Wednesday, 28 August 2013


I staggered home yesterday afternoon, swinging a big wooden stick and swaying slightly under the weight of my backpack. I'd been away all weekend filming all of one scene in a webseries (of which KW is still in absolute control, a scary prospect indeed) and hadn't made it back from Leicester in time to catch the last tube home. After a moment of indecision, fear and Croydon, Farm Boy offered me the chance to sleep on the same sofa I slept on the day before we went to Blackpool. I gratefully accepted the offer, crashed out at 2:30am, slept fitfully and then went straight to work the day afterwards, still wearing the clothes I'd worn in Leicester and quite, quite tired.

We'd been staying up late every night over the weekend. Filming didn't go quite as hoped and it took hours for anything of real substance to be done. A large amount of things had to be rewritten and, although my scene was filmed in a fair few takes over the course of a morning, I ended up holding the boom and shouting "soundspeed!" at about half past midnight while the actors in the second scene ejaculated their lines and sweated their makeup off. Not once had we had any decent sleep, including the final night (Monday), when KW saw fit to dismiss us after we had dismantled the set and climbed gratefully into Farm Boy's car. This was at about 10pm.

I fumbled my way through work, being quite successful despite the fact that I hadn't a clue what was going on, gratefully sloping home (still carrying the stick) and, in a state of near-total collapse, noticed that I was incredibly (and inexplicably) horny. And probably had been all weekend. I just hadn't noticed it.


I hastily unrolled a Skyn condom over my penis and quickly hurried back to bed, which wasn't a long journey, as the condoms were - and still are - on the bedside table. Not wanting to wait any longer (based mostly upon the fact that we'd spent a considerable amount of time winding each other up, including a fairly sizeable chunk with my head between her legs), I lay down between her legs and eased myself inside her, listening to her heavy breath as I did so. 

I don't really like condoms much, not even Skyn ones, as they tend to dull the sensation in my penis, but I could still feel her soft flesh envelop me as her body adjusted to having me inside. I couldn't wait any longer, though, and - keen to get the release that I'd realised, after a while, I so desperately needed - I started thrusting. More and more, harder and harder. Faster, faster, faster, stop. Breathe in, go again. Fast! Fast! Fast! I could see the slightly surprised look of pleasure on her face, hear the soft rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh and join in with the occasional laughs which came from her. I could feel her inside walls moulding themselves around my shape as I kept on moving. And move I did.

My orgasm came and so did I. I had surprised myself by this; this desperate, frantic and energetic sex that worked its way out of me when I'd originally assumed that I wanted a slow fuck to gently rock the stress and strain of those few days away. As it turned out, I was wrong. I wanted what we shared - hard, immediate sex with a constant urge to ramp up the speed and intensity. Giving her what she wanted - my penis deep inside her - and taking what I wanted for myself: the sensation of having my penis deep inside her.

A few more thrusts and it was over, at least until I returned from the bathroom and lay back on top of her, pressing my pulsing cock against her stomach so she could sense how sex with her made me feel. We dissolved into close naked cuddles and hair-stroking, bedtime kisses and relaxing under the soft sheets for a while before I drifted into a dreamless slumber.

I made my way back to work this morning feeling dehydrated, tired and fed up - even a little faint at points - but I knew why. I knew why and I was pleased with it. And now so do you, and I hope that you do too.

Tuesday, 20 August 2013

Testosterone TMI Tuesday

I haven't done TMI Tuesday for a while, so here's this week's. The questions are all submitted by "the men of TMI Tuesday". This, apparently, doesn't include me. That's what you get for not playing, I guess!

1. Advizor:
I once overheard, in a bathroom, “There is nothing as over-rated as sex or under-rated as a good bowel movement.” Discuss.

This depends upon your view on bowel movements, of course.
I don't think sex is over-rated. Of course it isn't. Some sex isn't great, although it depends on the person, the situation and all other individual contirbuting factors that make sex either mind-blowingly fantastic or a little disappointing. But I don't really think, in all honesty, that you wouldn't admit (at least to yourself) that bad sex is bad sex. I don't think you'd over-rate it. And, as a whole, sex is a wonderful thing. Not over-rated at all... at least if it's done right!
Bowel movements... well, as a sufferer from IBS, I am always grateful for bowel movements as a form of relief from intense stomach pains. So not under-rated in my book, certainly.

