Sunday, 26 August 2012

A Tent Situation

For the first time since June, I'm off on camp tomorrow, and I'm super-excited. As we all know, it's one of my greatest fantasies to have sex in a tent.

Except it isn't.

I'll readily admit that the idea of having sex in a tent appeals to me, but it's not really a situation I construct and masturbate over. It's not something I imagine myself doing (although other people... well, that's different), and it's certainly not something I'd go to camp to do. I mean, I wouldn't go to camp with an SO specifically to have sex in a tent. I mean, my current girlfriend wouldn't do well at camp, really. I love it, but I'm not sure someone with OCD would.

The reason for this is that from the ages of 16 to 21 I regularly went to Woodcraft camps which only featured people from the ages of 16 to 21. This group of people - known colloquially as DFs - got up to all sorts of things. Okay, so we weren't wild and destructive - far from it, it's Woodcraft, not the Scouts or any Brigades, we love the environment around us - and although there were a few class-As around, they were quickly stamped out. But there was rather a lot of sex.

It's not a massive surprise. A load of people from an organisation that promotes freedom of expression and the empowerment of young people, aged 16 to 21 with nobody older in a field for a week? What do you think we were doing, swapping knitting patterns? Fortunately for us, neither pregnancy or STIs were a problem at DF camps, because we had some amazing sexual health workshops which raised both awareness of sexual safety and pleasure in a very accessible way, plus free condoms (one of which I eventually used, years later - although it was still in date!). We had a Rainbow network to support LGBT people - not that they needed a network, there was no danger of discrimination here and at one point we axed it for being pointless. Sex was a fun activity and we openly saw it as such. I mean, camp - it wasn't an orgy or a sex party - we weren't totally uninhibited (the furthest I got was a snog from a girl I had a crush on, but nevertheless!). But there was a lot of sex going on - more at some camps than others.

I collected a lot of memories from DF camps. I remember shining a light on a tent so we could see two shadows moving in a very distinctive way; I remember walking into a room (on one of our residential camps) to find one of my friends hanging onto a pipe to stop himself from falling onto the floor with laughter upon finding two of our number having sex in a sleeping bag. I remember the statement, "I have lube! Strawberry flavour!". I remember the phrase, "I need to have sex. Any volunteers?". I remember our sexual workshop where I had "whipped cream" on my head and had to guess what it was (I got it, but I feel sorry for the guy who had "erogenous zones"). I remember something called the "DF Dirty Diagram" - the visual representation of a theory that everyone in DFs was linked by a trail of hypothetical saliva, and that everyone had kissed everyone by extension (I used the same theory to draw a web of everyone in another community I was in at the time, and that worked).

And I remember the game of "I Have Never" in which the subject of having had sex in a tent came up.

I like the idea of having sex in a little tent, maybe one of those orange Vangos that's designed for two, but can actually sleep fourteen. Especially in the rain. But it's not something I'd plan. My time in DFs implanted the whole sex-in-a-tent idea in me. It needed to be unplanned, spontaneous. It needed to be someone else coming into your tent. It needed to be a naughty liaison under canvas, maybe with the rest of the camp oblivious while the fire crackled away in the background. Rain makes sex more romantic, but it wouldn't be necessary. So while playing "I Have Never," and thereby separating the wheat from the chaff, I did feel a twinge of jealousy for the blonde pretty one who got to drink.


Having said that, it's not a necessity. It's hardly even a dream that may not ever come true. It's not really something I want to do. I've passed the DF stage where sex under canvas was wild, free, and pretty much expected from certain people - and it's certainly not going to happen at any of our group's camps (our district were unnaturally prudish, with me being the only one who ever went on DF camps, and we all know each other too much to assume that anything even close to sex would happen). It's not a fantasy I have, and it's certainly not something I'm obsessed with at any rate. But I still think it's a nice situation to cheekily drop into conversation at some point.

And, you know, maybe... some day...

Friday, 24 August 2012


Here I am, unable to sleep. It's 5am and tomorrow I have work for the first time in weeks. I've been glad of the reprieve, even it it's unpaid holiday, but I have one day of work tomorrow and I can cope with that. I'd feel a lot better if I could sleep, but I can't sleep. I rarely do sleep too well, anyway.

