Tuesday, 31 July 2012

These bloggers are crazy!

I go a little crazy during sex. I mean, only a little, I'll grant you - I'm a measured guy, generally, but I can often get excited and emotional if I let go of my inhibitions (and thus I tend to do on occasion, to make me appear "interesting"), and when is a more opportune time to do so than while having sex?

I mean, yeah, sure, there's a limit. I don't go totally crazy. I don't bite; I don't claw. I barely even spank during sex if there isn't an indication that she'd want me to do so. But there's that one moment that we all experience, that almost total loss of control, that makes me go crazy.

I don't like being out of control, but then again, I don't like being in control either. I keep switching about. I know what I want - I like sex and want to have that experience. But her pleasure is important to me too - more so. So I tend to put my efforts into things that either I think, know, or hope she will enjoy. And to do that, sometimes I need to take control - do the things I know how to do, do them so she'll enjoy it. And sometimes I know she'll want to do something to me / for me, in which case I need to relinquish control, and let her have (almost) free rein over me. So it goes both ways.

If I were into BD/SM, I'd totally be calling myself a switch right now.

Sex with me must be an interesting experience. I, like I'd imagine all people, start off slow and pick up speed as and when desires, just as I start off in as balanced a way as I can - usually with an unmercifully stupid serious face - and then lose control towards the final throes. That's the point of no return; the bit where I can't stop. And who can blame me? Come to think of it, who can stop?

But I do go crazy. I stop short of turning feral, but I do go wild. Primal ILB? Hardly. But nevertheless, it's certainly buried there, somewhere, and - like the Creeper bursting out of Jack Ryder when the psychosis hits - it only takes something to bring it out. Fair enough, it's a pretty big something, but still, there's that one special moment that brings it out. Can I define it exactly? No, not really. Not at all. It's impossible to divine... but it's there, and I know when it hits. I just don't know much else afterwards. I'm too busy being crazy.

Oh, how I miss having sex.

Sunday, 29 July 2012

Wisdom and Volley

"It's not working," grumbled my cousin in a grouchy Scottish accent. Although he is actually Scottish, so that's not unexpected. I glanced up at the TV screen, putting aside my copy of Radio Times, and thought about vocalising my surprise that my cousin was able to watch television without falling asleep, considering his reaction to the Olympic opening ceremony,* but I decided to settle on the more obvious approach.

"What's not working?" I replied, looking at the screen. "Those bicycles appear to be working." I prided myself on knowing the word "bicycle", as that's the kind of jargon that only people who are interested in sports know, and as we can all agree on, I'm not one of them.

"No; the TV isn't working," replied my cousin. I nodded sagely, as we had spent about twenty minutes trying to get the opening ceremony to load last night; he slept through Voldemort anyway, which isn't the easiest of tasks. But as he said that, it was clearly working; there were cyclists (Another piece of jargon! I'm on fire!), moving, on the screen. To me, that counts as "working".

"I'm trying to get the volleyball up."
"Beach volleyball or real volleyball?"
"Radio Times says it's on BBC Olympics channel 10."
"Do we have that?"
I reflected. "No," I settled on.
"Gah! But we've got to watch volleyball!"
"Don't you know?" gasped my cousin. "It's an unwritten rule that every volleyball team is composed of the most attractive people in the world! Beautiful women, handsome men... and the beach version is better, because they're wearing less clothes!"
I was going to point out that the synthetic "beach" that is hosting the volleyball tournament is the bastard offspring of Horse Guards Parade and Skegness, and mention my thought that what they should have done was held it on the small sandbank which appears when the Thames is at low tide (for that authentic "we're in London" feel), but I don't think he'd have been interested, as he was clearly frustrated at the lack of scantily-clad women hitting balls around.

"It's on at some point between 9am and 12pm tomorrow," I admitted, thumbing my copy of Radio Times. "You could watch it at your grandparents' house."
"And I will! In fact, I think I'll tape it! Thanks!"
"Not a problem," I replied blandly. Then I glanced at the television. "Flip over to fencing, will you? I think we should be watching something more ridiculous."
He did so, but was clearly lost in the thought of beach volleyball.

