Thursday, 30 May 2013

In the flesh

Jilly took her place, up on the podium. She looked nervous and scared. I'd told her, over and over again, that she would be fine. She was among friends, and the story she'd chosen to read was a good one. Her best, she had said (although I didn't agree - there are others I prefer). As pleased and proud as she was of this piece of fiction, I could feel she was nervous about reading it out. I sat at the back and watched her, Bunny White and Dorian Silver there to offer support, friendship and kisses (between each other - hey, it's what I noticed!).

She opened her mouth, offered an introduction and then dived straight into her story. And aced it.

The audience were appreciative. They laughed at the funny bits, clapped at the end and gave her the appropriate amount of love for such a performance. She tottered back to our seat and sat down next to me. I gave her the thumbs-up, wishing that I had enough voice left to offer more of a congratulation. But I think she got the message. After a couple of drinks, a bit of burlesque featuring Medusa (erm...), a goodbye to Bunny and Silver and a climb up the stairs, we walked off into Soho, ending up in Fopp, wherein I bought a box set of Girls for her and Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! for myself.

Maybe a rather inglorious ending to an evening, and the resulting mix between cold and 'flu didn't help either. But, for the first edition of an event into which a lot of planning had gone, I thought at least one light should go on for every leading lady.

TL;DR? I liked In The Flesh's first London event, I'm pleased with how my girlfriend read out her piece, and maybe one day I'll get the chance to do so myself as well!

Tuesday, 28 May 2013


"So, how was camp, ILB?"

Honestly? I can't really give you an answer.

I'd like to be able to, I really would. Camp has been an incredibly important part of my life since I was six. I've written about how to masturbate at camp, expounded on the lack of sexuality at our district camps, and regaled you all with a tale of sex almost immediately after I swore it wouldn't happen.

Is there anything I could say about camp that isn't there before? Of course there is. We always have interesting conversations at camp. I could tell you about the game of "either/or" we played, during which we all decided we'd rather be completely bald than resemble Cousin It (although we were divisive on different subjects, including whether or not to have sex with a gorilla. Long story). I could explain to you why we're now referring to a wank as a "6am Morrison". I could refer you, perhaps, to the liqueur that was so thick the mixers didn't penetrate it, or the cigars that were so well-presented everyone (except me) took one unquestioningly. I could tell you about the other Woodcraft group that acted, well, more like Woodcraft than us.

There's the issue with the wristbands and the most ridiculously-dressed security guards ever known to man. The nudity, the unblushing raucous laughter. The best lemon sorbet I've ever eaten. Piggyback races with Elfins riding DFs. Songs around the campfire with one line eliciting a good and hearty "ooh, matron!" after a saucy line. The look on the faces of the DFs at our usual shout of "ON THE TOILET!" during William Brown or our usual Cockney shout during Your Baby Has Gone Down The Plughole. My usual turn as Keeper of the Council Fire because I'm the only one that knows the words.

And then there's all my friends - both Robinson and Hairy Friend's older sister planning their impending weddings, comparing notes around the fire. Mane being more tanned and toned than I've ever seen him, and his younger brother still being as crazy as ever. Me returning to the tent in order to crawl into my sleeping bag and finding the young raver there, snuggled up with a blissful, angelic look on his face (sans giant teddy, alas).

I could even mention the marathon sex I had with my girlfriend in the hour or so before I left for camp on Friday.

But for all I could tell you about... I just can't answer that question. How was camp? I know how it was. Any superlative I could apply to it wouldn't really explain. I can't describe how camp feels to someone who hasn't experienced it for themselves. The look on an Elfin first-timer's face is one thing... a seasoned Kinsfolk like myself still experiencing the same highs isn't too different. In order to understand camp, you have to live it for yourself. And, unless you do, I can't really explain. But I can certainly try here:

How was camp, ILB?

Fucking beautiful.

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

TMI Tuesday: Zsasz

In lieu of a real post today, I'll have a crack at TMI Tuesday - the questions of which this week come from SweeteN Dirty, whose blog features an incredibly terrifying giant mouth.

Before you read on, consider whose blog this is. And now much experience I've had. Ready? Okay, here we go.


1. Do you/have you ever kept track of the number or people you have been with?

Yes. Of course - who doesn't?
Well, that's a very naïve answer. Some people don't. An old friend of mine (who I'll call Esque), who I've sort of lost touch with over the years, lost her virginity when she was 13 (she thinks; she can't remember it). By the time she was about 17 or 18, she claimed to have "been with" a number of guys "about 50+", but she couldn't remember the exact amount. Clearly she had very active teenage years.
For me, it's easier. Probably because it's been less people.