Here I am. Look at me. How do I act when I can't sleep? I terrorise myself. Bad things run through my head. Things from the past. People from the past. Things that have been said to me, done to me, that I don't deserve. Wasted opportunities; wasted time. Things that should have happened but didn't. I was barely in any after-school clubs. I didn't "come alive" at university. I didn't go travelling or experience a different life. I've barely got a direction now. Look at me. Going in for one day of work tomorrow with no idea if it will ever happen again. Hourly pay. Holiday next week. Very ad-hoc. But I like that.

Here I am. Look at me. Look at what I've been through. My earliest memories involve being bullied. Being told I'm selfish. Being punched and kicked because I'm clever. Being tormented at the age of 10 for being "queer". Being victimised over and over again for five years because I was different at secondary school. I brought it on myself, I know. I wanted to be different. I didn't follow fashion. I didn't blend in and I never will. I didn't conform, and I was bullied for it.

Here I am. Look at my adult life. Going to play in a band and then going home to self-harm because of things the conductor said. Going to university first time around (when nobody in my corridor let me sleep), second time around (when I used to go home in floods of tears and lose all hope), third time around (when unreasonable amounts of stress continued to mount until I was at breaking point). Racking up all these qualifications and yet never being able to hold onto a job. Seeing the clear disappointment in my mother's face whenever she talks to me about anything.

Here I am. I am a writer, an actor, a musician, a comedian. A performer. Look at me. Watch me. I'm happiest when I'm on stage. My family expect more of me. They want a doctor, a lawyer, a businessman - someone rich and successful. I don't want riches. I don't want success. I want space to grow, to express myself, to be me.

Here I am. I am a lover. Having had continuous long-term obsessions over which I never did or said anything. Crying my heart out because of people I barely ever talked to. Writing them letters I never sent. Now, I share my love. Rejected by the one person I asked out; accepted finally by one, two, three girlfriends - dumped by two for no good reason. What they said and what they did still hurts me. I still wonder. I ask myself the question "Why?", knowing that I will never get an answer. Yet my heart still beats. My heart is strong. My heart, bleeding but glowing, makes me who I am.

Here I am. I have been through so much. More than you'd think. More than I deserve. Yes, they say I'm complaining, they say I whinge, call me selfish, self-absorbed, self-obsessed, unable to see the world around me. They say I drown in self-pity and I bring this on myself.

But I am still here. I hurt, but I will continue to be me. Standing up. Being different. Never blending in. It's what I have been hurt for doing, but it's what I do. I am here. I am strong. I am determined. I am accepting of myself. I know who I am, and here, in these early hours with work on the horizon and no chance of sleep, I think of myself and only of myself.

Here I am. I am who I am. And I am stronger for it.

Thursday, 23 August 2012


We hadn't started doing charades. We'd been playing Cranium originally, but after my team (composed of only myself and Mane after some people had left) had won - by the narrowest of angles and our ability to spell HOGWARTS backwards (I was very tempted to start with, "Dispel!") - it dawned on someone (I'm not sure who; Mane, his little brother, friend-I-haven't-thought-of-a-name-for-yet, girl-I-used-to-have-a-crush-on and... another friend who I haven't mentioned yet... were all keen) that the most popular Cranium tasks were definitely the bits which involved acting, performance, or anything else vaguely related to making a fool of yourself. We even had a dedicated performance space (an empty door frame).

It came as no surprise, then, that there followed forty-five minutes of just acting out the green cards in rotation, all attempting to beat a total (set by Mane, who managed an impressive fifteen, not least helped by our collaborative guessing skills. I managed to guess "mud wrestling", which I was quite pleased about, and as the evening went on, I got more and more enthusiastic about it, my brain flicking through multitudes of possibilities, and even having a fair crack at it when my time came to perform. However, as eventually the sugar depleted from our collective systems, we ended up on the sofas. We'd been on the sofas anyway, but just... more so.