2. the late phoenix:
Friendship lasts longer than cumming. Which of your online friends that you’ve never met would you like to meet in real life? Which do you think you could become life-long REAL friends with? Actual friends, like going out to coffee and movies with, gossiping with, kissing on the forehead, hugging, loving.

This is difficult to answer because I've actually met most of my online friends from various sources: blogging, Twitter and other communities I'm part of!
Out of the blogging world, I'd most like to meet Rhye, Mellie, Scarlet and Girl on the Net (I have, believe it or not, met more or less everyone else on my blogroll!).
Off Twitter, I've been having a lot of entertaining discussions with @charltaylorpage, @ethicalgirl and @iheartgeekboys. I think I'd be similarly entertained by any of those lovely ladies, and I'd also love to meet @venusinslurs, as I think she's a fascinating person!

Out of all of those, who do I think I could become a long-term IRL friend with? Why not all of them?!

3. John D:
In a parallel universe, who out of your blog or Twitter followers would you most like to spend a steamy evening with? What would you do? Why them?

Anyone sufficiently geeky enough to tell me whose laugh that is representing certainly deserves a steamy evening with me.

4. Virtual Sin:
a. What method of stimulation (intercourse, oral, manual, toy, whatever) gives you the strongest orgasm?
b. With what method of stimulation do you get the most orgasms?
c. If the answer to a is different from the answer to b, what’s wrong with your life?

a) Manual. I only every orgasm from masturbation and sexual intercourse - not from other forms of stimulation (although never say never, I suppose!). I'm not single now, but I was for five years and during that time I thoroughly refined my masturbation technique - seeing what worked for me and what didn't. I still masturbate now, of course, both with my girlfriend and alone, and that gives me the strongest orgasm.

b) Intercourse. Because I appear to have developed the ability to go a few times during one session if there's been enough foreplay. Especially if she's orgasming too, because there's nothing hotter than a girl having an orgasm.

c) There are plenty of things wrong with my life.

5. Jon Pressick:
Would you rather have a life where you only had sex once a year for 2 minutes, or where you have to have sex every day for a minimum of 2 hours?

Definitely the second... but for a good reason, as opposed to "ZOMG IT'S SEKS LOL!!!!!!1". 

I'm a big fan of foreplay; it's a vital part of sex for me and I'll happily give oral sex for an incredibly long time if that'll please. For me, that counts as a part of "sex", ergo: add foreplay and penetration together (then there's afterplay, if you want to mutually masturbate or add more oral sex afterwards to clean up!) and that's at least two hours. Brilliant.

Bonus. Nero:
Is there anyone on your partner’s side of the family you find hot? If you could hook up with them without anyone finding out (ever!) would you?

No. So I don't need to answer the second question!

Sunday, 18 August 2013

Manor House

To an innocuous London address
A quick glance around, and then down the wet steps...

Although, to be perfectly honest, I walked down the wet steps for a perfectly legitimate reason. Shielding myself from the rain, I scuttled down a bleak, industrial road, stopping at a battered old wooden door, which I pushed at tentatively. It opened with a Knightmare-esque creak, revealing a courtyard containing (among other things) toy cars, bikes and various broken equipment, such as an abandoned trampoline. Crossing the courtyard, I found another door, wrenched it open... and stepped into my sister's house.

My sister lives in something between a share house and a commune: what was once an industrial warehouse. It still has the trappings of steel production, with doors which bear the "studio" legend and walkways, corridors and loose electrical wires. But with a haphazard grouping of furniture just over the threshold and palm trees planted in large pots, squashy chintz armchairs and random musical instruments around every corner, it is much more pleasant than it sounds. I'm not sure if I could live there... but both my sister and my cousin do, so there is a family connection there, I suppose.

