.
If we're going for the computer/drum machine music recording combo, evidently a new microphone would be nice. I have enough already, but one that's held in position and doesn't pick up any pops or cracks would be very helpful, considering how bad my voice is already. Or a xylophone. I still need a xylophone.

5. Your best friend arrives at your back door just as the courier (who is to die for) arrives at the front door with your accessory delivery. What do you do?
a) usher your friend away because it’s ALL YOURS! And you can’t wait, let alone share
b) tell your friend to come inside with the intent to have them join in
c) what the heck, two’s company, four’s an orgy! (invite the courier in as well)

Seriously, what the fuck? Are we to assume that the accessory is a sex aid? There was nothing to suggest that in the questions. Strange TMI Tuesday, this is.
Anyway, since I've already said it's either furniture, fish, a microphone or a xylophone, they're all things that can be admired or used, so B or C it has to be! And why not C? I don't care what the courier looks like, but they're probably on a job, so unless they have other things to do I'd invite them in too.
Now all I need to do is wonder how my friend got to the back door...

Bonus: Do you have a real wish list in the works? If yes, what’s on it?

DVDs of Glee, and the soundtrack to the same, some books - mostly children's fantasy - CDs, mostly in box sets, and some CD-Rs and CD cases. And money. That's what's on my birthday list, anyway, and the same sort of stuff applies to my Amazon wish list.
Other things I want include a xylophone (my parents bought me a glockenspiel for Christmas, which is great, but not what I wanted - I play it a lot, though) and a high-quality dictaphone for recording stuff. But I'll wait until I actually know what to do with those things before I get them though...

Monday, 12 March 2012

Universally Challenged

There are a few things that have been a constant source of comfort and security throughout my life, but for those precious things I hold a place very close to my heart. And very close to the top of the list, of course, is University Challenge.

It's the ultimate quiz show. It brings people together and nothing beats it. Sure, Only Connect has its moments, what with Victoria Coren wearing pretty dresses and being suitably acerbic. And Eggheads is cool, what with one of them having been a friend of my parents in his youth and stuff, but really - the rest of them? I mean, come on. Golden Balls? Embarrassing. The Book Quiz? Contrived. Shaft? Hell, no. Pointless? Oh, please. Nothing even comes close to University Challenge. It's pretty much the only thing I watch on TV, and the whole family does too. What a communal experience.

University Challenge, however, always makes me feel slightly naughty inside, however, because I have this habit of taking myself off after the programme finished and masturbating to orgasm. Not over Jeremy Paxman, you understand (although I've met him), or Gail Tilden (I've met her too), or even Jamie Karran (although I love the hair). In fact, locking myself in my bedroom with soft porn isn't anything to do with University Challenge. It just happens to be the fact of the matter - that's the time I've been do
ing it.

And therefore I continue to do so. It's not every Monday that I get to watch it (and next week is the final, so I shall get my parents to tape it as I shall be MIA), but throughout the years upon years that I've been watching it, it seems to come to me in a flash of inspiration, usually halfway through the episode while listening to the music question, or in the half-second of euphoria after answering a question correctly. I think I've conditioned myself.

Not that it's a bad sort of conditioning. Take today, for example. I've been busy today. I even tried to exercise this morning (which went badly wrong, but I tried). I didn't even think about sex for most of the day, which gives an indication of what kind of a day it was. University Challenge comes on and bang, there's the idea. I even know wh
ich scene from which movie I want to be watching. Fantastic!

And half an hour after the show finishes, I'm satiated and possibly even grinning a bit. Even if, after a very intelligent programme, I've been watching something totally inane. Don'tcha just love brain power?

Sunday, 11 March 2012

Toy story

Last night I decided to have a wank. I'd been turned on for long enough and everyone else was out of the house (even the cat), so I had the place to myself. I stretched out on my bed and was about to sink into my imagination, when I had a thought: something like, "hey, let's make this interesting..."

So I used a sex toy.

Here's what happened.

On account of the fact that I threw away most amounts pf packaging in order to fit as much as I could into a single
Eww. Lunchboxxx, I don't have a clue what this is called. But I'm sure there are many things like it, and I helpfully took a picture! A translucent, blue, jelly-like substance makes a short tower, into one side of which a row of silver plastic balls is embedded. At one end of the tower, there is a small opening like a mini-vagina; at the other, a hole. Just a hole.
The toy felt cold, heavy and squashy in my left hand, and my first thought was, "this is meant to make me come?" But I thought that if I'd removed the cellophane, I should at least have a go...