"Office Romance?" said Mane, pulling out one of the cards at random. "How would you do that?"
"Easy," yawned the young raver.
"Yeah... look," said Mane's brother, standing up. He then did a complicated set of actions, involving an odd hand movement back and forth with a clicking motion ("that's the photocopier!" was the correct guess), followed by a long, circular arm sweep and an action of lifting and dropping someone. That was harder to guess.
I got it in one. "You're clearing everything off a desk in wanton abandon with one sweep of your arm, and them lifting her onto the desk in order to make love to her, right?"
There was a general ripple of laughter. "Right!"
Of course it was. The arm-sweep-clearing-the-entire-desk thingy's a motif that's been repeated in soft porn so many times that I'd recognise it anywhere.

I wonder how he did it so accurately...

Tuesday, 21 August 2012

Kew are here

10:05 am

"What time is it?"
"Weren't we meant to get up at nine?"

10:35 am

"It's half past ten."
"I know we should be going to Kew..."
"But it's warm in here, and you're here..."

11:05 am

"We should really get up now..."
"Gorgeous boy."
"Sexy girl. As I was saying, we should get up now."
"You're not moving, are you?"

11:10 am

"That feels nice..."

Sunday, 19 August 2012

21 Tons of TNT

I've seen other bloggers write lists like this and, on account of the fact that I don't have much I want to write about at the moment, I thought I'd share some stuff with you that's not stuff made explicit in my FAQ. As my life is a living, breathing entity which constantly shapes and moves, these facts are true as of today. Some of them will still be true whenever you're reading them. Hello, future!

Twenty-one things about me:

1. On my maternal side, I am the first of six grandchildren, and until my youngest cousin was born, I was the only boy. The four girls in between us bridge the age gap by an average of three years each, but two were born on the same week.

2. I started reading at fifteen months old, before I could speak properly. My earliest memory involves reading a book about dinosaurs, and by my reckoning, I was two years old when that happened.

3. All considered, there are six potential permanent residents of my house - seven including the cat. What with people moving and changing, at the moment there are three people living here. Currently, it's just me (and the cat) as everyone else is away - on holiday, or moved out.

4. My favourite television programmes are Knightmare, Doctor Who, University Challenge and Glee. I don't watch much other TV, although my favourite genre of programme is the humble sitcom.

5. I think American Dad! is funnier than Family Guy.

6. I have a 2:1 degree in English and two other higher academic qualifications. One is from Oxbridge, one is from the University of London, and one is from my first university.

7. My favourite book is Lord of the Flies. My favourite genre would be children's fantasy, although I am a voracious reader and I tend to read almost anything. I am quite the fan of manga and graphic novels, general fiction, sci-fi, comic fantasy and - unsurprisingly - erotic memoirs. I don't like adult fantasy very much.

8. I've been a vegetarian since I was nine. I haven't eaten any fish since I was five, but I waited four more years before becoming vegetarian. I'm the only vegetarian in my family to not have a 'blip' somewhere along the line - my mother used to eat fish (before I campaigned at her not to), and my sister started eating meat again recently.

9. My favourite food is cheese. I'm a fussy eater and prefer to make my own meals or eat things which are specifically tailored to my tastes. The best meal for me generally involves pasta, cheese of some description and perhaps a sauce with tomato in. I use olive oil in nearly everything I cook.

10. I don't eat mushrooms, bananas or baked beans because I hate all of them. I don't generally like much fruit or vegetables, but I do like greens, such as broccoli, spinach and runner beans. My favourite fruit is the orange, although I've been known to eat whole lemons and limes, and slices of pineapple.

11. I've been a Christian since I was about six. The rest of my immediate family are atheists.

12. I can't remember a period in my life where I haven't been bullied in some form or another. The closest I've been to not being picked on for something is the past year, but even then, there are some incidents which I'd classify as bullying.

13. I didn't know what hardcore porn was until well into my teens. I had assumed, before then, that every form of porn was simulated sex, and that they only used real sexual intercourse before the modern era.

14. I found out about sex when I was two. I asked my mother, and she told me everything.

13. I can't remember a time in my life since the age of 12 without actively having a crush or a girlfriend. My first crush lasted a very long time; I tended to obsess for years and never do anything. I had my first relationship when I was 17.