Yes, I remember being 18 too.

* His excuse being that he's just come back from Jakarta. Lame.

Friday, 27 July 2012


"I want to see this!" I said, pulling Catherine into the dark room and taking a seat.

She didn't look so tired in the dark. We'd been picnicking on the Isle of Dogs, been to a farm and got friendly with a llama who tried to eat her hair. There were also horses invading London, hiding rabbits, one chipmunk who didn't look at all like Alvin, and flies, but I don't think those animals were intentional. We'd also been maxing out the Science Museum, which included a musical geek orgasm on my part when I got to play a bass drum along with Jupiter from Holst's The Planets - although I'd have preferred the glockenspiel. Still.

I hadn't noticed, until I walked right next to it, the display which promised to show what the Internet sounds like. I wasn't even aware it had a sound - but it seemed like my sort of thing, and thus we entered. And walking around the Science Museum is tiring. Seats were welcomed.

We watched the Internet make noise. It was really rather clever, the whole "diving into random chatrooms, fora and messages to flash up brief snippets of text" thing - even if it did seem a little like an invasion of privacy. I'm sure it must have been edited, though. There weren't any actual names mentioned, and the "I AM" display was genius - lots of short sentences beginning with "I AM", vocoded by a computer, while the screens - little ones, covering a while wall - steadily filled up with red scrolling text and some cool backing music that made me feel calm. It even seemed to make Catherine feel calm, which is a good thing in my book.

After a while, I started to get a bit restless. We decided to move on... but not before I actually had a closer look at some of the text that had been gleaned from the darkest corners of the Internet.

"I'll be back in a second," I said, inching closer to look at some of the screens. A few quotes looked like the sort of conversations 47 used to have in the IRC rooms he frequented. My own favourite chatroom was never that busy. I skimmed past the conversations about cows and rubber gloves... until I saw a few things that seemed to be attempting to explain exactly why the display had a "may not be suitable for all ages" proviso. Rather a few things, in fact. And they also appeared to be covering increasing space on the wall, too.

I chuckled my way back to Catherine, took her hand and found our way out of the exhibit, still grinning broadly. It's nice to know, in these troubled times, that the Internet will never let us down.

Wednesday, 25 July 2012

Review: REV 1000 Male Masturbator

A few days ago, I was contacted by strawberry blushes to ask if I would care to review one of their most successful products: a male masturbator called the REV 1000. I've actually held one of these before (even though I don't really like sex toys), but never really used it (because I don't really like sex toys). However, however, never say never (ever?), so I said yes. The following review is my own opinion and, although you can probably guess what the outcome will be already, you may as well go ahead and read it. It took me a while to review!

Looks a bit like a perfume box, I think.The REV 1000 is a male masturbator - the operation of which being that you push your erect penis into it and operate it like a remote control. Although my first thought, of course, was something akin to "that's a sex toy? It looks more like an offensive weapon! I could kill someone by hitting them with this! It'd be like sexual Cluedo!". I had a "fun" few minutes taking the bits apart and then putting them back together, as the instruction manual requested, before realising that I had no idea what they were. I re-read the instructions, couldn't see anything wrong with what I was doing, and then I decided to try and have a go.

The first thing I tried was to fit my erect penis inside the REV. Don't worry, I'm not a fool, I am aware of how one gets friction burns; I just wanted to see how tight a fit it was without actually turning the REV on. It didn't fit. It didn't even go in by an inch. I didn't really want to acquiesce and use lube for an initial size test, but I had to. In fact, I used large amounts of lube before I actually fit into the device. Still, once it was in, it was a nice fit and the penis felt snug inside it. So far, so good.