Attempt I
The first thing I noticed was the glaringly obvious fact that my penis wouldn't fit into the hole. (This isn't a new thing; I do have a penis that grows exponentially when I'm aroused, so sometimes there's difficulty getting it into a real vagina. But you can't administer cunnilingus on a toy to make it more relaxed.) After several attempts to get it in, I tried various different methods, such as holding it open with two fingers, sliding my index finger in to see how far it could go and waiting until I was flaccid to see if that would fit, I decided to just jam it on and see what would happen.
"Aaaaaaaaaargh," is what then happened. I let go of the toy and it popped off my penis immediately, falling with a soft flump onto the bed. I closed my eyes and waited for the pain to go away. It wasn't pleasant. My mind racing to pick up on whatever I may have done wrong and how I should correct it, I eventually hit upon the conclusion: "It's a sex toy - let's use some lube!"

Attempt II
I snipped open a sachet and lubed up my penis (which, mercifully, was not bruised, as I feared it might have been), and - for good measure - covered my index finger with the rest of the sachet and slid it in and out of the toy a few times to make sure that was sufficiently wet, and then tried again.
This time, it worked magnificently. I slipped majestically into the construct, the head of my erect penis appearing out of the nondescript hole at the far end while the blue jelly-like stuff hugged my shaft. Success!
Wondering what I do now for a few moments, I did the only thing that made sense and gripped the toy around the outside, moving it up and down like a much bigger, thicker foreskin.
And I continued to do this for a while until I realised that I wasn't really enjoying it that much. Sure, it was novel and all, but I couldn't really feel anything. I was masturbating, but there was a very dulled sensation; my hand was hurting from gripping something so tightly, my shaft felt stifled and slightly uncomfortable inside its jelly cage, and the little balls inside the toy I couldn't feel at all.
I tried to enjoy it enough to orgasm, but it was difficult for my mind to conjure up images to get me off when thoughts such as "this is stupid" kept drifting through it. What didn't help, also, was the fact that my penis' head - the most sensitive part of my genitalia, considering that I'm actually not all that sensitive in that area, really - wasn't being stimulated at all, unlike when inside a girl (when there's no hole for it to pop out of, and the stimulation of the inside vaginal walls), or when it's just my hand (when the sensation of the foreskin sliding back and forth provides friction to stimulate it).
In conclusion, although it went in, it wasn't going anywhere, and I wasn't coming.

Final Stages
When I took the toy off, it felt incredibly liberating. I was still incredibly horny, so I masturbated like I normally would. After a while of holding this jelly thing, my cock felt very thin against the palm of my hand. But it worked - I came, hard. I cleaned up the mess after a while and wondered what to do with the toy.
And then I noticed. There was a split in the toy. There was a split in the material from where my penis had entered it. And there was another towards the end, where the head had exited. It was broken. I had broken it. And upon an experimental squeeze, one of the little balls popped out of a hole. I'm pretty sure that's not meant to happen.
As I wasn't going to use it any more, i wrapped it in tissue, put it into a paper bag, and threw it away. It seemed the kindest thing to do.

Overall Analysis
It didn't work. But I can't help but think, looking back on it like this, that either I chose the wrong toy, I did something wrong all the way through, or that - the most likely situation - ILB and toys just don't mix. But, since I am pretty much of a novice in this department, the fact that I didn't rip my cock off is something of a small victory. Gentle readers, you are probably more well-versed in this toy business though, so to you, the question:

hay guyz, am i doin it rite?

Saturday, 10 March 2012

Stalling for (a) time

I assumed that this week just gone would be a sad one. Considering the fact that during the two weeks before I'd not only gone to Eroticon, but also the Erotic Meet and to the North seeing clhg, it was a safe assumption that a week of basically nothing would be a sad, slow seven days of nothingness. This was followed by a sudden spate of panic that accompanied the realisation that I wasn't actually heading for one week of nothingness... I was, in fact, being drawn inexorably towards a large block of nothingness, with no plans whatsoever... even with my 27th birthday coming up next week. I had no plans. I was going to be doing nothing.