14. I rarely, if ever, see friends from any part of my early life other than those you'll have read about in this blog. I first met Robinson during my first day at nursery (I started nursery a bit early because I was clever).

15. My favourite bands include James, Barenaked Ladies, The Scaffold, The Cuban Boys and The Divine Comedy - to name but a few. I'll listen to most things, but genres I prefer are alternative, rock, indie, indie rock, indie pop, pop, classical, industrial metal, metal, electronica, dance, and specifically comedy songs by people like Tom Lehrer, Mitch Benn, Jay Foreman and Flanders & Swann. I don't like The Smiths.

16. I play the guitar, the violin and both tuned and untuned percussion. I've been in eight bands, but I'm not in one at the moment. I love to sing and dance. I've written over a hundred songs in my life, and I can probably play about ten of them.

17. My ideal job would be as one of those writer-actor-comedian-satirist-performer types you see guesting on Have I Got News For You. I'm able to do stand-up comedy, which often involves music. I love to write. I somewhat enjoy my current job - I won't tell you what it is, but my jobs in the past have involved bookselling, education, healthcare, IT, and research. I use the Oxford comma a lot.

18. I love animals. My favourite animal is probably the millipede, whereas my favourite pet animal is my cat; I also really like fish. There isn't really an animal I don't like. Unlike a lot of people, I like invertebrates, I'm not scared of spiders or moths, and it upsets me (sometimes to the point of tears) to see someone hurting an animal - especially killing an insect.

19. I'm a Pisces, and since I dream a lot and have unfulfilled ambitions, but tend to be generally caring and trustworthy, when you need me to be, I am a typical Pisces, as well.

20. I have fantasies about things I'd like to do to my body. Some involve peeling off the top layer of skin to remove bits that annoy me like spots, rashes, itchy bits or athlete's foot. I'm unhappy with the way I look generally and most of them involve some way to remove the fat bits, like lasering off my stomach bulge and moobs, liquidising and digesting it out, or untying my belly button and squeezing it out.

21. I genuinely believe in faeries, magic and 'fictional' creatures such as dragons and unicorns. I think there has to be much more to this world than we take from it at first sight, and that most legends have to have a basis in fact.

Friday, 17 August 2012

Pull my string.

I was standing in the vestibule area between the corridor and the library, participating (although not very much) with my group of friends' loud and raucous conversation. Lightsinthesky, as is his way, was dominating it, but Music Man, who has a bit of a reputation for (apart from being a dab hand on the piano and the best guitarist in the school) injecting completely random sentences into seemingly fluid conversations. Maybe he just wanted to stick his oar into what was essentially Lightsinthesky and my token black friend talking about rock versus garage music.

"I've been having too much casual sex recently," he blurted out (a lie; very few people had had sex of any kind by that point, and those who had - including my token black friend - weren't saying much about it).
"Who's been having too much casual sex?" asked our careers advisor and head of geography, opening the door to his office and looking out curiously.
There was a pause of about three seconds... and then everyone burst out laughing. The question, of course, remained unanswered (although, one year later, everyone suspected me... which also wasn't true. I was having sex, but only with one person).

Ten years later, I think I have an answer.

It was my sister's birthday yesterday. She's 23... welcome to the unremarkable years, kid. I was talked into (well, didn't really take much persuasion, really) going to a meal (and then her... well, I wouldn't call it a house. Thing, really. For a drink, anyway.) with her and her friends, who drifted in in their ones and twos as I got steadily hungrier and hungrier. One of them didn't even turn up.

"Hey, here comes Katherine,"* somebody said.

Indeed, it was Katherine. She's a puppeteer. I've seen her do puppetry, so I can attest to that. I don't know anything else about her, but I'm sure there is something else.

"She hasn't had sex with Dave," somebody said. Possibly Dave.
"Who hasn't had sex with Dave?" I said, simultaneously confused by this very random bit of information and pleased that there was more to her than making puppets, even if it was just a list of one person she hadn't had sex with.
"Ah, well, that's the question," said my sister. "Who hasn't had sex with Dave?" She paused. "Apart from me. I haven't," she finished, causing her boyfriend to look very relieved.
"And Katherine," I ventured.
"Good point."
"We all assumed Dave had a girlfriend," my sister's boyfriend tried to explain while I was wielding my chopsticks with wanton abandon, "but, as it turned out, it was a different girl every night."
I cast around for something witty and intelligent to say in reply to that. "Oh," I decided upon.