2. To be specific, how many people have you...

a. slept with?
Eight - Rebecca, Louise, Alicia, Lilly, snowdrop, TD, Catherine and Jilly.

b. kissed (in a romantic or sexual way, obviously)?
All of the above, plus three: Esque, Soldiergirl and Leaf (well, I was kissing Leaf romantically; she probably didn't feel the same way).

c. given oral to?
All eight listed in 2a, above. Hey, this is easy!

d. received oral from?
I really have to think about this. Okay: all eight in 2a, minus Lilly, that's seven. Plus Esque, once, so that's eight.

3. What is the most amount of people you have been with at one time? (twosome, threesome, foursome, etc.)

One more. That's a twosome, right?

4. Have you ever had multiple partners in the same day, just different times? (One person in the morning, another at lunch, and one at dinner, etc.)

I should be more full with this sort of answer. I've never really understood how threesomes (or more) work. I mean, I can see how they happen biologically (I originally wrote that as "diplopodologically", which I think is relating to the study of millipedes!), but I think that it might be difficult to know who to concentrate on! I'm aware that not everyone has sex like this, but when I have sex, it's often my primary aim to please my partner, with all faculties available... there are multiple ways for three plus to get involved, but I think I'd feel too guilty or confused to carry on!

Bonus: Describe your best multiple person encounter, either something that actually happened or one that you would want to happen. Or both.

Errrr... pass?

Sunday, 19 May 2013

Soft Porn Sunday: Amber Newman & Stella Porter

It's not often that I enjoy a lesbian soft porn scene. There are quite a few out there, as I'd imagine they're easy to shoot and they do cater for a market of a sort... the market being people that are turned on by lesbian soft porn, I suppose. This doesn't include me. Nevertheless, there have to be some exceptions to the rule. This is one such exception.

Appearance: Dungeon of Desire (1999)
Characters: Vickie & Lady-in-Waiting

Vickie (Newman), Carrie (Susan Featherly) and Jill (Regina Russell) aren't having the best of times, really. They've... somehow... been zapped into the past, and appeared in a castle of some kind. Only the castle wizard (Burke Morgan, famous for playing non-sexual old men in soft porn) knows how to help them escape: sexual energy!

I'm going to give you a few seconds to read that paragraph through once more. Now tell me that it makes any sense at all, and I'll be amazed.

Into this mix throw an imprisoned princess played by Mia Zottoli, named Gwen, who isn't allowed to see her sweetheart, because her wicked stepmother (yes, really) is a bit of a bitch. Although she spends a lot of time ruminating on this, it doesn't seem to bother Gwen too much, as she spends nearly all her time making love to her lady in waiting (Porter), which makes up the first sex scene in the film. While Jill is off having a miserable time, Carrie and Vickie chance across the princess and her sex slave servant. Hilarity ensues.

This scene happens at a relatively early point in the narrative, such as it is. Jill, who is reduced to mucking out animals in a stable for some obscure reason, says something huffy like, "this is a very poorly-scripted scene in an incredibly unrealistic set. I hope Carrie and Vickie are having a really miserable time right now."

Joke's on you, Jill! Vickie's having sex with the handmaiden! Isn't that a laugh?

For all I said about lesbian soft porn being easy to film, it must be easy to write. Unless there's some sort of artificial penetrative device, like a strap-on or dildo, involved (and there never is; it's not hardcore), there's no actual kind of indication as to the point which sex, or what one may consider sex, has begun, so what you actually get is a kind of extended foreplay, culminating in the two ladies (or two of the ladies) doing scissors, which I suppose is the "equivalent". As I say, difficult to write. Let's attempt to describe.

Of course, the candle's the star.
The scene starts with a pan from a candle over to the two enrobed girls involved having a bit of a touch and a kiss, before disrobing, which happens relatively quickly. You can tell this scene is going to be good from this point, really, as the music contains an electric guitar (or a synthesised one) and both Vickie and the unnamed servant are pleasant on the eye. They can also both act, which I suppose helps, in some small way. And there's kissing going on, which is nice, too. Not just mouth to mouth - Vickie, who clearly knows what she's doing, concentrates for a while on the neck and cleavage too. Oh, my!

Once that bit's done with, they pause for a while to remind the viewer that they have boobs, and after some... foot-licking... and slow but sensual bump and grind, a drum beat introduces us to the second act, which focuses mostly on the lady in waiting's bottom.