This isn't how the week panned out, thankfully. I saw my local friends twice on two subsequent days at the beginning of the week (standing outside the young raver's house waiting for him to put his belt on being a particular highlight), and I also had lunch and drinks
in Islington twice - again on successive days. The first time being with @JillyBoyd and the second with @utterslut, I managed to find good conversation and company in terms of our plans for the future, sex blogging and identity, Twitter and social media and the artistic prowess of @Hungry_Joe.

Which leaves the weekend.

I've stopped having things to do. I mean, I have a book to read, sure, but I'm feeling the twitches which indicate that an adventure is calling and I'm not even sure what kind. Spring is in the air (if spring is cold, that is) and accordingly I've refreshed my room - given it the hoovering it deserves and replaced my bedsheets, using a light blue, watery bedspread that I wasn't even aware we had. And to aerate the room, I've daringly opened a window - shocking, I know! The otherwise-empty house gives me space to play my guitar and feel the cat's accusing stares follow me as I wander around aimlessly.

It's not much fun.

And this situation is the one I feared. It took a week for me to get into it, but here it is - ironically, in a refreshed bedroom, I have stopped feeling refreshed. And next week doesn't look fun, either; apart from the aforementioned day of birth (for which there are plans, but still in the gestation stages), the most exciting thing that's supposed to happen is me claiming JSA on Tuesday. Such fun.

Still, if the week that's just gone post is any indication, it's one of the fact that Life may well throw something unusual my way; therefore, I offer the next seven days up to Life, in the hope that, somewhere in the void, at least something will end up happening.

Friday, 9 March 2012


I'm not sure exactly which "themed day of the week" meme this relates to. I'd say something like "Dino-Friday", but what sort of idiot would use that as a blog tag?

Inspired by Joe's fantastic art. I can't draw so have some dinosaurs instead.

Tuesday, 6 March 2012

TMI Tuesday: The Past

Wow, this week's TMI Tuesday is a weird one. I can't even begin to explain how they put it together, so for links and explanations and stuff, you may as well attempt to understand via the official blog!

Have you ever shared sleeping accommodations with someone of the opposite sex without anything steamy happening?

Yeah - loads of times. I've shared beds with people of the opposite sex (including my sister, but that doesn't count) without anything, ahem, "steamy" happening. Keeping my hands to myself is one thing, but there's a difference between a light touch and full-on MASSIVE SEXUAL CONTACT.
I am, incidentally, capable of sharing a bed with someone without touching them. It just rarely happens. If they don't mind me cuddling them, though, I will cuddle them. But I'm assuming that if I'm sharing a bed with someone, we'd be close enough to cuddle anyway.

When it comes to swinging or partner swapping, which would excite you more, watching or being watched?

Neither, but if I had to choose, I'd say being watched, as I'm pretty sure watching my partner in sexual contact with someone else would damage me irreparably.

Would you vote for a candidate caught in a sex scandal?

Yes. If I agreed with their politics, sure. What happens in their private life shouldn't affect their ability to do their job, and if they're the best candidate for said job, I would vote for them. That's how democracy works.

Do you masturbate to porn, and if so, what is your favourite genre?

Yes. And you should know this one, unless you count that as a totally different type of film. But if you're only talking hardcore, then I'll masturbate to something with a genuine female orgasm in it. Because that's what gets me going. But anything which is just a close-up of a cock moving back and forth, I'll turn off before it turns me off.

What are three mistakes someone could make on the first date with you that would automatically make you turn down a second date with them?

1. Mention enjoying something that involves anything which I'm against morally, like hunting, fishing or mass genocide.
2. Try to feed me meat or force me to drink alcohol, or order either of those for me.
3. Hit me hard and then walk off in a storm without any explanation.

This was really hard to answer, as I couldn't think of many realistic answers! I'm not the sort of person who turns people down! I'm more for forgiveness, redemption, resolution, and making things work! However, each of these three examples are things that have been done to me by girls in the past who I've continued to date, so I guess I'm shooting myself in the foot with this answer...

Bonus: Is your sex drive in park, neutral or over-drive? Explain!

Neutral. I'm not sexually active right now because I'm not with my clhg and don't know when I'll see her again, but I'm still getting turned on - often in the mornings before I get out of bed (and I don't mean morning wood; I mean genuine dirty thoughts). But I'm not as horny as I thought I'd be at this point. I guess I'm quite ill at the moment and that doesn't help.

Monday, 5 March 2012


And so here's the rest of Eroticon. Or a compressed version of the best bits.