An hour and a half later, we entered my sister's... boyfriend's... house... thing, having lost a few members of our party to various causes such as a Sainsbury's selling cornettos and a bus that was going the wrong way. And there, sitting at the communal table, was an incredibly unremarkable man with a beautiful girl who couldn't speak any English.

"This is Dave," explained someone, totally unnecessarily.
"I gathered."
"How did you know? About 30 people live here."
"Oh, I just kind of... guessed."

My sister and her best friend started playing with a tandem space hopper (you had to be there, but I swear this is what happened), and as I was occupied with taking pictures on my BlackBerry, I couldn't help but notice that Dave and this unnamed girl had slipped off somewhere, perhaps a little quieter and darker.

"Where's Dave gone?" I enquired of my sister's boyfriend as we were heading up to his room to listen to dubstep.
"Where do you think?"
"What I don't get," I said, dodging the question, "is what he's supposed to have that gets him all these girls for casual sex."
"Well, what hasn't he got?"


"Oh, yeah."

* No, another one. I'm running out of ways to spell the same name.

Tuesday, 14 August 2012


My parents have gone out and left me on my own for two weeks. On my own. My cousin's moved back to Scotland for the time being, my sister moved out ages ago and my cat... well... I don't know where she is. She comes and goes. It's summer, so she'll be outside somewhere. I've got some nice cat food for her when she returns, though.

I'm alone, and this, of course, means that I can indulge in the ten-pound box sets that I picked up in CEX recently - it's very difficult, when confronted with Doctor Who, not to watch it. But I have been doing other things, like playing my guitar at maximum volume, having mock knife fights with myself in the kitchen, and ramping up the volume of the porn.

Back when I had my old laptop, I put headphones in to prevent any interlopers from clocking that I was watching soft porn. There was a very handy volume dial just where my thumb could catch it, but nevertheless, I was very careful with just how much volume there would be before I put my headphones in and pulled my pants down. With my netbook, there's no such dial and it's not so easy (although not impossible, but I'm lazy) to insert headphones (although if you do there's a wonderfully obvious status balloon that pops up, stating "You just plugged headphones into the audio jack!" - yeah, thanks for telling me). In fact, there's very little volume control at all, apart from Windows volume settings, which I can handily get to via the systray.

In fact, I've become quite adept at manipulating volume at the same time as watching soft porn - keep the volume control open at the same time as VLC, deft usage of the touchpad to up or down the wave, keeping master volume at a minimum and, Robina's your transsexual uncle, job done. It's like I'm controlling the volume with my thoughts. Either that or I'm going deaf. Whatever.

However, with everyone else out (including the cat) I took the chance to, among other things, play things with the loudest possible orgasms at maximum volume... with the windows closed, there are children next door - and, while my glee was indivisible for the first few minutes, it slowly dawned on me that I wasn't really enjoying it too much. Hell, it was just a louder version of what I usually enjoy in a quieter fashion. Everybody Hurts wouldn't be too fun if it were particularly loud. I've lived a lifetime of keeping my softcore quiet.

And so I closed my bedroom door, cut the volume by half and started over again. Okay, so it was a lot louder than it usually would have been were anyone else here, but upon the realisation that what I needed this afternoon was familiarity, it's good to stick with what you know, right?

Tomorrow's mission involves the lounge downstairs. I'll let you all know how that one turns out.

Monday, 13 August 2012


The instant my hand touches her back, there's a small static spark. At least, that's what it feels like; two fingers cause the charge, which settles down as I lay my whole hand down: all four fingers (plus one thumb), heel and palm, every joint, flat against her shoulder blade. This, in turn, generates warmth, her muscles shifting to accommodate the feeling of my hand there, a contentment that rarely manifests making its presence felt.