I halloed my sister, thanking her for the invitation to her late birthday party and handing her a cheap Pixar DVD by way of a present. Attempting to avoid all the people smoking, which sends me into paroxysmal coughing and streaming eyes almost instantaneously, I slid across the room to where the cakes were. A guy came in with a girl who was unfamiliar to everyone else there and instantly disappeared into his room with her (apparently, this is a situation that happens almost daily) and I started a conversation with one of the only three people who I knew there - my sister's photographer friend, Vee.

Time has been kind to Vee. She still looks the same way as she looked when she was 14, even though she's ten years older than that now. We share a civil, almost friendly, relationship, although when you live with someone who's almost your sister's sister, that does tend to help. I cast around for something interesting to say after exhausting all the "my life sucks more because..." topics.

"I walked through Stamford Hill to get here," I landed upon, "and that's funny because I saw a school..."
"That's not funny, that's normal!"
"No, it was next to a block of flats and..."
"My God! A block of flats! When will this excitement end?!"
"Well, I'd just come out of a train station and..."
"I'm going to faint!"
"Can I just tell my story, Vee? Look, the other day, I had this dream about a school, a block of flats and a train station... all in Stamford Hill!"

There was a pause.

"And you just saw them all?"
"Well, not in exactly the same way, but yes."

"Oh, that's weird."
"Were you working there?"
"No, it was..."

At which there was another pause, at which I wondered about what exactly to say. Do I just do the blasé thing of confirming that I had a sex dream set in a school's staff room? Or do I just make something random up? I've known Vee since she was 12, so I should be in safe hands. But it it safe to play fast and loose with your sister's best friend? Or should there be some decorum here?

I looked around at the housemates and saw a complete lack of decorum.

"It was a sex dream," I admitted in a stage whisper (it carried over the drum'n'bass).
"Oh. Good sex?" enquired Vee, which put me off: I was expecting a laugh.
"Er... yeah, I don't remember much of it, though."
"Was it the staff room in the school you used to work at? Or the break room in the place you work now? Where do you work, anyway?"

My mind flicked between the school at which I used to work when I was 22 and the place I work now, which doesn't have a break room.

"I don't have a break room. Staff have to go and find somewhere to sit at lunch. I tend to hang around in reception and pretend I don't exist and I'm not on duty."
"That's what your dream means! It's symbolic of a desire to get a room going for staff! And that way, if you do want to have sex..."
"Genius! Why didn't I think of that?"

Vee and I left the party together. As we parted ways and I scattered alone back towards Stamford Hill, I began to wonder exactly how much wisdom comes from the most unlikely of sources.

Friday, 16 August 2013

Sex in Stamford Hill

The dream I had... not last night, but the night before. I would've written about it yesterday, but I am woefully incompetent. Anyway, it happened in Stamford Hill.

I don't know why. I've never even been to Stamford Hill. I've been through it a few times, usually on trains (but sometimes via bus), but from what I can recall of Stamford Hill railway station, I can categorically state that there isn't a quasi-industrial red grate walkway that leads out of the station directly into a residential block of high-rise flats...

...which, of course, I traversed...

...nor is there a school (catering for an undetermined age group, to my relief) hidden inside said (non-existent) block of flats.

Which, of course, is where the sex happened. Although not with a student. Again, to my main relief.

In fact, I don't recall actually dreaming about having sex. I definitely went there for sex. It was a gentle hearken back to the days wherein I would traverse random bits of London to have sex - which sometimes worked, and sometimes didn't - but this time was so weird. I was meeting a girl to have sex with her in a school staff room. In a block of flats. In Stamford Hill.

I remember the girl being there when I got to the staff room. I don't remember who she was - maybe she was a construct; I don't even think she was a real person. (Again, this is to my relief.) I remember her being short, very short; when she jumped on me, her feet left the ground. Her hair was longish, and I seem to remember it being blonde. But this was a couple of days ago, as I said, and the detals may be sketchy.

