Saturday, 30 June 2012

18 vs. R18

"I tried to download The Old Republic," I said, "but I don't have enough space on my hard drive." This wasn't exactly true, but not far off. If by "space on" I meant "time" and by "hard drive" I meant "life" it would have been more true. I also didn't want to mention the fact that I've never played an MMO. Concept doesn't appeal to me.
"Okay then," said my pervy colleague, lifting his second beer. "Delete some of the porn off your hard drive and then you'll have the space!"
"I don't have any porn on my hard drive," I said, truthfully this time. I didn't mention the external HD or the 25 CD-Rs I've got in a case somewhere. But that's not what he asked.
"You've got porn though, right?"
"Well, yeah..."
"So where is it?"
I wasn't about to go through every nook and cranny of my soft porn collection, not when I've done it so many times before. "Well, I've got these DVDs," I ventured.
"Hard or soft?" he said, accusingly.
"Soft," I replied.

An hour later he was still going on about it.
"But men don't like soft porn! It's not for men!" he kept saying, after I'd patiently explained to him that soft porn is much more of an art form, the cinematography, music, acting, set-up and storyline is all important, and that I think Charlize Theron looks better with longer hair. Although I'm not sure how that came up, exactly, but I distinctly remember saying so.
"Well, I like it."
"Why? The storyline?! Dude, porn doesn't need to have a storyline! It's all about sex!"
"Well, what turns me on isn't about the sex itself. It's about the people involved, why they're having sex, what situation they're in, whether they should be having sex or not, where they're having sex, what the décor is like..." I could tell he wasn't listening. I'd told him earlier on that I'm not really a fan of lesbian scenes and I think he was still physically hurting from that one.
"Okay, okay, okay," he said, suggesting that something was okay. "What about you?" he said to a slightly startled client, leaning over me so as to both push me aside and get a bit of a look at her breasts. "Do you prefer hard or soft porn?"
I could tell she was thinking.

"Soft," she said.

I wonder if he'll be back next week.

Friday, 29 June 2012

Time management

I really don't understand football. I've never had the interest, and the only times I've ever played, I've been hit, so that's kind of put me off. When Mane texted me to ask if I wanted to go to the pub and watch football with the rest of the gang, I replied with a non-committal "maybe". I didn't really want to watch football, I don't (whatever you may think) like pubs, and besides, I had some work to do. Work which, I hasten to add, has become suddenly irrelevant this morning, but there's nothing much I can do about that.

Thing is, I wasn't really in the mood to work. I'd just been at work. The timing was all wrong, and besides, it was my mother's birthday, so there were things happening downstairs which involved Pringles and cake. I half-heartedly started doing the work in the end, but by the time I'd got through two thirds of it, I decided that what I really needed to do was something else.

"Do something sexy!" yelled the back of my head.
"Shut up, libido!" said my brain. "I need to get outside!"
"Do something sexy outside!" replied the back of my head. "Go and wank against a tree or something!"
"No!" said my brain. "Just go and get a drink with your friends. You can ignore the football, right?"
"I'm a cat," said Willow.

Not wishing to have any more conversations with random bits of my anatomy, I pulled on some shoes and left the house, my mother's music group making some noise that could have been vastly improved by the addition of glockenspiel. The fresh air hit me like a blast of... well, fresh air. Great analogy there. Well done, ILB. And I trotted down to the pub.

I had a strange evening of my ears tuning out any conversation about football, thinking about the resolution and pixel depth of the projection on the wall rather than what was going on in said projection, and ordering myself two drinks at once in order to use my card and throwing up violently in the toilet for basically no reason at all. No, it's not as exciting as it sounds. An hour later and I was working my way back to my house, feeling a little better. I'd started getting texts from Catherine at that point about how she was masturbating furiously, and although a bit of me kept saying things like "see? see? look at what she's doing! you can too! ask me how!", I was well aware that I hadn't finished the work. Seems I just forgot about it after all.

I redeemed a nice blue liquid pen from one of my drawers and did the rest of my work. Sitting in bed. Naked. To be honest, it did seem like the most appropriate way to do any work at that time of night. And the colour of the pen was good too. Little things like that make me happy.