All this happens in less than half a second. I intensify the pressure, only slightly - probably more for my benefit than hers - and begin to slowly drag my hand downwards, her back laid out for me, like a vast plateau of smooth, unspoiled skin - freshly washed, cleaned, dried, and now mine to play with, to pleasure. I tug gently at her skin, the rough callus of my guitarist's fingers sometimes catching slightly and turning a stroke into a light scratch. Every second, my fingers inch downwards. Her derrière is in view, but I don't want to touch it. Not yet. I will... but it's not time yet.

I feel my hand swoop across and through the curves of her female body. I let my other hand join in, both thumbs working in unison to explore the dips and recesses that I find particularly appealing. At several points, I elicit a low, thrumming sound of pleasure from her mouth. I can't ignore her mouth. Kiss, then back to the exploration.

This goes on. Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes melt into a time in which time is largely irrelevant. A phrase runs through my mind as both hands press firmly against her gluteus medius: "All of space and time... follow me."

I follow the curve, my hands finally moving downwards. And I've just started.

Thursday, 9 August 2012

General Grievous

Having an orgasm when you've got a cold is not the most pleasant of experiences. I mean, yes, an orgasm is pleasant and everything, but I found out the hard way that when you're using tissues for cleaning up bodily fluids other than semen, maybe bringing yourself to the peak isn't the best of ideas.

Or maybe it's just me.

I don't know about you (really, I don't - I don't know who you are. Tell me who you are, and I'll know.), but I tend to cough when I'm nearing orgasm, or more often than not when I'm post-orgasm. I'm not sure why. Interestingly (it needs investigation, and I'm willing to volunteer here), when I orgasm lying on my back, I tend to cough less than when I'm sitting up to masturbate (I've never had sex in a sitting position so can't compare. Lame.) - my breathing is more apparent, but I cough less, if not at all.

My working hypothesis (I'm too posh to use the word prediction) is that while lying full on my back, and stretching out before I achieve orgasm - those of you who have seen my bed, visualise that if it helps paint a mental picture - I have much more space around my lungs to regulate my breathing. While sitting up, I usually hunch a bit, which compresses both lungs and diaphragm, and when the cardiovascular effect of masturbation culminates in an end point, my chest compresses and I cough to expel any excess CO2 and thus restart the process of respiration:

C6H12O6 + O2 ENERGY + CO2 + H2O

Check me out, using science.

But I digress. While I usually cough once or twice during and/or following orgasm, it changes when I'm predisposed towards coughing anyway. I cough once or twice, and when I begin to inhale, my body immediately remembers that it's an invalid, and I double forwards again into a spasm of hideous, rasping coughs, trying to avoid dripping any cum on the floor, drawing in shuddering, desperate breaths and at one point bending over so violently I hit my head on my desk and fell calamitously to the floor, causing the audience to laugh and applaud (and I hear that whoever wrote that scene will be up for a BAFTA).

It's not an overly pretty sight, I'll admit. And thus I've been having less orgasms recently. But, hey, y'know what? My sex drive is climbing back upwards recently, so that's always a positive. Now... to get rid of this cold before the weekend... er, any ideas?

Tuesday, 7 August 2012

TMI Tuesday: This is not a question... or is it?

TMI Tuesday this week is entirely about questions and answers. You know, like every other damn week. Except here it's answer first, question second. A bit like Jeopardy!, except I've never actually seen that (apart from the one scene in Family Guy), so I'm just wildly guessing based on that. Anyway, enjoy my snarky answers. (Or don't. Whatever.)

1. Answer: My butt.

Question: I'm a boat. What do you call the joint between planks of wood on me?

2. Answer: stiletto black leather pumps

Question: What do you get if you cross a dagger, cow hide, and the things you get petrol out of?

3. Answer: hard and stiff

Question: How does ILB feel while stretching?
This is a genuine answer. After a long period of sitting down, lying down, or exercise, I tend to stretch a lot and this almost invariably gives me an erection. I've mentioned it on this blog before, but the realisation came back to me yesterday during a survey about the relationship between exercise and arousal.

4. Answer: “By George, I think he’s got it!”

Question: What's the best line said by Blaine in the eighteenth episode of the third series of Glee?
It's actually a really good scene. One of the songs I never thought they'd do, and they managed to do it and make it rock. Incredible!

