Saturday, 30 November 2013

Flexible? Moi?

How rare.

I was nominated recently for the Versatile Blogger Award (hence, for the eagle-eyed, the button on my sidebar). Thanks go to Panty Parade for nominating me for this, an award that flies around the blogging community with alarming rapidity. Still, it's always nice to win an award.

In any case, I'm meant to do two things upon winning this: nominate fifteen blogs for the award itself, and share seven things about me.

I can't nominate fifteen blogs, so that's an amazing start. I mean, I could nominate blogs, but I'm pretty sure everyone's won it. Has Lady Pandorah won it? Blacksilk? It's difficult. I'll nominate three, on the proviso that they haven't won before (if they have, I'll think of another one):

(i) The Sex Experiment by Mr. X - it may not be overly varied in terms of theme and content, but the dares themselves are versatile. So, yeah, there's that.
(ii) Dirty Little Whispers by Emma - another one to add to her ever-growing list of accolades. Unless she's already won it. I mean, she's won everything else.
(iii) The 22nd Catch by Stu - this one, at least, is versatile, and there's more to it than it seems at first.

The second thing, however, I am able to do.

I'm meant to share seven things about me, and I've been meaning to write a post like this for ages: this is a list of seven common misconceptions about me that I need to clear up. So: seven things that are not true about Innocent Loverboy are:

1. That I'm into BD/SM, kink, polyamory, bisexuality, roleplay, or anything else loosely termed "non-standard sexual practices".
Because I'm a sex blogger. The two are not synonymous. Kink doesn't really do much for me. However...

2. That I'm anti-BD/SM, kink, polyamory, bisexuality, roleplay, or anything else loosely termed "non-standard sexual practices".
This couldn't be further than the truth. I am fascinated by, and manically in support of, anything and everything (with only a few exceptions) that people do in order to fulfil their sexual needs. I'm also quite knowledgeable about the subject, having been around the community for so long. Just because it doesn't work for me, it doesn't mean I'm against it. I mean, I can't understand football, but I'm not anti-football.

3. That I haven't been blogging for very long, aren't well-connected, or don't know a lot of bloggers.
I am, in fact, one of the longest-standing bloggers. I've been blogging since the end of 2007 and have written at least one post a week since then, often many, many more. I visit many more blogs, also, than the ones I have on my sidebar - I keep my sidebar relatively short because really long lists tend to irritate me.

4. That I don't like sex toys.
This isn't right, either. I love sex toys; a lot of my reviews are negative because sex toys don't seem to for for me. I've never had an orgasm using a sex toy, but that doesn't mean I never will. The reviews I write are honest, so if I have a bad experience, I'm going to say I had a bad one. This doesn't mean that I'm either against the production or usage of sex toys; I just don't orgasm using them, that's all.

5. That I don't like hardcore porn.
I like hardcore porn when it's done correctly - that is to say, there's a storyline and decent cinematography. I'm not interested in shots of a penis going into a vagina, or spitting (which seems to happen a lot in porn), or cumshots. I'm aware of a lot of stuff which happens during sex, and my imagination can conjure that up; I don't need to see it.
The reason I prefer soft porn is because there's some effort put into the story - there's not a lot, obviously, but what I'm interested in is who's having sex with who, and why. That's what makes sex interesting - the interaction between people. Ultimately, that's what makes something hotter for me - if I know the reason behind it other than "they're just porn actors paid to fuck on camera".
I do like hardcore porn, I just prefer it when there's a justification for the sex, and if it's not too explicit - my mind can fill in those blanks perfectly well; I want to see faces!

6. That I've had more, or less, sex than I've actually had.
I have an incredibly broad knowledge of sex and sexuality through research and interest. That doesn't mean I've had a fantastic amount of sex. I've had enough. At the time of writing, I haven't had sex for at least a week, but then, I do have a chest infection, so the exertion may kill me. But I do have sex with my girlfriend quite a lot. I did with my previous girlfriends too, and on occasion, other people. I've had sex with eight people - no more, no less (nine, if you count sexual gratification without intercourse). I haven't had sex with any of my best friends or any random hook-ups. I love sex, but these things haven't happened to me.

7. That my penis isn't very big.
Why? I do, in fact, have a larger than average penis. That doesn't really mean anything in particular, although it may go some way to explain why sex toys don't work as well on me and why I find condoms slightly constricting. It doesn't make any other difference to my sex life, really.

There are more that aren't addressed here or on my FAQs, but those are the ones that leapt to mind (apart from the seventh, which was something my girlfriend was keen to point out!). Still, this has been fun - let's do it again some time, hey?