Then I masturbated lying on my back. When I came I managed to hit my neck, chest and arms, which I can ascribe only to the angle which I was lying at. But, hey, I was pleased. Looks like I managed to fit something in I do understand, after all.

Can always find time to get sexy.

Tuesday, 26 June 2012

Cloud strife

Did any of you have one of those old-style lofts with wooden slats being the only safe things to stand on and a kind of fluffy material in between them, which looked like dirty candy floss? You weren't allowed to stand on that stuff as you'd fall through the plaster of the ceiling below. Or so I was told. I saw it happen to Sweep (and Matthew) on The Sooty Show once as well, so clearly it can happen.

So. Do you have this material in your mind? Now picture an entire room made of it. You can walk in it, but you sink down to your knees and it's difficult to move anywhere. The walls, made of the same substance, have little alcoves in, in which cats like to hide. They're confused by the floor, like they often are with snow. Imagine you're trying to tempt them out, but since you walk very slowly, you're not doing too well at getting over to them.

Still with me so far? Good.

Okay, now imagine about two or three random naked couples having sex in various parts of the room, and you'll get the dream I had yesterday evening.

Sunday, 24 June 2012

Fiction: Bouncy sex

As the last of my clothes came off it finally occurred to me how piercing the rain felt on my skin. I didn't mind the cold so much - there were always things that could be done about that - or the wet. I was going to get wet at some point anyway, so it may as well have been for what may be loosely considered a good cause. But it was how sharp the individual drops felt that were the most apparent. With heightened sensitivity came something close to, but not actually, pain.

I fluttered my eyes closed, forcing the feeling of the rain running down my back to subside to nothing more than a slight tingle. As our lips melted together for the eighth time, I felt the spark building this time. Passing it back and forth was one thing, but increasing its potency? That's the thing. That's what we wanted.

As she finally lay back, the whole of her weight made the skin of the trampoline sink with a slight metallic creak as the springs took the strain. I looked down at her, taking her in - soaking wet dark hair lying in a splayed curtain on the surface. A spreading, unsteady grin gradually creasing her face. I tried not to dwell too much on her breasts, but the way the rain fell on them made something more than a brief glance irresistible. The steady trickle led down to her belly button. A much more attractive sight than mine, I'm sure. But she didn't seem to mind.

I lay down on her, planting a trail of small kisses from just behind her ear down to the nape of her neck, and she sighed blissfully - something I barely heard due to the relentless patter of the rain on the ground around us, and the trampoline itself, but I certainly felt the accompanying shiver - and as she steadily spread her legs, a shriek of laughter came from the house, accompanied by One Direction at maximum volume. It was three in the morning - what would the neighbours think? I looked down at her, and as our eyes met, it was clear we were thinking the same thing.

The trampoline squeaked as I slowly slid into her, with a simultaneous rapid, shallow breath from both of us - we had been waiting for a long time for this. As I gave her some time to adjust her body to the feeling of having me inside her, I could feel her inner walls moulding themselves around my shape. She felt warm and wet inside - a contrast, I realised on reflection afterwards, to the cold wetness of the rain. But at the time I wasn't noticing much else. I pushed forwards with a moan of longing, and she let out an "ah!". A good sign.

Her hands flat on my back, holding me close to her, I began to thrust back and forth, building up a steady rhythm. The sound of the rain intensified, but then again, so did our moans and gasps. I kept moving into her, feeling her flesh surround me with increasing rapidly, when the effects of being on a trampoline started making themselves known. There was a slight bouncing effect; although we were far from going airborne, it did seem like this was a viable option. Grabbing hold of her sides (feeling her wet skin against my palms), I pushed forwards as hard as I could, with both my hips and my knees starting forwards. This did it - the impact and the movement shaking the taut skin of the trampoline and rocking us back and forth. We both laughed, kissed, and then kept going.

The sex grew more and more intense, as the rocking, rolling, bouncing movements of the trampoline synced up with our bodies sliding together, a pool of rainwater gradually gathering itself up around us. Quite unlike the squeaking of bedsprings, the distinctive sound of the material accompanied us. I felt her bristling with excitement as an orgasm built up inside the pit of my own stomach. But I wasn't going to let it go. Not yet.