So, to the controls: well, there are two options you can switch between: speed and operation, 49 combinations in
There were concerns about the latest design for the Olympic torch.all. The simplest is a 360° continuous clockwise rotation, whereas the other five functions vary in different ways. At the lowest speed, function one didn't do much for me (in fact, it hurt a little despite vast amounts of lube), but I got used to the feeling of the REV encasing my penis as I upped the speed and played a little with the functions. I even built up through the list until function seven (double rotation clockwise and then anti-clockwise) at the highest speed, but it still didn't do much for me. I was by that point ready for the "most powerful and intense orgasm" that the box and manual had both promised. It didn't happen.

What I did notice, however, was that at the right speed (medium-high) and at the right setting (function four - 180° clockwise and 180° anti-clockwise), the resulting motion is scarily close to the actual sensation of the penis pulsating as it does during orgasm. I wasn't having an orgasm, but I felt like I was... apart from the fact that I wasn't either enjoying it or ejaculating. Still, this was my favourite bit of my first try.

I didn't come though.

For my second try, I was incredibly turned on (and therefore very hard) beforehand, and I used a whole sachet of Durex cherry lube to squeeze into the REV. Once again, I played about with various functions and speeds while going through scenarios in my head which never fail to get me off (I was lying on my back on my bed; I don't think you can use the REV while sitting up - it's too bulky for that), and once or twice (using the fake ejaculation setting described above) I felt like I was on the brink. But that's as far as I got - I didn't manage to orgasm. At certain points, it was too strong; at others, too weak... and then it started to get painful. Once I stopped and pulled the REV off, my penis - still covered in lube - was hurting quite a bit. What's worse, I was frustrated and upset, and couldn't even bring myself off using my hand afterwards. It wasn't going to happen.

It doesn't have a troubleshooting section. I checked.(N.B. It happened a few hours later after I'd cleaned everything up and didn't use the REV, so at least I know I was working).

So why didn't it work for me, when it's so popular usually? I have no idea. But there's definitely one factor: the noise. It's really loud when buzzing/rotating, and that's genuinely irritating when you're trying to construct situations in your head to aid your masturbation - although the fact that I was trying to concentrate on constructing situations rather than fighting off induced orgasms isn't a good sign. A continuous drone was an unwanted assault on my ears, and in reality is one of the least sexy things I can actually think of. Add a lack of excitement, a lack of orgasm and a certain amount of pain to the annoyed wasp impression, and it's no surprise I didn't come inside this thing.

I'd like to point out at this juncture, however, that this isn't a terribly fair review - I don't have a particularly sensitive penis at the best of times, I don't do too well with lube and I tend to need warm stimulation, like the palm of a hand or the inside of a vagina (and preferably the sexual enjoyment of someone else) to actually induce orgasm from me. But clearly I felt something - only it was pain. This only happened after a long time, so maybe I was using the REV for too long. However, even with my level of sensitivity, you'd think an unusual pattern at a high speed would have some sort of effect. But it just... didn't. It didn't work. I wanted it to - and I tried really hard. But it didn't work - and if I don't come, I don't come.

And it's really loud, too.

REV 1000 Male Masturbator, kindly provided by strawberry blushes. Available for £106.95 in their Men's Sex Toys section.

Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Reblog: How To Blog Anonymously

Following an attempt on Dr Brooke Magnanti's blog, she has been asking fellow bloggers to reblog her post on how to blog anonymously. I'll repost the content here verbatim as per her request, as it's also quite relevant to my interests too.

Disclaimer: I always maintain that I'm pseudonymous, not really anonymous so much, thanks to multiple events, meetups and basically just being friendly - from two girlfriends straight out of the sex blogging world to getting on stage at Erotic Meet. And yes, maybe it's risky and maybe I should be more careful, as a few of these tips seem to illustrate. But I haven't set a foot over the line... yet.

Additional: I haven't actually read The Sex Myth, but I do own a copy. It's in my "to be read" pile; I bought it a couple of months back. I'll read it, but I should finish Catch-22 first.

Here's the post (original author credit). It's a long one, but certainly worth a read. I'm starting to wish Blogger had a handy "cut" feature like LJ has.