5. Answer: socks

Question: What do you call an Internet protocol that routes network packets through a proxy server?

6. Answer: hole in the wall

Question: What name does Barclays employ to make their ATMs (cash machines) sound more friendly? Seriously, they're called "hole in the wall". Look at 'em.
Interestingly, I live relatively near (not right next to, but near-ish) the world's first ever ATM, which is in North London. It was officially opened by Reg Varney from On The Buses. I don't know if it's still there or not, but here's something fun (although not really 'fun', as such): it was an innovation of Barclays!

Bonus. Answer: I hid them there so you wouldn’t find them.

Question: What's ILB's planned answer for if either of his parents finds his stash of sex-related goodies?
Because what else would you say, really? "They're an unwrapped Christmas present"?

Sunday, 5 August 2012

Soft Porn Sunday: Kira Reed & Josh Comen

Those of you who read these will probably have clocked by now that I like soft porn with good acting, a bit of a plot, a reason for the sex scenes, and a dash of humour. This film has all of those. I bought it on a whim (and the fact that the DVD was cheap helps too), but by the time I'd gotten halfway through, I was more interested in where the story was going than in the sexy bits - and that's the sign of a good movie, people!

I was talking about this film to Jilly the other day, and that got me thinking about the scenes - there are a few in this film, and they're mostly... well... not very good. However, for an example of a good one, a lot of people focus on one of two - either:
  • the opening scene (cheating husband with anonymous "L.A. Babe", played by Nikki Nova, who's featured on the front cover so prominently that she looks like a giant),
  • the "sex by a rooftop swimming pool" (because apparently everyone in LA has a pool on their roof...) scene between Rat (Judd Dunning) and Roxy (Lisa Boyle, doing her best "sultry sex-bomb with a heart of gold" act here).
The scene I'm going to be looking at is neither of those. It's an overlooked scene, and I can kind of see why: unlike the first of the scenes listed above, the sex is very slow here, as opposed to hard and wanton, and unlike the second scene... well... it hasn't got Lisa Boyle in it. But it's still worth a look, perhaps as a curio.

Appearance: The Night That Never Happened (1997)
Characters: Claire & Brad

Unlike a lot of the sex scenes I worryingly appear to like, which usually happen between two people who barely know each other, this scene is nicely set because it happens between a man and his fiancée, so the sex is justified. Even
the reason here is justified: Claire (Kira Reed) agrees to sleep with Brad (Comen) just before his spur-of-the-moment stag party, partly because he's "not going out loaded" - one of the worst possible ways to say "hasn't had sex for a while", but I get the meaning - but mostly because she wants to. They are, after all, engaged. It's a very nice set-up, and it works without being too clunky.

Kira Reed - who has been in practically everything related to softcore at least once - is hardly in this film; she's a cameo, rather than a supporting role. But she manages to get her kit off and into bed, and given that she only has five minutes of screen-time, that's really quite impressive. If I didn't know better, I'd say her only purpose here would be to have sex...


Awwwwwwwww!Anyway, let's do the aesthetic bits first...

Décor: Well, it's a bedroom, isn't it? Yeah, there's nothing particularly special about it - unlike the aforementioned rooftop pool scene (which is given a name: "Tar Beach") - but it certainly looks like a bedroom. Not a lot of attention is paid to the scenery, in fact, as mostly the focus is on the couple (and rightly so!), but there's nothing particularly wrong with it. Perhaps it looks a little too sparse to be a real bedroom - we need clutter, dammit! - but I still can't find any problems with this. I'm also pleased to see that they thought to put the bedside light on, since the scene happens in the evening. Nice touch there.

Music: This is more of a problem for me, as I don't actually like the score to this movie. The main theme - which mostly consists of a drum beat and a woman going "da da da da da da da" - is teeth-grindingly irritating. This isn't used in this scene, thankfully - we get soft jazz instead - but I don't really think it fits. Okay, so the iconic instrumental rock that is used for more energetic scenes wouldn't have worked either, I'll grant you, but this music sounds a bit too... well... beachy. I don't know how else to explain it. The balmy ululation that you get makes me think of sipping iced peach cocktails by the sea
somewhere in Malibu, as opposed to in a bedroom in suburbia. But it's not bad music. I just don't think it fits.