We bounced backwards, almost to the edge. With a squeak, quiver and moan, she gave a herald of her own orgasm. Her soft folds contracting around my shaft, I felt her go almost rigid as she came, finally letting out an almost bestial roar as I felt her girlcum coat the base of my penis. This was, of course, my cue, and almost laughing with the absurdity of the whole thing, I let myself go, shooting once, twice, three times, deep into her.

I fell forwards, lying back down on her, our chests mashed together. The movement of the trampoline slowed down, and finally ceased as we lay there, an afterglow hovering somewhere nearby. In the house, the party was continuing. A few minutes more, and someone would have come to find us. But it was almost getting caught that made it fun.

Pulling myself out of her, I lay down on my back and let out a sigh. We held hands as our senses started coming back to us. We'd need to go back soon. Before I said anything, though, I re-attuned myself to the world around me. I lay back on the springy material, listened to the steady creak of the springs, and stared up into the night sky, as I let myself feel, once again, the cleansing rain falling onto my skin.

Thursday, 21 June 2012

Family Bonding

"There's one more thing I wanted to ask you," I said. "Remind me why you decided to review 50 Shades of Grey?"
"Because everyone was talking about it," said my sister, who writes book reviews.
"Everyone's talking about Michael Gove," I replied, "and barely anyone wants to even think about him."
"It's the eyes - his cold, dead eyes."
"No, that's George Osborne. Only they're all one and the same now, it seems."
"All in this together."

We both laughed.

"Okay, so, 50 Shades of Grey?"
"It's shit."
"I know it is. I've read the review. I don't know if you read sex blogs, but I do, and a lot of them are up in arms about it - well, mostly because it's shit. But also because it's failed Twilight fanfiction..."
"It's not even failed. She just changed the names and took out all the vampire bits."
"That too. And it portrays BDSM - pretty inaccurately, by all accounts. Although I haven't read it, but you have."
"Yeah, there's BDSM."
"I don't know how much you know about BDSM, but..."
"Oh, a lot."
"Me too."


"Is it accurate?"
"Oh. Good."

Another pause.

"Where do you want to go for lunch?"

Wednesday, 20 June 2012

I'm going to go and wash my eyes now.

I just saw this on Facebook.

My name is the ancient Greek translation for "eternal sex-god". It is believed that anyone that holds this name has a great level of skill and ability to perform sexual acts for long periods of time. Men possessing this name are also well-endowed.

This kid is about ten years old. I don't know what I'm more surprised by - it's either the fact that he's saying this stuff or that he knows what "well-endowed" means. What's more, he can spell it. I didn't know what "well-endowed" meant at the age of ten.

Mind you, I probably had a pretty sheltered childhood. My surname is a rough approximation of "virgin", so that kind of fits.

Tuesday, 19 June 2012

TMI Tuesday: What's your sign?

It's TMI Tuesday again.

Shalla once asked me what my sign was. It's not a question I'm averse to being asked, as I was actually really into
star signs and astrology when I was little. I even started a club of sorts. I won't dwell on that too much, but I will answer these questions...

1. What star sign are you?

Pisces. A water sign. Two fish swimming in opposite directions tied together with a cord so they can't get anywhere... which reminds me very much of myself!

When I was in primary school, I started my own little club with a group of friends. The first three of us I
nicknamed, briefly, "Perfect Pisces" (me), "Lovely Libra" (Robinson) and "Sensational Sagittarius" (Mane's older sister). Ridiculous monikers, yes? Right. Except when I went to Cornwall with 47 last year, I saw these in a gift shop...

You couldn't make it up.

2. Do you believe in horoscopes?

Officially, no. But essentially, sometimes they are scarily accurate. I'm not entirely sure what it is. I don't think it's your average horoscope in the newspaper that I'd believe (although they often contain good advice), but I used to have (back in my primary school days) a book that my parents bought me about what the various signs meant, and they all seemed to apply to the people I knew with those signs! So maybe there's some truth in it, after all.

3. When is your birthday?

March 17th. Same birthday as Dennis the Menace. Oh, and, er, St Patrick's Day. If I were born in Ireland, I'd probably have been called Patrick.