EDIT, 16/10/12: Upon a further request by Brooke, I am reblogging this again, only I have decided to remove the post from my blog, because it doesn't fit with the standard layout. The test verbatim, which hasn't been changed from the original, I have reposted here, on an external server. A result of this is that, if this blog ever gets removed or something, the text also survives externally.

Monday, 23 July 2012

'Dom signs

I posted this on Twitter a couple of days ago, but in case you haven't seen it...

Hi! I'm on a train!
It took me the length of a whole train journey to work out that there were a couple of unopened condoms lightly wedged into the chairs opposite me. I thought there was something unusual going on, but to be honest, I couldn't really see them behind the lady reading Fifty Shades of Grey opposite me (whose shoulder you can see in this picture, OMGZ SCANDAL), but once I'd realised they were there, I took a cheeky snap.

I wonder why they were left there? A quick surreptitious look (although I didn't take one; I've got boxes of the things at home) confirmed that they were indeed unopened, unflavoured, and within date. Was this cunning advertising? No, surely not. Durex don't need to advertise - everyone knows who they are, right? So what else would it be? @BurlesqueBun came up with an alternative explanation - that somebody had been expecting to get lucky on the train and their prospective partner had left without them - but I don't think that's very likely (in the middle of the day; I mean, maybe late at night on the Tube, but having said that, I saw someone pissing in a can at 12:30 on the train today, so anything's possible).

My theory is that someone left them there as a gift - maybe to promote sexual health, maybe to donate them to the local community, maybe just because they had some spare condoms. But maybe they were for shock value. Insofar as I'm in no way shocked by the existence of condoms, it was probably not the best place to put 'em.

But it's more interesting than having one thrown at me, I suppose.

Sunday, 22 July 2012

Soft Porn Sunday: Jennifer Behr & Robert Lee Jacobs

Jennifer Behr... I can't place her. Oh, wait, yes I can. I've seen her in a series of films called Justine, made by the same company that did the Emmanuelle films with Paul Michael Robinson in. In fact, I think he's in those as well.

Appearance: Hot Line, Series 1: "Hannah's Surprise" (1996)
Characters: Hannah & Mike

"Mike, I had this really wild dream last night."
"I was in a bar..."
"...and the cock! ...tail waitress... she was kind of cute... she had long blonde hair; she was wearing one of those
really short skirts; she was standing so close to me when she was taking my order..."
"...so close I could she wasn't wearing any underwear. I ordered a screwdriver; she took out a glass of vodka on the rocks. Place it on the table in front of me. And then... she stood on the table... put half an orange between her legs... ooh! And then she's squeezing her knees together... and the juice comes pouring out into the glass! And then..."
"...she takes the heel of her pump, and stirs... and stirs the drink..."
"...into the vodka and..."
"...aah, the juice was so real and I can still remember how it tasted! Oh! Oh! Ooh. Ah."

"That was the best damn screwdriver I ever had."

All while having sex on a messy bed. As the camera slowly rotates, we see more and more of their bodies as the pace of the sex - which is entirely in the missionary position - stays constant, Mike (Jacobs) never going any quicker or slower than when he starts (you don't see it explicitly, as only their torsos are in view at the start, but penetration clearly happens when Hannah says "cock!" - deliberate? Probably.). Even the music doesn't change much - it's kind of sleazy, lots of drums and jazzy brass, but that fits the tone of this scene. It, too, stays constant.

What isn't constant is the acting. Okay, maybe the acting is constant, but the reaction of the characters isn't. This
is a nigh on complete sexual experience, although the scene does start with naked kisses, so we don't know how much foreplay there's been. But Hannah (Behr) is clearly sleepy, and from the dialogue we can see she's remembering a dream, so either she's written it down (like I do with mine - I'm still having dreams about my cousin's wedding; last night's even involved Adam Kay!) or she's just woken up. It looks like sleepy morning sex to me. In any case, what's happening is an increase in enjoyment, from penetration to enjoyment to orgasm.