"Hey! What's going on here?" said a random teacher, who happened to be in what I had assumed to be the vacant staff room. Scarily, I know exactly who this teacher was, as he exists in real life; his name is David, he teaches English and I've met him. I pretended not to know him... or Sarah, the other teacher who was with him. Again, she is a real teacher. The girl teacher I was with (I don't have a name, although there was one in the dream, I have forgotten it) was more concerned with kissing bits of me than speaking, so I made the excuse of pretending we had been discussing lesson plans (which I miraculously had in my hand).

This was a lame excuse, as that was clearly not what we were doing.

"Oh yeah, discussing lesson plans," snarked David, while Sarah gave an irritating giggle. "That's clearly not what you're doing." His tone appeared to suggest that random making out happened a lot in this particular school staff room. In a school hidden in a block of flats. In Stamford Hill.

As far as I can recall, that's where the dream ended. I don't actually remember getting around to having sex with whoever it was I was supposed to be having sex with. But, hey. It was vivid, it was unusual, it was colourful and exciting, and it didn't have Einstein in it, unlike some other sex dreams, so that's always a bonus.

Still... Still? Stamford Hill? Seriously?

Excuse me while I just go and investigate...

Wednesday, 14 August 2013

Take A Bow

I don't generally take a specific seat on the train on the merits of anyone sitting in close proximity to it. Being a Londoner, I'm not even supposed to acknowledge the fact that anyone else is on the train, the standard practice (as we all know) being to look straight forwards and pretend you don't exist.

Only there was someone who clearly didn't get that specific memo, and this was the person who attracted my attention. And so I took the seat diagonally opposite, and immediately commenced looking straight forwards and pretending I don't exist.

But my ears were abundantly aware.

"Of course he doesn't know," she part whispered, part shouted into her 'phone. "We've always been very careful, haven't we? But we need to make sure he doesn't ever suspect you."

I blinked.

"Here's an idea," continued the woman, her eyes flashing. "Why don't you come down to London for a while? Then he can meet you, and if you're friendly with him, then he won't ever suspect you... or suspect anything, right? I mean, my ex-husband didn't."

Uhm, here's an idea, I thought. If you are, as it sounds, carrying out an extramarital affair, then not bothering to keep your voice low while talking on a packed commuter train isn't the best of ideas. Just a tip. Only, perhaps wisely, I didn't choose to interfere.

I kept listening as she recounted, blow for blow, the negative points of her relationship with her ex-husband, and the boring life she had with her current husband. She also regretted the fact that whomever she was talking to (I suspect a casual male partner, although you never know) didn't live closer, as she would have more time to spend with him.

Although it sounded as if she was spending quite enough time with him from what I was overhearing.

I'm not really going anywhere with this - as she got off after a couple of stops, leaving me to wonder exactly where this was going. But as she was getting louder and louder (as well as more and more explicit), I was hard-pressed not to get off and listen a little more, just for the hell of it.

Because I like London when it's interesting.

Sunday, 11 August 2013

Soft Porn Sunday: Krista Allen & Paul Michael Robinson

This one's soft, sensual and sexy, and has perhaps the strangest ending to a sex scene I've ever seen (barring that one in Snapdragon with Pamela Anderson, but let's not go into that...). Involving feathers. Although not in, uhm, "that" way.

Just making that clear.

Appearance: Emmanuelle 4: Concealed Fantasy, aka There's More to Love than Sex (1994)
Characters: Emmanuelle & Haffron

I've talked about this series before: even featured a scene from this specific episode of the continuing saga that is the Emmanuelle in Space storyline. In fact, no less than four Soft Porn Sundays have featured Paul Michael Robinson in role as Haffron - impressive, perhaps, when you consider how many scenes I have to choose from. (Clue: It's a lot.) So why return to choose another scene? Why not diversify it up, choose another erotic sci-fi film like Pleasurecraft or Andromina: The Pleasure Planet? Or even The Exotic Time Machine II: Forbidden Encounters?

Well, those all have their moments. But this one particular scene has been on my mind a lot recently, and since it's been dogging my memories, I may as well throw it onto my blog for all and sundry.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

Out of the seven films to choose from in the sequence, Concealed Fantasy has by far the most sex; eight scenes in total, all of which featuring Haffron - seven with Emmanuelle in. As much as I like variety in my sex scenes, there is something about Emmanuelle/Haffron that I quite like, as they are the main characters, and have good chemistry on screen. There's also the fact that they're having sex purely because they can (they don't fall in love until the end) - originally it was all to do with some lame excuse like the aliens doing research, but here it's clearly all to do with the fact that they can have sex, so do.