4. What’s the worst birthday gift a partner has given you?

A packet of "Before Sex" mints, and to go with it, a packet of "After Sex" mints. This girl was allergic to mint, so we couldn't share them either before or after sex, and if I ate them, I couldn't kiss her either. So it was a bit pointless getting them...

5. Are you organised when it comes to other people’s birthdays?

Not really. A few of the important birthdays I remember - Robinson's, and (some of) my family's - but I can never really remember when 47's is. I'm good at getting cards and the presents I normally choose are sound (bought Robinson a drink and crisps once on the logic that I'd be getting something he chose himself), but when it comes to remembering stuff... less so.

6. How do you normally celebrate your birthday?

Sitting in silence with my legs hunched up to my chest, rocking back and forth mumbling, while I dwell on the fact that every breath I take, it could be my last - and how I'm being drawn inexorably towards my own horrible death, for which I will probably be alone.

And cake.

7. If you could be one age again what would it be? Why?

19. I feel that if anything amazing had happened to me by now it would have started around that age. I do feel incredibly old right now and not really up to learning any new skills or trying for anything I really particularly want to do. To be honest, I probably should've made more of an effort around that time, but I had no idea how and no form of support either.

8. What would be your ideal birthday treat?

Probably a holiday. It's no real secret that I'm into that whole "going away" thing.

My sister's birthday falls in the middle of August, with the strange side-effect that it's usually happened while our family have been on holiday. Okay, fair enough, for the last ten years the family holidays haven't happened that much (I went on one last year, but that was different), but when we were children (well, when she was a child and I was an older child - I'm 5 years older), we went to places like France and there was always a birthday celebration in the middle of that.

Depending on the people we were holidaying with, what happened to me on that day varied. Some rich and very nice friends of my parents often bought me an unbirthday present on my sister's birthday, including (at one point) a talking parrot. A toy, obviously. Not a real parrot. But I loved it.

Bonus: Tell us your best birthday memory?

The day I first got a Nintendo 64. I'd been waiting so very long to get one and I finally, finally did. Getting video games for birthday and Christmas and stuff was a bit of a tradition in my youth, but new systems were a rarity. Looking back at my consoles, my SNES, N64 and GameCube were all presents of the highest degree. But the first time I played Super Mario 64 was a real "wow!" moment.

Bonus Bonus: May we see you in your birthday suit? (post a photo)

Already did, four months ago.

Sunday, 17 June 2012

Soft Porn Sunday: Kim Yates & Nicholas Franklin Bray

Why do this scene if I know so little about it? I own the scene, but I've never seen the film - and after looking at it on IMDb, I don't particularly want to. The plot seems ridiculous in the extreme and it doesn't even seem enjoyable for the camp charm that some of the other films have. Kim Yates is a pretty lady, but that's not really enough to justify buying a DVD of a film I just may not like.

So why do this scene? Simple: the music sounds exactly like Down By The Riverside. In fact, is actually is Down By The Riverside and, although that segues into some other music, it's the theme that they keep returning to as the sex progresses. While at camp a couple of weeks back, I sang Down By The Riverside (if you don't know it, it's a fantastic anti-war group song... look it up, it's great to sing!) and so, in honour of camp, I present here...

Appearance: Timegate: Tales of the Saddle Tramps (1999)
Characters: Jenifer & Howard

I don't know enough about the plot (it involves time travel; that's as much as I know) or characters, so I can't really give an analysis of this. Howard is played by Bray, who also plays the sheriff - but as I haven't seen the sheriff, I don't know much about that either. I can tell you he's got a pathetic attempt at a beard, but that's about it. They've also spelled "Jennifer" without a double N, and that just looks wrong.

This is a long scene (I have it split into 4 MPEGs, although that's how it was downloaded; I'm sure you could put 'em all together). It all takes place on a porch outside a building (which is cool, outdoor sex is hot), negating the need for any interesting backdrop. Softcore has various backdrops, but a lot of care is often put into things like Virgins Of Sherwood Forest (mountains in Nottingham? Still, they tried) or the décor in Bedtime Stories. Here, apart from the prop house, you don't need much. There are trees, of course - real, actual, honest-to-God trees. In fact, were it not for the trees themselves, you may have trouble remembering they're outside (not as stupid as it sounds; the way it's shot often doesn't focus on the wonderful scenery), so that's a nice twist.