Very obvious orgasm, of course, as the dialogue shows. Although there are more "uh-huh"s from Mike than I cared to transcribe, but in the final throes of passion we get to see, they turn from inquisitive to lusty, like a more masculine version of the female moans we often get in these scenes. What Hannah's saying isn't really what's important either - although it's a borderline lesbian fantasy, a nicely-thought-out one from the writers - it's the fact that she keeps talking throughout the entire scene, with a few very short pauses to take a gasp of breath or to kiss Mike.

The final pun makes me smile. It's not funny, so it doesn't elicit a laugh. But I'm smiling because I've just seen a couple enjoy good sex. And who wouldn't crack a small smile, at least, at that concept?

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Unclean! Unclean!

Well, haven't I been in a strange mood this week? Two situations ripe for sexy comedy - my one year anniversary with Catherine coinciding with a trip with my strange (but lovely) friends to the pub to organise our pending holiday (end of August, just to give you some preliminary warning) - and nothing comes out. My fingers are still. Kaput. I can't even wrangle anything sexy, because... well... there hasn't been any sex.

I have, however, been feeling really filthy recently. Within ILB parameters, of course, meaning that what I consider filthy would be little more than one toe slightly closer to the line of depravity that most people would draw in the pristine sand. Needless to say, there hasn't been any thoughts of anything except vanilla sex. In fact, there haven't been that many thoughts at all.

It's mostly been feelings. I've been feeling dirty. Not literally, of course; it's just that my body's been thumping with some form of lust at incredibly random intervals. There have been dreams, other than the one the other night which involved my cousin being poly (I had to explain the concept of polyamory to Mane last night - he seemed to take a genuine interest until I admitted to him that I'm not the best person to ask) - very few of which actually seem to involve sexual intercourse, but all of which without exception involving either an opportunity or a concept, all of which would be disturbing to me in waking life, but seem to be not only acceptable, but the norm, in dreamtime.

Then there's the erections. They, also, appear at mostly random intervals. Morning wood is one thing, but midday wood? I'm not in a place to even be thinking about sex at work (well, I am, but I don't). And so I don't think about it. But I feel it. The place I work is near a hostel full of young people, so I guess there's some sexual energy there - I mean, there's got to be - but why am I picking up on it so potently? Especially when I'm not thinking about sex?

And yet when I sit down here, netbook humming quietly away, and my fingers are ready to tap it all out into a blog post, it's just... not there any more. It's gone. I don't have the sexual urge to touch myself, except at inopportune moments, when I can't - and, when I read my friends' sexy sexual sex blog posts, my immediate reaction is to applaud them, issue a huzzah and then move on. I used to get more involved. But when I do get the urge, over the last few days, what I feel is... well, as I said, filthy.

I'm aware the likely explanation is that my body may be realigning itself after... well, after whatever it is that destabilised me last week.

Or I could be evolving. Let's go with that instead.

Sunday, 15 July 2012

View from the other side

How to have a memorable wedding day, in 25 easy steps:

1. Awake to a general panic from everyone else in the house.
2. Shower, shave off beard, don trousers, shirt, waistcoat, shoes and jacket. Slip sonic screwdriver into pocket and walk around saying things like, "How can you miss me? I'm easy to find. I'm the guy with two hearts, remember?"
3. Go to church with increasingly frantic family. Enter accompanied by people in various states of historical dress. Avert eyes from the guy who decided to come dressed as Dobby.
4. Tease bridegroom on account of the fact that his bride hasn't turned up yet and suggest that she may have changed her mind.
5. Watch bride finally turn up in a massive dress with hearts on it; watch minister nervously take the service in front of what looks like a comics convention. Sing as loudly as is possible during hymns, because you may as well.
6. Mill around for a bit wondering what to do.
7. Go to reception.
8. Mill around for a bit wondering what to do.
9. Watch cabaret, which turns out to be the same people who always do something along those lines. Go up on stage and sing in Russian, get your laugh and then go off stage. Watch more cabaret and continually wonder when the food is.
10. Go outside and get photographed and feel hungry.
11. Go into banqueting hall; sit down. Feel incredibly hungry, exacerbated by the fact that there are cupcakes right in front of you and you're not allowed to eat them yet.
12. Get served three courses, eat them all and then realise that you're still hungry because the plate sizes were so small. Eat cupcakes anyway and attempt to fill up with water.
13. Watch uncle cry for the first time ever because he's trying to make a speech. Laugh at the best man's short speech and practically feel the pain of the groom as he stumbles through a rather disjointed ramble of thanks. (ILB: As practically the only person who didn't get thanked, I felt a mixture of sadness and relief.)
14. Mill around for a bit wondering what to do.
15. Watch Punch and Judy show (yes, really).
16. Go back into banqueting hall; notice that all the chairs and tables have gone and the fact that there's a band setting up - immediately realising that you'd completely forgotten the fact that there was going to be a ceilidh. Upon realising that the band have come nervous since there's nobody else in the room, go and find the man with the loudest voice and ask him to corral the guests.
17. Dobby gets everyone into the room - except the bride and groom, who are nowhere to be seen.
18. Get asked to dance by a pretty girl who you don't know. Find cousin and her new husband; get the band to start. Ceilidh (awkwardly) with girl, who dances well but is also a little drunk.
19. Throughout course of evening, dance with father, cousin, sister, other cousin and person who you may well be related to but don't know at all. Look completely ridiculous as you try to keep your Doctor Who costume in order.
20. Finish ceilidh through the grace of God and the efforts of a free bar with lots of Coke.
21. Wonder why you haven't gotten home yet.
22. Watch bride and groom leaving, and then don't tell anyone else that they've gone - start taking mental bets on when guests may notice that they aren't there any more.
22. Weather the finer points of a crisis involving a very drunk girl, some vomit, a bathroom floor, some panicked relatives and a guy who has Spiderman-like abilities (this one didn't happen... honest, guv)
23. Find way back home in a taxi with a very confused collection of relatives which varies from cousins to aunts and uncles to parents and sisters.
24. Make cheese on toast for sister and her best friend on account of the fact that you all deserve something for carrying an unconscious person home surviving this momentous day.
25. Go to sleep in a sleeping bag.

I'd fit in the fact that I had a strange dream about my cousin giving an acceptance speech for three other guys, including Lightsinthesky, and my then having a discussion about her being polyamorous. But then I'd have to mention the successive dream, which involved my cousin's university friends, including the girl who asked me to dance, forming the cast of Leprechaun 3, despite the fact that there weren't any leprechauns in it. And the successive dream to that, which involved me milling around for a bit wondering what to do. So I'll skip that bit.

Oh... and although she's not reading this, well done, oldest cousin. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Although more than I did would be nice, too.

She isn't really poly, by the way.

Friday, 13 July 2012


I rarely feel sexy, but the one time I do actually think of myself as attractive - I don't believe it when told so, even if it makes me grin inside - always coincides with my being on stage. I am clearly an attention whore, or enjoy making a fool of myself. Or the son of an actor.

All three.

Okay, I can't dance, I can't act, I can't sing and my instrumental skills are sub-par. I seem to be able to talk though, and make people laugh. I do that at the Erotic Meet sometimes. Works for me, anyway. And, considering I haven't had the greatest of weeks (well, it's been all right, but not the brilliant week it ought to have been), I do need a bit of an ego boost. I need to do a gig, but nobody came to my last one, and therefore it's not very encouraging to attempt to do so.


I am aware that tomorrow is my cousin's wedding; therefore, it's her day - and all attention should be on her. Allegedly she hasn't finished making the dress yet, so they will be if there's any loose stitching left over. Although I'm hoping her fiancé gets some attention too... however he ends up dressed. I don't really want to know. And I'm aware that the cabaret she's been planning is a temporary diversion for the assemblage of guests at the reception. And it's just cabaret. It's not about me, and it's in no way an ego trip.