And I mean it. Vickie licks it, kisses it, spanks it, presses her boobs against it, and finally, climbs on
Possibly if not actually really very good.
top in order to rub back and forth as if actually penetrating her blonde companion, which (although it sounds lame) is probably one of the hottest things I've ever seen in soft porn, which is pretty good when you realise it's two girls pretending to pretend to have sex.

There's a flip of characters immediately afterwards, and Vickie then gets to be on the receiving end, as the lady in waiting descends upon her to kiss her breasts and rub against a prostate Vickie, during which we get a few shots of, er, legs. Interesting. The girls then do scissors, which is also a good concept but doesn't really work here as it's not really too energetic considering what came beforehand, and finally Vickie gets licked to her well-deserved orgasm. Brava, ladies. Brava.

So... the big question. Why do I like this scene? Simple: it's incredibly well-done. The music isn't great, but it's enough. The setting, however, is brilliant - a plush, comfortable-looking royal bedroom, complete with drapes, deep red colours which offset the girls' skin beautifully, and candles, which kind of have to appear in softcore, really. Costumes aren't needed, but the robes look nice enough, and the camera angles show that a lot of thought really has gone into this.

But the real points have to go to the actresses. They are magnificent. Amber Newman has always
Vickie can hear the sea!
been one of my favourite softcore ladies, but she's truly excelling herself here as the lustful Vickie. Stella Porter makes for a very pleased, receptive lady-in-waiting (I wish they'd named the character, though - let's call her "Lauren"; there you go, writers), who has an impressive array of facial expressions in her repertoire. One does even have to wonder at points how much of this is scripted: there can't be that much detail in it. Hands go everywhere, kisses are plentiful and passionate, and the length of this scene suggests that there was so much to film that they ended up putting it all in. In an ideal world, I'd like to think that something more than acting was going on between these two, but we all know that couldn't be true... 

...could it?

Wednesday, 15 May 2013


I reclined on my chair, trying to get as much comfort as possible out of the limited amount of sponge cushioning my back and bum. My boss waxed lyrical about the merits of conscientious objection (something on which our views are very similar, of course), while everyone else in the room listened - some with rapt attention, some with glazed eyes. Every now and again, someone else made a contribution. I didn't speak.

I was tired, very tired - a mixture of being a natural insomniac and the pain in the left-hand side of my mouth (I have sustained an injury there... again) resulting in me having had very little sleep recently - and I had to wrestle to keep my eyes open. My boss has a very calming voice, which didn't really help. That and the warmth of the fan heater right next to me. The fluorescent tubes seemed to dim. Words blended into a pleasant hum. Everything seemed to be conspiring to lull me to sleep... which wouldn't have been appropriate in that case. Ironic, really, since some of the time I have to prod co-workers to keep them awake. In one or two cases, clients too.

As I struggles to remain both interested and conscious, my brain suddenly whispered to me that there were vaginas in the room. (Yes, I know, shut up, okay?) Of course there are, brain, I whispered back, half the people in this room are female, and why should anyone's vagina interest you anyway? Aren't you meant to be asleep?
I'm not interested, particularly, said my brain, I just thought I'd remind you of the existence of vaginas. See you later.

And so my brain left me fighting both the urge to fall asleep in my chair and thoughts about vaginas, which was most unhelpful. At which point I started wondering what I wanted to do when I got home - the choices being crawl into bed or have at my girlfriend's vagina. (Incidentally, I went for getting sandwiches as a third option when I actually did get home.) Only after a while did I realise that I appeared to be slumping backwards a bit and people were starting to look at me. Including my boss, as she tripped over my feet a couple of times.

I pulled myself up and sat bolt upright, hoping to maintain the illusion that I was still entirely in the zone. Which, of course, I was, because I am diligent and hard-working. But not quite as chatty as usual when I'm sleepy and trying not to think about various things to do with vaginas.

And so that's where my weird thoughts took me today.

Now to sleep.

Saturday, 11 May 2013

Mistaken identity

"Do you know where my cheque book is?" I asked my mother, who was kneeling at the altar that is the coffee table with the day's Guardian spread out upon it.
She remained silent.
"Ahem," I continued. "Mother?"
She acknowledged my presence for a while.

"Loath as I am to distract you from your worship, I was wondering if you'd seen my cheque book?" I pressed.
"Have you tried your blue box?"

I had a brief vision of the possibility that I may somehow have acquired a TARDIS, but this possibility was dismissed when she clarified that she meant my mini-chest of drawers. This being the one that she bought from IKEA, assembled, painted blue and then stuck a picture of my Year 2 class on the front to show it belonged to me. Many has been the hour when I take a look to marvel at four things: how ridiculous I looked, how young Robinson looked, how 80s my teacher's haircut was, and the lengths to which my mother will go to make me as embarrassed as possible.