She's a natural blonde, I think.Howard is dressed in a plain black shirt, but Jenifer (Yates, doing her best "doe-eyed innocence" act here) starts off in blue and white. The first half of the scene is composed entirely of disrobing and kissing (although I would have preferred more mouth kisses than they have here), the focus being on Jenifer's bare torso - in fact, it's not until one minute and thirty-four seconds in that we see the chair they're sitting in! - but Jenifer then spends a lot more kissy time being clothéd below the waist, and with nothing on top. Those of you who know me well will probably have guessed why I like this bit of the scene...

By the time we're halfway through, Yates has completely disrobed, and we get a few full pans of her naked body - which, all naked bodies considered, is a nice one, albeit maybe a little too skinny in places - while Howard (Bray) hasn't taken his trousers off yet! Still, he's busy with kissing bits of her, which I like. It's good to see him paying attention to his female partner. Three-quarters of the time through and we finally do get a little sex.

It all happens on a chair. The first bit, shot partially from behind and partially from the side (with a couple of quite
It's one of those anorexia trigger pictures, isn't it? random thigh-and-crotch shots), show her sitting on him in a kind of chair-based reverse cowgirl effort. A quick turn around and it's the same position, only they're facing each other this time - and then she leans back a bit (show-off!) before - well - it all ends, really. It's not great sex acting, as the rocky movements are there, but there's not much effort put into it. Bray makes some faces, which has the curious effect of having Howard looking somewhere between enjoying himself and scared. Yates is going for the confident "yeah, I'm having sex and this is normal for me, so I have a serious face on," which - to me - isn't the best expression. I've always preferred the "can't quite believe this is happening to me, I'm so lucky!" face. However, they are in a chair, and therefore most movements and positions would be restricted. They could have been more creative, but they just - chose not to, I suppose.

In fact, strangely for a sex scene, this is one where the foreplay excites me more than the actual sex. Ironically, this is a bit of an anticlimax when they... well... climax! The unclothing goes on a bit, but there are some seductive bits to it, and when it gets to the intercourse, neither of them look like they're having a lot of fun! Kim Yates has another sex scene in this film - on a bed, I'll admit - in which it's a lot clearer that she's enjoying it. Here, she just appears to be doing it. That's not cool. And Howard basically does very little apart from getting sat on, so he's hardly worth discussion. Cinematography's okay as it goes, but there are a lot of mix cuts in it, and that does get tiresome after - well, after a very short amount of time, in fact.

But the real reason I like the first half... well, it's the music, innit? Okay, even if it wasn't an anti-war cry I know all the words to, it's a folk tune (played on a banjo, nice "authentic country feel" there) remixed into softcore music. That's really quite clever. But by the end it's basically a drum beat and none of the original tune's left, which is a shame. It would have been nice, in fact, to hearken back to Down By The Riverside at the end of the scene, but there's no such luck. Seems they just forget about it. Details, people, details!

So, out of ten, I'd give this... fish. It's an OK sex scene, but (apart from the music) there's not much special about it. Kim Yates has a lot of better sex scenes than this, and Nicholas Franklin Bray is in an action drama called The Scrapper from 2012, so if you're a fan of either of them, there's more than this scene to get your teeth into. But I keep coming back to this one... even if I don't end up coming to it. Why? Well, do I even need to explain?

I ain't gonna study war no more!...

Saturday, 16 June 2012


I found out about sex when I was two. Being of an enquiring mind at that age, as I always have been, I asked my mother where babies came from, and she told me... well, not everything. Kind of the basics. I knew there was a "baby hole", as she put it. But she gave me a very watered-down version of what happened. As you probably would if you were trying to explain sex to a two-year-old. It involved switches.

I, of course, didn't know what to make of it, so I went back to thinking about dinosaurs. By that point, I could spell "hypsilophodon", so evidently that was the right field of study for me at the time. I never forgot the conversation, though.