But I will be singing a song in Russian while as dressed as Doctor Who.

I can cope with that.

Wednesday, 11 July 2012

Out of Time

How do I feel? I can answer that question with a few things. Tired. Hungry. Thirsty. I'm not in a bad mood - I'm not lonely or sad or scared - but I feel generally worn out and a little run down. There's a wedding I'm going to at the weekend which hasn't been prepared properly, by all accounts, but after that I can relax. By "relax", I mean "eat mega amounts of food and work from 9 until 12 every day, then go home and slack off". Because that's what I'll do.

But that's in the future. Here I am, halfway through this week, and I don't really feel like I'm particularly going anywhere. I get home in the evening and I have plans - they're not exactly fully formulated, exactly realised plans, but they're there, if vague - and yet I don't really do any of them. Hell, I was going to do a TMI Tuesday yesterday, but I didn't because all of my answers would have been lacklustre or really depressing.

Or both. Probably both.

Definitely both.

I spend my evenings feeling horny and frustrated. I talk to people and I browse blogs, but I never really find (or even make) the time to indulge in sexual intimacy with myself, at least not until bedtime, when I masturbate to orgasm lying on my back on my bed. It's fun when I orgasm, because my back arches and the propulsion makes me bounce a little on the mattress - a bit like a sitcom, only with semen - but it's not the ideal position for me, really. I masturbate more easily sitting down, and more intensively standing up - although by the time it's 11pm and my brain is telling me that I need to lie down...

...not sleep. I don't sleep well, but my muscles will need a rest at least...

...it's all I can do to lift my arm, even though my fertile imagination needs very little to activate it. (Another) problem is that, when I'm distracted, even my mind tends to wander off and go somewhere, so sometimes I've rarely been getting that far. I am, essentially, running out of time... with a weary body.

I shall recover. I'll regain my energy, get my sex drive back, use my time wisely, become interesting once more. It just might take me a while to do that. But I imagine it'll happen at the weekend... although perhaps not at the wedding. That'd be a bit awkward.

I'll let you know.

But first! Work!

Monday, 9 July 2012

The devil's in the details

My dreams which involve porn - either watching it or procuring it (on a bus or otherwise) almost never involve other people. In fact the only dream I've had which involves watching porn alongside people involved hardcore, rather than softcore, and it was my dad I was watching it with.

No, please don't try to analyse that.

However, last night's dream was different in that it involved both giving softcore to my sister and watching some with Robinson. Neither of whom I think I've even mentioned soft porn to in any great capacity. Or certainly not in the scale I refer to it here in ILB, anyway. But it's odd, anyway, because...

1) The first half of the dream involved me listing all the Emmanuelle in Space films to my little sister (for reference, they are: Queen of the Galaxy, A World of Desire, A Lesson in Love, Concealed Fantasy, A Time to Dream, One Final Fling and The Meaning of Love), upon her request. I even lent her my copy of Queen of the Galaxy - something the dream got perfectly right; it's the only one I actually own on DVD - the rest I downloaded. Not that I'd really share my softcore collection with my little sister, but I suppose I wouldn't be loath to tell her that I watch soft porn. I mean, who doesn't, right? (No, don't answer that!)

2) The second half of the dream was really odd, because (aside from featuring Robinson, which is peculiar in itself, since I rarely have dreams about him even though I've known him since we were 3) it features hardcore porn that doesn't really exist. One very specific example, in fact, which makes me think more than ever that this fictitious movie does actually exist, and that it's either softcore that I've seen but my brain has twisted into something else, or it's a blend of scenes and/or ideas that I've put together into one.
There were more details about it than before. This time, I recall that it had a plot, and that there were two sex scenes which I found hot (although I can't remember what they were and why - but I do remember them being the first two scenes in the film, the rest being a bit humdrum). I also remember knowing the movie well before we watched it, implying that it was one of my favourites. Also, thankfully, I don't think Robinson and I were watching it together for any reason other than entertainment. We were clothed, although I do also remember wondering when I could get some time alone with it, so I could masturbate to orgasm while re-watching the scene.