A lot.

They even added kiss sound effects. Really.
This is the first sex scene after a long break which involves some sort of plot device based around a party scene, although there's very little to do with the plot in said scene: it's just an excuse to fill out a few minutes. Sitting through that rewards you with this, which makes no pretence as to being anything that it won't be. We start with Emmanuelle (Allen) on top of Haffron (Robinson), and it's incredibly clear from the offset that that isn't going to change at all. We also, pleasingly, start with a kiss - something that I still think is missing from a lot of softcore - before actual-penetration-that-isn't-actually-actual happens. Five seconds of kiss, in fact, before we mix quickly to Emmanuelle gently rocking up and down.

Continue for a while.

This is sex in the astride ("cowgirl") position, but it's not bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy sex. As I said, this one is slow and sensuous (and possibly other adjectives beginning with S), and there's less energetic bouncing than there is gentle little bumps up and down, both bodies moving in sync.

This being one of the alleged 3D scenes - although, upon viewing with actual 3D glasses, that adds nothing but a splitting headache [Let me try... Ow! Jesus! - JB] and something that may or may not be a 3D candle. It also adds a merry-go-round effect, which I generally don't like, but since there's not a lot of movement going on here, at least the camera having fun adds something. The classic Emmanuelle in Space sound effects go here too, what with the occasional moan indicating pleasure and the weird synthy music which wouldn't sound out of place in a hippy bar - it's very much iconic of the series.

I don't really need to mention the actors. Both Allen and Robinson have nice bodies. Allen has great
Giant arm! Been masturbating much, Haffron?
breasts, which she shows off in this scene, as well as nice hair, which hangs down in various positions throughout. Robinson also has nice hair, even if his arms do look a little disproportionately large (Haffron is supposed to be muscular) at times. We do get to see a fair proportion of their bodies, though (see the screenshot) - in fact, with a few obvious exceptions, everything's on show here, and the circling camera tells us so too. I like a shot with full bodies, as it seems more realistic to me (even if it isn't). And the décor of the room is... well... it's décor. The plants are a bit annoying, but at least they tried.

Partway through the scene, after a couple of mixes to Emmanuelle's face and back again and Haffron stops PUTTING HIS FUCKING HANDS EVERYWHERE, Emmanuelle decides to initiate a conversation mid-coitus.

"So... foreign policy, eh?"
Okay, this is a good idea, in theory... I'm just not entirely sure it works in practice. I don't really like talking during sex anyway, not even dirty talk, although I will say things like "almost... almost... almost... oh, there we are" if you really want. But this, a debate on the pros and cons of "getting caught" (in what act? Not during sex, they've just been at a party!), as well as some other tripe about Haffron not understanding humans (because he's just so adorably sheltered!) just seems like an excuse to make sex more "meaningful" - which, of course, it is - it's not really distracting, but it does seem like the end of a scene. It isn't... they go on for a while longer, which makes me wonder why they didn't just insert this dialogue at some point either before or after the sex. In fact, it might even have made a good preamble.

Anyway, then Emmanuelle starts hitting Haffron with a pillow. 

No, I've no idea either. I also don't know why they use the same laughter sound effect over and over
again and why neither of them sneeze or show any signs of being tickled on account of the fact that there are feathers all over the place. Or how they're going to explain that to the hotel staff. Whatever. They then continue having sex for a while, and once the music has stopped (with one final bass note on some sort of brass instrument), we fade to the next scene.

Must have been fun to film, at least.