I didn't actually know about the mechanics or anything until about ten or eleven, but a couple of years earlier, a lot of other people in my primary class got to know about it from the sex education video they showed in year 5. I was unwell that day, but I kind of knew everything anyway. (Or most things. I still don't know everything - who does?) It was evident the day afterwards who hadn't been told at any point beforehand, as they clearly thought it was totally disgusting - as, at that age, did I, although I'd already known about it so I was prepared; by the age of twelve, though, I was pretty interested in it, as you'd expect. As far as I'm aware, the WORST THING EVER IN THE WORLD scale goes like this:

Nursery school: someone's got your sweeties
Infant school: being in love
Junior school: having sex
Secondary school: not having sex
University: having never had sex
Adulthood: someone's got your sweeties

This strange middle-ground of "you've had sex!" being used as an insult lasted until year 7, when the few people who didn't know - those whose parents signed the form and sent it in, necessitating their children to leave the classroom and pray for our souls - finally found out. Which, of course, had me wondering what they had been told all these years. Does anyone actually tell the stork story any more? Don't they know he was captured in Yoshi's Island?

And, finally, today I got to wondering further. When did you find out about sex? How? What did you think at first? I'd love to know.

Friday, 15 June 2012


I used to use Gumtree to look for girls to date and/or have sex with. I'm not ashamed of that. I was single for a very long time, after all, and then I was single for six months at the beginning of 2011 as well. As opposed to Craigslist (which, to my knowledge, still runs both personal ads and NSA ones, but has become overrun with people looking for money) - a site which just looks seedy - and any of the other multitude of dating sites (which all require payment), Gumtree was free, easy to browse and full of seemingly beautiful young ladies practically begging to be seduced.

Of course.

I used Gumtree again today - although not to look for a girl. I was looking for a job. For those of you who don't know, due to cuts my previous job was axed a couple of weeks back, and so I'm back on the trail - albeit somewhat lamely, because my heart's not really in this much yet, plus (much as I hate to admit it) I quite liked being unemployed last time. Browsing any site for any kind of job is disheartening, but seeing something available on a road just around the corner from you is a new one on me.

Really? There's a place five minutes away? Let's check it out.

Folder in hand, I went for a walk. As I passed down the road, the foggy depths of my mind groped for the connection. I swear there was some sort of connection between searching Gumtree and this road. It's been a long time since I used Gumtree. What was it?

"Eureka!" I shouted to nobody in particular, causing some old ladies to start and stare at me. Of course! This is one of the nicest roads in my area. I'd always imagined the (fake) beautiful young ladies of the Gumtree NSA section to live in it. Never mind that they were all probably 50-year-old men in trenchcoats collecting cock pictures and credit card details; this was the road they lived in. An assumption exacerbated by the fact that the palm trees and decorative fountains of the villas on said road made for a grand overstatement of the luxury of comfortable living. Yeah, I could get used to this.

I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I walked past the place I was supposed to be delivering a CV to. Doubling back, it's not hard to see why I missed it. It was a house. Just, you know, a house. Quite a nice house, but still - a house. Not really the commercial venture that its ad on Gumtree had suggested, and certainly not a place that looks like it'd accept a geek in a shirt delivering a CV. Nevertheless, I pressed the buzzer. Predictably, there was no answer. I even tried some of the number combinations to see if I could effectively break in... which probably wasn't the best idea in the world.

So another idea hit me. Out of my folder I fished a notebook and a pen. Tearing a page from my notebook, I wrote an explanatory letter to the business owner, folded it neatly up and bundled both it and a CV into a standard envelope, which I sealed, writing "FAO: Business Owner" on the front. There. So, even if this was his private address and not his commercial venture (and even if it was, why'd he put his address on Gumtree, eh?! Ridiculous.), my CV would get to him, along with a letter... if he could read my handwriting. It's difficult to do that sometimes.

I was about to put the letter into the letterbox, yet more old women staring at me as if a young man in a raincoat writing a letter against a brick wall wasn't a regular everyday occurrence, when I suddenly got cold feet. Adjusting my shoes, I began to doubt that I was doing the right thing. What if this wasn't a business address? Was I, effectively, making a fool of myself by putting my name and address through a totally inappropriate letterbox?

So I settled upon the only reasonable course of action... I stuck my hand through the letterbox and pulled out all the letters in it.