Like quite a lot of people, I stayed in the room for the Identity, Ethics & Sex Blogging session to start off my day. To be honest, I would have chosen a session with the words "sex blogging" in the title, wouldn't I? But I loved the session - the panel were all very good, and the topics discussed raised some interesting questions: is it worth having a writing name? How do you respect each other's privacy? Are extra, more non-sexy, blogs a good idea? It was a good way to start off, actually, as even for those of us in a sleep-deprived coma could kick their brain into gear through all the ideas that were bouncing around.

I stayed on for the writing workshop in the same room. The guy who ran this was an established writer and it wad good to hear him talk about writing in an honest way. From looking at my notes I can see that I likened some of what he was saying to soft porn - maybe a nervous sign of obsession, who knows? But he talked so vividly about settings and context that I couldn't help it! I liked the way he spoke, as well - his tangents were funny, his enthusiasm great, and even though I don't plan to write much erotica, I enjoyed this session.

After the first coffee break, Blacksilk and I went on to this geeky workshop about doing techie stuff to your blog, particularly as regards self-hosting and blog preservation, run by DomSigns (and Dom, if you are reading this, kindly take note - I have saved an XML of my blog up to this point, just in case something does happen!). He knew his shit, to use the vernacular, and I almost felt like a qualified geek sitting in this session and more-or-less understanding what he said! Almost.

Lunch was a fun chance to mingle and distribute the limited number of Erotic Meet cards I'd brought along, while indecently taking advantage of the buffet, which thankfully had some absolutely delicious vegetarian options (also rather messy, but there were always napkins).

Feeling full, I tottered to the next session, which made me think of Catharine, as photographer John Tisbury gave us tips on taking pictures using even the most basic of cameras. This was a really useful session, and I think now, glancing through my notes, that I'll be able to put some of these tips into practice. Which also makes me think of Catharine. This could be interesting.

However, what will stick in my mind the most is the last session, Sex and the Media. A different (but similar) panel to the one at the beginning of the day sat in the same place in the same room. As with the previous session, ideas whizzed around like loose fireworks of sex, except by this point everyone was enthused. Points were being made left, right and centre. There was a discussion about pitching, sex writers and the need to be an active voice. We mentioned how sex columnists often suck on account of the narrow focus they need to take to be in their magazines. Sex and the City was mentioned and I made everyone laugh by talking about someone at the Erotic Meet suggesting I was like a male SJP. The commercial spirit was mentioned, as was consumer power. A couple of quotes that I scribbled down resonated the most:

"There's no hope. There's nothing we can do... apart from TAKE OVER THE INTERNET!" (Zoe Margolis)
"I shall work on changing one person at a time." (Lori Smith)

More refreshments followed (oh, sweet, sweet coffee!) before we breached the final wave and headed back to the main room. I sat on a table with Blacksilk, LadyP, Jilly, Elenya Lewis and Lady Grinning Soul and watched London Faerie demonstrating how to use spanking to induce a state of euphoria. I've done something different with a similar effect recently, but I was wondering how physical pain would achieve that goal, despite Faerie explaining the mechanics to us. I certainly winced a fair few times (along with many other people!), but it seemed to work. I did find it a bit difficult to divine when this entry into subspace actually happened - to be honest, I was expecting more of a physical reaction - but I am assured that it did.

Ruby came on to give out prizes to randomly selected members of the audience... sorry, 'delegates'... which, if you were absent, was invariably a book! I was very much amused by the multitude of people going up to get their varied prizes, and quite envious of some of them! Jilly got a Rabbit and seemed to take great pleasure in unwrapping it and seeing what it actually looked like (although we all got mini-vibrators in our shag bags, this was a beast!), and I joined in the increasing laughter as the whole convention descended into a something more fun that a vat of love.

Christ, I actually wrote that.

Anyway, so a few people (in fact, realistically a lot of people) left while drinks were being served, and we wandered about talking to those we had yet to meet. LadyP was brave enough to find a couple none of us knew to strike up a conversation with. I cuddled Jilly for a bit and joined in a few conversations while topping up on orange juice. Eventually, it was time to go... and on our way out, I noticed only four people had failed to turn up. That's not bad going. Although I didn't steal Hungry Joe's nametag. I was tempted to, so that I could flip over my own tag and change personalities. But that was beyond me for that time of day. We clattered out into the street, and headed away to the final stage of our adventure...