I opened all the drawers in search of my cheque book. It was an adventure - and also one which, I had forgotten, contained a lot of evidence of my sex blogging activities. I had letters from Durex and other companies thanking me for reviewing their products, a multitude of business cards from various erotic people and services (all mixed up with other cards - expired railcards, old debit cards and the like), and two condoms in a Game Boy game case (my emergency supplies: designed to take with me if sex is on the cards, although I've never used it like that). Intriguing, I thought.

After extracting two cheque books with no cheques left inside, I opened the top left drawer to find it filled with lube. Not an actual drawer filled with liquid lube, evidently... but little sachets of lube: different flavours, sensations and colours. A veritable pick'n'mix smorgasbord of lube. It reminded me of a kaleidoscopic lucky dip that I'd once stuck my hand into to pull out a Poddington Peas shrinkle. Except with lube.

"Two cheque books without any cheques in," I announced to my mother. "Never mind, I shall have to order one from my bank, and as it turns out you can't do that online."
She grunted, by way of responding. It only then occurred to my mother that she must have re-packed said blue box of wonders, considering the fact that neither cheque book nor stack of various cards had been there the last time I saw it. She much have used it as a dumping ground. I thanked my good fortune, therefore, that I'd chosen to carefully take with me my soft porn DVDs, Lunchboxxx, vibrators, cock rings and REV 1000.
And then it hit me. My mother had said, at some point in the past, that she'd put a load of condoms into the box. In the top left drawer. Where I assumed they'd be. In fact, she said this just after we moved out, when my parents tidied up under my bed.


I left my parents' house with three things: a couple of empty chequebooks, a handful of requisitioned DVDs, and the knowledge that my mother has no idea what a packet of lube is.

Tuesday, 7 May 2013

TMI Tuesday: Wanker!

Here's this week's TMI Tuesday questions. I've been thinking a lot about masturbation recently - no, seriously, I have - and so here's a dip into that world, courtesy of these questions...

1. My favourite place to masturbate is ________ ? my computer chair. In front of my computer. Why? Well, because it's familiar to me. I don't need an audiovisual stimulus to get me off if my imagination's working, but I think masturbation is a lot more fun with one. Both soft porn and reading sexy words work fine for starting me off, even if I do end up completely in my own head.
Other favourite is in my bed for and/or on my girlfriend. Not that this isn't amazing. It's my "second" favourite because I haven't done it as much (so far). But I guess the first is different, because it's alone time. It's still fun with two.

2. Have you ever masturbated in public? What were the circumstances?

Does masturbating in a toilet tent at Woodcraft Camp count? In which case, I definitely have,
More to the point, not in any place where anyone could see. But I definitely have at various points had a sneaky wank in an unusual place. I've always made it secret, though, because I don't want to be caught! So... toilet tents.

3. Do you like mutual masturbation? Why?

Yes, of course I do, although I prefer masturbating for each other. Because then you can watch each other... although there's a huge amount of pleasure in making your partner come using your own hands, too.

4. When was the last time you masturbated?

Within the last 24 hours.

I once saw a comedian ask this on stage, although I'm pretty sure not everyone's answer was truthful. It was a great set, although according to the compère the comedian himself was rather unsure as he came off. "Oh my god," he said, "I just spent half an hour talking about wanking." Works for me, dude.

5. Have you ever masturbated on camera?

Sort of... see the bonus answer.

6. Do you like to watch people masturbate?

It depends who. There are a lot of videos of people masturbating on the internet, although most of the people on Chatroulette masturbating live are boys, so if you want to see girls, you'd have to go to a site like RedTube and do a bit of searching.
I like seeing people's faces while they orgasm; I'm not overly a fan of a closeup of naughty bits... and there do exist videos of such a thing, which I have both viewed and enjoyed. And I do love the sound of the female orgasm, so although watching is fun, listening is just as good too!

Bonus: Have you filmed yourself masturbating? Care to share that film via a link?

Yes - on my BlackBerry. Why? Because I was bored and I wanted to test my BlackBerry camera. And... no, you can't. Why not? Because there's no link to it. I may be open to expressing myself sexually, but putting a video of my ejaculating penis online for all and sundry isn't exactly my modus operandi.