They were mostly addressed to this one guy whose name I didn't recognise, including a copy of The Economist (but I've no idea what that indicates. At least it wasn't the Daily Mail). And, yes, they all appeared to be just... well... letters. But, oh ho ho, what's this? A registered letter from... where? Spain? And does it have the company's name on it? Why, yes! Yes it does! Good enough for me. I shoved all the letters back through the slot from whence they'd come, followed by my own, thus bringing my saga to an end.

I turned and headed for home through the combination of drizzle and sunshine. Maybe there weren't any real girls from Gumtree living on this road... but I got to sample its delights, in a way, after all.

Tuesday, 12 June 2012


It doesn't take much for me to spiral backwards in time. Sometimes it's a happy memory, sometimes it's not. To be honest, usually it's not. I had a very unhappy memory this morning.

But this evening was different. I felt a very strange recollection of the early days of this blog. Back when I started. I'd had the idea in the shower (this, you should know) and I'd finally gotten around to writing the blog, thus breaking down the barrier that had held me in place for so long (this, you should also know). I was giddy with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. I remember carrying a light in my heart. I've got a sex blog now. Terribly illicit. Discreet. My family don't know; my friends don't know... it was brilliant. Brilliant.

I was elated for those first few months with the sense closest to pride I think I've ever felt. My family said I seemed almost happy, although they didn't know why. I think they assumed I was enjoying my job (and that's not too far from the truth; in some aspects, I was). I sneaked my blog into my daily life where I could. I went into town once and "tested" the gel pens in Sussex Stationers by writing my blog address on the doodle pad. I had a training course at the Guardian and write my blog address on a piece of paper, leaving it there. I asked a psychic lady what to do about Innocent Loverboy, although I didn't specify who that was. "Yes", "No" and "The Libido" came up - she told me to make my own decisions. So I did.

I remember the first CCK Social I went to - the first public meeting I could go to with the statement that I am indeed ILB and happy to be so. (The CCK party doesn't count - I was a wallflower.) I remember getting business cards made on the suggestion of Katie and feeling unnerved about it, but still excited. I was cementing my already-grounded identity.

Occasionally I catch flashes back to those years ago. This evening I remembered writing my blog address on the doodle pad. I have to wonder if anyone found it. If they read it. If they're reading now. But I didn't intend anyone to find it... I was just testing the water, padding without expecting a bite. But I felt gleeful. Delighted, even, at my own daring (or what I saw as daring, back in those days).

You are reading the words of a person who still finds ways to recapture that glee... even if it takes a memory to do so.

Monday, 11 June 2012

The Ten-Step Plan for Girlfriend Relaxation

1. Lie on back.
2. Receive a request to massage her bum and possibly back as well.
3. Process request and fulfill through creative use of right thigh in a circular motion, a bit like the movement of the final boss from Superfrog.
4. Right self and straddle her, applying moderate pressure with hands to the small of her back, in between shoulder blades, and dimples just above the posterior.
5. Sing The Coolest Dream by Jay Foreman.
6. Kiss areas previously applied pressure to by hands.
7. Slide down. Kiss bottom cheeks in succession without initiating sexual activity.
8. Slide back up and resume straddling. Apply firm pressure to either side of spine with thumbs, taking care to avoid first three cervical vertebrae. Drag hands down and back up again. Repeat.
9. Repeat steps 4 and 6 to 8 until satiated. Substitute choice of Jay Foreman song to replace step 5 if desired.
10. Attempt to elicit a response. If "mmmhr" is the response, followed by sleep, that is acceptable.

© 2012 ILB

Saturday, 9 June 2012


Okay, so, yeah, maybe we can't have sex. No, wait, that's a lie. We can. Maybe there isn't any penetration. At the moment. But, to be fair, that's largely my fault. Okay, okay. The size of my penis isn't my fault. But it was my idea to use Durex Tingle lube, and that was a pretty large factor in the lack of sex department as it felt like I was SETTING FIRE TO HER VAGINA.

And that's not in the good way. Lubrication fail.

But, you know, I really do like exploring sex without penetration. It actually gives me the chance to get acquainted with my girlfriend's body without sliding my penis into her. As you may recall, we've done this a few times before, almost always with positive results. Amd, as much as I like penetrative sex, there's no real reason why it should exist for an enjoyable sex life. Okay, well, yes, maybe eventually it should exist. But then, eventually it will happen. It's just a matter of when. I'm confident... or whatever passes for confident when it comes to me. You know me.