Cinematography: As I've said, a lot of the focus in this scene is on the two actors, rather than anything else.
There aren't many close-ups, allowing for a lot of full-body shots - often something I like. There aren't any Batman angles and any cuts in the scene are made with nice, simple, quick mixes. There also some long shots, too, which makes a change from some scenes, in which you're expected to see so many things at once it gets frustrating! It's not very explicit, even for a softcore scene - breasts and chests are seen, but not much else, unlike in some films where you get to see a smattering of hair - but you have to remember the context, and that makes even the lack of detail fit.

So let's get onto the main reason why I chose this scene. The acting. I've always liked Kira Reed - maybe when I was
They're so in love! a young teenager, it was for her body and the way she moved, but I'm older and wiser now (well, older anyway), and what I like is the way she acts. She puts a lot of passion and energy into her acting - Claire is frustrated before the sex starts and it actually seems as if she is! - and it pays off. Of course, she knows how to do a sex scene. I do have a bit of a problem with Josh Comen, though. I haven't seen him in anything else, but here he seems too clean-cut and virginal to be a husband-to-be on equal footing with his fiancée. Despite initiating the sex, and the fact that he's on top most of the time, the expressions on his face look like something a 16-year-old's "oh my god, I'm having sex with a sexy older woman! I can't believe this is happening!" thoughts might bring up. As a result, it does look rather like Claire is in control, and Brad is an innocent younger man who she's seduced. That's not really what they're going for. If it were another actress (as opposed to someone who's done this sort of thing four bazillion times before), it might work in a different way.

But apart from the (unintentional) equality imbalance, I like this scene. It's short and not groundbreaking, and the sex they actually end up having is really quite routine. But it's an engaged couple having loving sex and that really is something you don't see a lot in softcore. A curio, as I said - but a good one. There are better sex scenes in this film, and this one isn't going to make me orgasm. But it is a good starting point, if you need one - and, apart from anything else, it is very, very sweet.

Now please excuse me while I go and indulge in a world of sunshine, lollipops and rainbows.

Thursday, 2 August 2012


Last month I watched my cousin getting married; last week I reviewed a sex toy; last night I had a dream about sitting on a sofa with the sex bloggers (yes, ALL the sex bloggers - no, not a sex dream; just a dream). And over the past few days I have struggled mostly with staying awake through work, taking photos with my dying BlackBerry and trying to transfer my mobile over to giffgaff (which is harder than it looks).

But this is the here and now. Here you find me in my room, still working on whatever it is I'm meant to be working on, waiting for Spiritual Space this evening and listening to my dad doing culinary stuff downstairs. I'm thinking about this time last year, when I was getting ready to go on holiday, and browsing through my mind for what to do next and in what order to do it.

As for now...

I woke up this morning with a head full of sex. It wasn't totally pleasant, as I'd been woken up not by natural light or any other means or cause - but by my stomach, which decided that 5am was the perfect time to start committing seppuku from the inside. Drinking water and taking antacid tablets to calm my insides down, I settled back into bed and suddenly noticed that, in my semi-comatose state, I was hard. Hard, hot, eager and ready to go.

BS, LP and Jilly's shared goal of scoring 100 orgasms within 10 days for Team GB has not gone un-noticed, and although it's not a goal I'd share (I don't have the time, the inclination or the equipment), clearly all this talk of orgasms has had some form of effect upon me. I want one. No, not just one. More than one. Not quite 100 within ten days - I've managed four in a day before, but that was a strange day, and not something I'll recount now - but, still, I have the urge to orgasm more than usual. My head, heart and crotch were all screaming at me to do it this morning. To be fair, it was 6am and I wasn't going to get back to sleep before my alarm went off.

What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? Yeah, I thought so too.

And now I find myself wanting another one. It's good to see that my sex drive is hitting its usual summer peak once again... as I knew it would. It's just been taking its time this year.

Oh, and while I've got your eyes and fingers at my beck and call, why not vote for me here? As if the astronomic heights of #88 weren't good enough for me last year, or something. I'm very much an attention whore.