Why do I like this scene? Or, more accurately, why has it been in my head all week? Well, I'm not keen on the dialogue-y bits or the feathery bits (seriously, I'd find that distracting, I squirm and squeak when tickled or even at the thought of being tickled!), but I really like the first half. It's not very energetic, but it's touchy, feely, rocky, sense-y sex, and I like that. It also fits in well with the plot and general angle of the series,
It's Christmas!
which is after all about relationships in all shapes (well, human shape) and sizes (well, some sizes). Yes, it is essentially middle-of-the-road sex; there's nothing particularly special about it. But, for what it is, I like it, anyway. The music, movement and setting all make for a good scene.

Even if it does end up with stupid feathers everywhere.

Thursday, 8 August 2013

Even unpopular dweebs like you may meet their destiny here!!

Hey! Have you ever visited a brothel? I have.

At least, I did in the dream I had last night, and before you ask, no - I've no idea either.

I have a membership card.
I do remember telling my parents that I'd been to the brothel: there was an accepted name for it, maybe it was the Honey Bee Inn from Final Fantasy VII - they, of course, responded with an outraged "what?!" (especially my mother, she is a total prude!), at which point I lied smoothly that I'd only been hanging around in doorways chatting to people and not actually gone in. I, of course, had such high moral standards that I'd never consider even visiting a brothel. I also seemed to have conveniently forgotten that I'm pro-sex work.

Oh, and by the way, my actions in the brothel were much less celibate than what I made it seem to my parents.

Nevertheless, I can't really complain about having such a dream. I wasn't the only person there, either - Robinson was also in attendance... as was Einstein, my friend from secondary school with a Ph.D. in astrophysics. Einstein, who I (along with about 41298109 other people) assume is asexual, would be an odd attendee to the brothel - unless that's his thing, but I'm really not sure about that - which is what made this a much more curious dream than my usual weird encounters. The fact that I ended up having sex with the girl Einstein was trying to get (for free) - who I think may have actually been my girlfriend - was probably even more weird, as he managed to see me doing it.

By the time I woke up, I was totally convinced that I was actually addicted to going there, having formed close connections with the staff and clients, and always bumping into both Robinson and Einstein at various points... plus my friend-who-is-a-teacher, come to think of it. I'm quite pleased I woke up when my alarm went off, though.

Wouldn't have fancied explaining to my boss that I didn't turn up to work in the morning because I was in a brothel. Mind you, she may have taken it in a better fashion than my mother.

Tuesday, 6 August 2013

Only in Blackpool.

Wipe off.
This is the sort of thing that I'm pretty sure you'd only ever see in the veritable smorgasbord of cheese and garishness that is the Town, Borough and Unitary Authority of Blackpool, Lancashire.

Not that the condom machines in our hotel's toilet weren't particularly interesting anyway. They were full of inflatable sheep (for the lulz) and "novelty!" condoms ("not for barrier use!"). But this one, this one... well, this interested me.

According to the machine from which they come, these wet wipes are infused with human pheromones - scientifically proven to increase sexual attraction. As the hotel we were staying in, chosen by KW in order to minimise our costs (Blackpool, for some reason, is popular at this time of year), is apparently full to the brim with stag and hen parties throughout the summer (a fact confirmed during hotel breakfast on the second day, where we could barely hear our Rice Krispies for the amount of noise they were making), it kind of makes sense they'd be selling something to increase sexual attraction. Even if it's not guaranteed to work.

Because that's what stag and hen parties do, apparently. Which is why I never want one.


I stood and stared at this machine for ages. Surely it couldn't work? Pheromones are generated by endorphins, which in turn are generated by happiness, excitement, sex and chocolate, right? Could you just extract pheromones somehow and inject them into a wet wipe? Would that even work? Or were they just Johnson's baby wipes in a fancy condom machine which wasn't even that fancy? My mind reeled. In the end, I decided I had to review them.

At which point the machine decided to stop accepting coins.

So... no review. Mind you, I've no idea how I'd have reviewed them anyway. It's not like people start throwing themselves at you at random, even in Blackpool, the place where two girls wearing basically nothing thought I was really smart for knowing the word "glowstick". And I'm not single either, so maybe not the target audience.

I wonder why the machine wasn't working, though. Had they, perchance, sold out? Well, forgive me for suggesting otherwise... but I wasn't the only one getting a bit of attention throughout the weekend...