What I like about non-penetrative sex is the exploration. I like sliding my hands around the curves and contours of her body. I like licking her back all the way up the spine and down again. I like kissing the nape of her neck and the lobes of her ear. I like brushing her hair against me. I like massaging her bum, sometimes with my leg. And I like the kisses. Not just mouth kisses either. I like kisses of the chest. The breasts. The stomach and the belly button. And let's not forget the clit, my Best Beloved.

And I like that. I like have a warm, sexy body to explore. I want to have sex - oh yes, of course I want to. But orgasms are shared, and a good time is had. We are effectively partaking of each other's bodies and trading physical pleasure via what we do...

...and isn't that what sex is all about? Answers on a postcard!

Tuesday, 5 June 2012


Here I am in my pyjamas, tapping away at my computer, a wheat bag warming my chest, arms and lap. The rain is tapping at the window outside, but I'm not letting it in.

Camp was a bit like this, just not with the wheat bag, warmth, pyjamas, computer or window. Our tent didn't even have a window. Yesterday was dry, sure, but the day before there was torrential rain for hours on end, and the day before - where I turned up at camp one day late due to the combination of watching Prometheus with sex bloggers earlier on in the day and Robinson actually heading up in the evening and being my ride - was also slightly besieged by the open heavens.

Every night it rained. I slept in a huge, dark, green army tent with Robinson and Mane and his brother. I kept needing to use the toilet (tent). We didn't talk much, and when we did, sex was hardly mentioned; I did slip Kira Reed into a conversation once, but nobody knew who she was. I didn't feel sexy. I didn't orgasm once (I've hardly even touched myself, never mind masturbating to orgasm, in the last week). I didn't bring a sleeping mat so I lay in my sleeping bag, arms wrapped around my torso, shivering in an almost apoplectic manner, listening to the thunderous rain outside, splashing on our canvas shelter and thinking how nice it might be to have sex in a tent in these conditions. The first night I got zero sleep (and came directly after Erotic Meet, let's not forget), so my second day passed in a haze of tiredness. My elbows are sore from when I slipped over into a ditch. My leg is slightly twisted from hiking up a hill. My eyes hurt from the lack of sleep and staring into the campfire for hours after nearly everyone else has gone to bed. I'm cold and tired and feel generally unwell.

I had a fantastic weekend and I loved every minute of it.

It's difficult to imagine, I'll grant you, that four days of eating overcooked pasta and grated cheese with the occasional potato cake for breakfast is a good time. Cancelling all the planned activities (save for a couple) because of torrential downpours isn't fun, and while there's a big white mess tent to commune in, three hours of Yahtzee also isn't too fun. Some people wouldn't spend 45 minutes reading Now We Are Six to a precocious six-year-old girl in a pink high-vis vest (but I did all the voices!). And I'd search for a long time to find anyone who'd jump at the chance to walk for three hours through driving rain and high winds. In a forest. To a place where the biggest attraction is an ice cream shop. My fabric shoes got soaked through and I had to dry them on the fire - and my feet still haven't recovered yet. But I loved that too. And for anyone who sings, it's a difficult concept trying to lead ten very tired adults into a rousing chorus of a song written for twenty-five-plus children high on the joys of life.

And yet I loved it. I'd come on a high from the Erotic Meet and Prometheus, which everyone was curious about (the film, not the meet), and although three days under canvas in the rain may seem certain to put a dampener on everything, it didn't. It really didn't. This is the camp we'd been planning. This is what we've done every year since I was six. I sat by the fire last night, almost completely dried out at last, contemplating how I was surrounded by one group of friends, having come a few days earlier from another group of friends, with the prospect of seeing a girlfriend later in the week. The crackle of the campfire, the scent of the toilet tent (not an unpleasant one; more Jeyes Fluid than anyone else's) and the shiver of that slip into your cold sleeping bag at 2am, the hiss of the gas light slowly diminishing as your friend turns it off once he's sure that everything's okay.

It's all there. It's still all there. Rain or shine. It's all there just like it ought to be.

I loved it. I did. I had a great weekend.

I did.