However, the most curious thing about this dream was that the porn had a title. A title I recognised and appreciated, and something which immediately brought to mind soft porn I've known about and loved...

I just wish I could remember what it was.

Wednesday, 4 July 2012


I don't know if this is obvious or not, but I feel like I should make this clear. Yes, I'm talking to you, man on the tube.


I wrote that in capitals because it looks as if you're into capital letters. Every single detail on your badge was printed in clear capital letters (bolded, no less), including your full name, occupation and place of work. You were even talking in capital letters - as a result, I heard every single word of your conversation. You even had the scent of some form of alcoholic beverage about you, and your friend - whose name, occupation and place of work I also divined - didn't help much, as he was clearly keener to find out about your infidelity than the rest of the carriage, or at least ILB, who found out anyway.

Maybe you can't live with your girlfriend or without her. And maybe she doesn't know about whomever sly-wink-and-shoulder-nudge might be referring to. Maybe, as your friend suggested, she is pulling the same thing on you and that's why she keeps coming home late every night. Or maybe there's an entirely innocent explanation for everything (well, everything apart from the fact that you work in a hospital and have still been drinking beer with your workmate at 5pm). I'm innocent, so I should know if there is.

Every second word of your conversation appeared to be fuckin',
and clearly "difficult" isn't the only thing you're fuckin'. But, please pay attention to me. For your sake, and hers, and that of your friend, and whomever it is that doesn't deserve a name other than a nudge and wink.

Take your name badge off.

Tuesday, 3 July 2012


According to the Metro this morning, people who engage in sexting are more likely to be sexually active. Uhm, really? Are you sure?

I've still never really done sexting on a grand scale; although I've flirted and shared innuendo over the medium of SMS (BBM, whatever), I've never really seriously engaged anyone in full-throttle cybersex with a 'phone. I have, of course, had cybersex over IRC (and, I believe, MSN at a few points) - but over text? Not really, no. I've no idea why not, being as I do have my 'phone with me a lot of the time. I'm just not entirely sure how it would work as well, seeing as how it isn't instantaneous. And, although I'm curious, I'm not quite curious enough to shell out £10 per day to sext someone who's paid to respond, like one of my friends did in the sixth form.

Although I'd totally do it if I did get paid for it. We all know I'd be good.

Anyway, back to the original point: people who sext being more sexually active than... well, other people. Again, I'm really not sure where this comes from. The Metro certainly has the tendency to pull statistics out of thin air, although this one had a citation - not that I can remember what it was. But is this really believable?

Okay, I can kind of see the train of thought here. In a way. I mean, some people may automatically think that people who are having sex are more likely to sext, seeing as how they've experienced firsthand what it involves. But then again, that's no guarantee that they're going to know exactly what's involved, and it's also no guarantee of prose style, quality, or effectiveness. Secondly, the Metro's snippet started by talking about people snapping and sending dirty pictures of themselves. That's not sexting, people. That's photo-sharing. It can be an accessory, but it's not virtual sex. There's none of the whole suspenion of disbelief involved, and certainly less chance of induced orgasm (unless the idea of carrying around a porn collection in your pocket turns you on) unless you're sneaky. It's just not the same.

Then again, there's nothing to stop you sexting if you're not sexually active. Well, there is - unless you have more money than sense and a sixth form to amuse. The main barrier is not having anyone to sext with, which is why the source probably came up with the result that it did. It's a bit of a no-brainer, actually; I'm no expert, but even I can guess that the person you sext with is probably either a potential, past or current sex partner (although I'm sure exceptions exist) and there's very little chance that you'll find anyone otherwise willing. Still, there's nothing else to stop you, really.

Plus, who's to say that sexting doesn't count as being sexually active? But that's another debate entirely.

Still, the Metro quoted some statistics. But you can probably make statistics prove anything you like. 85% of people know that.