Sunday, 4 March 2012


I packed myself into the crowded tube on Friday night and noticed that the pretty girl standing next to me seemed to be looking at my trousers. Avoiding catching her eye or shifting into a defensive stance, I sidestepped carefully. Her gaze followed, and I noticed after a few seconds that she was reading the info text attached to the Lunchboxxx I had tucked safely under one arm. I deftly shifted it so that she could get a glance at the large pink vibrator that you could clearly see through the packet. She stared for a few seconds and then disappeared into the throng. Slightly buoyed by this, I swanned my way home. The Erotic Meet had been a rather subdued affair - fun, but not the rollicking adventure it was last month. Still, I'd been, hugged people, read things and had a couple of drinks. You can't say fairer than that.

I got home easily, stowed my winnings under the bed (along with my other Lunchboxxx and bags of lubes and condoms) and sifted through things I needed to take to Eroticon. Satisfied that there wasn't anything else I could justify taking, and I'd probably need space in my bag anyway, I settled down for a relaxing night, with the knowledge that I'd be getting up in a few hours and should grab what sleep I could.

As it turned out, what sleep I could grab amounted to zero, so when my first alarm went off at 4:50am I was ready to get it and go, so I donned a shirt and trousers, grabbed my stuff and hauled my sleepless body towards a train station about one and a half miles from where I live. I got there in time, but I would have preferred to get some rest. Still, I never sleep on trains, so I just sat on the commuter train to King's Cross in silence. From there, it was a relatively painless journey to Paddington, and I got the train to Bristol well on time. No major hiccups there.

Bristol smiled at me as I exited Temple Meads - a familiar station to me as it's been the site of a good few meetups with various groups and communities over the years. Not exactly knowing where to go, I meandered in the vague general direction towards where I thought I ought to be. As it turns out, I was going the right way, and found myself standing in the reception of the house. Lady Grinning Soul immediately recognised me, and handed me a tag with my name on it. Choosing a pink lanyard, I gleefully slung it around my neck, waved at Mia, hugged Jilly, and then put my bag and coat down. I had a feeling I wouldn't need them.

Lady Pandorah appeared suddenly, and I surprised her with an attack hug, and we hovered together in the doorway of the room with the breakfast until Blacksilk turned up and called us hopeless. I attack hugged her too. Eventually we raided the coffee (which, frankly, I needed), got some pastries going, and went through into a large room with tables. Requisitioning one, we sat, got notebooks out and were quickly joined by Jilly. As more people started drifting in, it was clear there was going to be one hell of an event.

And even though I hadn't slept for 24 hours, I was ready for it.

Friday, 2 March 2012

Preparing for the inevitable...

Much as I love my dad to bits, I do rather enjoy... well, deceiving isn't the word... more being economical with the truth around him. But then again, that's the life of an anonymous sex blogger. If I'm ever a dad myself, and I'm still writing a sex blog, I'll have to keep it hidden from my children. But that's a scary thought, and I will never, ever, ever dwell on it again.

I don't lie much. It's not in my nature to lie. I tell my dad that my friend Nimue is a model, which she is. I say the same about Josh, which isn't technically untrue. And he knows that while I go to Spiritual Space ("a Christian discussion group", which it is) and the CCK socials ("a meetup for people who used to go to the café", which it is), he also knows I now go to "a monthly networking and performing event for young writers". That's Erotic Meet... and although it's not far from the truth, the Meets aren't just for young people... or writers.

But I'm young(ish), and I write (if you can call this writing), so it seems to work in an odd way. My dad doesn't ask me what I write, but then, he's smart enough not to do that. He's an actor, so shutting up about your performance until your turn in the limelight comes it the best thing you can do, really.

There are some things I don't tell him, though. I don't mention that I won a competition, or that the prize is a bag of sex toys. I mention meeting people of Twitter, but he doesn't know that it's almost guaranteed I've seen the bare flesh of nearly all the people I've met at one point or another. And then there's this:

"We're having Nanna and Grumps for lunch on Sunday."
"Inevitable cannibalism jokes aside, I'll be here for that. I'll likely be tired, but I'll be here."
"Why will you be tired? You're going somewhere, aren't you?"
"Uh. Bristol."
"Oh yes, you're going to that thing for writers, aren't you?"
"...Yes? I mean, yes!"

Well, it's not technically untrue.

"When are you leaving?"
"How many alarms have you set?"
"Okay, well, have fun."
"I'll try."

I will.