Monday, 6 May 2013


I was on my knees. Not subservient to anything but my own desires... but, still, on my knees. My left hand steadied itself against one of my hips; my right was clasped firmly around the shaft of my penis. My eyes were shut tight. I knew she was there, straight ahead of me, her legs open wide, her fingers busy and the lips of her vagina glistening.

I don't know where she was. Maybe she was wholly aware of me - maybe not. I wasn't quite there. My mind was drifting; my body was, too. Every now and again I snapped my eyes open to bring myself back to earth - taking in her hair, her boobs, her mouth, skin, legs, pussy... and looking at her beautiful closed eyes. (I've got a thing about closed eyes. Trust me, it's sexy.) But I couldn't do this forever. Bringing myself to the edge was all well and good, but I wanted to orgasm. She wanted me to orgasm. There really was only one option.

It was her orgasm that did it. I didn't know it was coming until she was. She moaned, gasped and sighed as she came right in front of me. Practically in the same second, my cock pulsed and throbbed as I silently came, for the second time that night, not inside her, but over her stomach and thighs.

I was still on my knees. Praise the Lord.

Saturday, 4 May 2013


As you may well know if you have been following me religiously (and why shouldn't you have been?), I've been through higher education, at various levels, three times - racking up a number of pretty useless qualifications - except perhaps the most recent one. Although it does have to be said that one may be more impressed (perhaps mistakenly so) with the certificates sporting logos of both an Oxbridge university and one of the constituent colleges of the University of London, the first time I went to university I look back at with fond memories.

Okay, maybe the final year. I didn't like the first year or the second year.

You know, in small doses.

My problem was that I didn't have that sort of "coming alive" experience that lots of people say either does or will happen at university. H had it, 47 certainly had it (a three-year degree took him eight, but he sweated enough for it), and my sister went to university and came back a changed person, although not necessarily for the better - but at least I now know what ketamine does to a young lady. I started university, however, at the wrong time - when I entered, I had a girlfriend, who promptly dumped me after a couple of months - leaving me without a lifeline. I was in a city that was unfamiliar to me; I had no friends; I didn't like the course... and, most of all, everyone who lived in the same part of hall as me didn't really make much effort to include me in anything, seeing me as rather self-sufficient, perhaps, content with my books, games, music and girlfriend.

I didn't experience a "new life" at university. I didn't even like it. It was a terrible disappointment to me - with the possible exception of the third year, which was different for reasons I can't quite fathom, although it may have had something to do with Japanese.

However, while at university I most definitely did discover a few things about my body and how it works, and my mind, and how that works.

I remember the first club night held in the union bar. It was my first day. I was wandering around aimlessly without anything to do, constantly wondering if I'd done the right thing. I knew the union bar held a weekly night of excessive drinking and dancing to stuff that wasn't really music, but I went because everyone else did, and if I'd done something on my own, one of the fresher reps would have descended upon me like a demented vulture sensing feed and demand that I do everything with the people from my corridor (yes, that actually did happen). I supped my lemonades with quiet dignity and danced like Tim Booth, gaining a reputation at the little oddball without any friends who didn't drink and couldn't dance.

My life is amazing.

Why this convoluted history of my life? Well, I am recalling that first club night, because I used it as a chance to masturbate. Not on the dancefloor, of course. I locked myself in a toilet cubicle, and brought myself to orgasm in there.

Although why this? Why, on my first day at university, did I use a club night as a chance for a sneaky wank in a union bar toilet cubicle, when I could have just gone back to my room and done so there? Or even just not done so? I mean, I didn't need to orgasm. I could have stayed at the bar, drinking soft drinks and feeling out of place, for a while longer. To be honest, I don't know why I did it. I think I just wanted to experience something different - despite the whole being in a different city with different people and different priorities, that is. I was testing the water a little, and although it seems weird, something in me told me that an effective way to test the water would be to go to the club night and wank in the toilets.

It's a university toilet; I'm sure worse things have happened in there.

I did feel naughty, but also wonderfully disconnected. I didn't really gel with anyone I'd met so far, and as long as I found ways to assert my independence, I would keep them to myself. With things ranging from an impromptu trip to Africa, to going on Woodcraft camp without telling anyone, to declaring myself king (yes, really), to buying a DVD of Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy because I wanted to be able to recall the plot, I continually found ways to make myself different... even if I was the only one to realise this (although everyone knew I was king).

Maybe masturbating, hidden, in a union bar toilet cubicle was the start of that. Although maybe not... but if I was going to start three years of almost daily wanking, where better to start it than surrounded by people... even if they had no idea?

Why am I telling you all this? Well, it is Masturbation Month after all. I may as well get into the spirit while I can...