Oh, and thank you for the flowers.

Friday, 29 November 2013

Burning bright

Anyone seen Puppet Master?

No, not the episode of Glee. Although, now I mention it, you should see that too. It's hilarious. What I'm referring to is the seminal low-budget horror classic by Full Moon Entertainment.

No, I haven't seen it either. Admittedly, I hadn't heard of it until yesterday evening. I don't even want to see it, specifically, but researching it led me to find out I could have $999!


Let's have some CONTEXT!

Yesterday evening, one thing led to another and I ended up researching Full Moon, the company that owns a lot of other, smaller companies, including Surrender Cinema. Surrender, despite being my all-time favourite peddler of glossy smut, don't have a website of their own, but they do have a subdivision of Full Moon's site; essentially an online shop for DVDs, but what else are they going to have?

I was idly browsing the films I haven't seen (not many, to be fair) when I came across - by following microscopic links - this.

For those of you too lazy to click the link, this is a story about softcore actress Holly Sampson - Angela in this, among other things - having had sex with Tiger Woods... yes, that Tiger Woods. Not the one from the Frosties advert. Although, from what I've heard, he has bedded most of America, so perhaps that's not too surprising. But then you know how people talk.

Assuming that the story on Full Moon's website isn't hokum, and that every single thing on there is absolutely true...

...just take a while to process that statement, as if it isn't said with tongue placed firmly in cheek, and then carry on reading...

then the most interesting thing, to me at any rate, isn't that Tiger Woods has had sex with Holly Sampson, or that Sampson in turn has had sex with Kevin Costner, or that she uses a condom during oral sex (although hooray safe sex, and all that)... it's the assumption that original prints of The Exotic Time Machine are incredibly rare, and can fetch up to $999 on eBay.

I had an original print of The Exotic Time Machine. On VHS, no less. It was the unrated director's cut and I bought it off Amazon for a pittance. I'm downloading the film right now, actually, along with some other glossy smut that I want to see. And only now do I find out that, for no reason at all, that it's actually worth something.

Because I sold it on eBay for about a tenner when I was in university.



Tuesday, 26 November 2013

Who are you?

Have you ever wondered (well, I have)
About how when I say, say, red, for example
There's no way of knowing if red
Means the same thing in your head
As red means in my head, when someone says red!

But I'm trying to say, I'm not sure
But I wonder if inside my head
I'm not just a bit different from some of my friends
These answers that come into my mind unbidden!
These stories delivered to me fully written!

And I'm sorry, I'm not quite explaining it right...


I don't mean to go introspective. It just happens. I mean, you know. You've met me, right? Or maybe you haven't. Maybe you just read me. Or maybe you chanced across this blog by accident. You're probably looking for a sex toy review or a picture of Danny Masterson naked. Maybe you're a new reader. Hey! Hello! I love you. I love you all.

I think a lot. Maybe too much. I think all the time, very quickly. My thoughts flicker from one thing to the other. People have said I'm mentally subnormal. Or maybe I'm not really there. I'm there - I'm all there. I'm just maybe away for a while. Lost in my own thoughts, in my own head, in my own heart (which does most of the thinking). Sometimes I upset myself without meaning to (bad things stay with me). Sometimes I laugh. Often I say things which don't make any sense to someone except me and I have to make some sort of excuse. I don't know. I can't think of examples. I need to be in the moment to do that.

I find myself being more introspective when I'm not well. Today, I'm not well. I was well yesterday - it was a pretty good day. I saw Catching Fire and ended up flat on my back with my girlfriend riding me like a horse into battle, maybe INTO THE VERY HEART OF A VOLCANO ITSELF! But not today. Today has been a quiet day. Because my voice hasn't been working well. I'm hurting - my throat is hurting, and my nose, and my chest. I have to be quiet. It hurts when I speak. It turns into a squeak. I sound more like a child when I speak right now. Less innocent, perhaps - more wounded.

I don't know. It sounds different in my head. Maybe.

It doesn't take much to push me further into myself, particularly when I'm quiet. The worlds I disappear into when I'm reading a book or the knowledge I'm fascinated by when reading Wikipedia, or even the half-dreams I drift into when I'm feigning sleep because I'm too tired to move. Even the fantastical scenes I construct when I'm masturbating to orgasm somewhere in the realms between soft porn, words and reality. Everything which distracts me from the dull normality of life is a temptation. When I'm quiet, that's where I go.

Read this post again and imagine me reading it aloud, speeding up and increasing volume as I go, until I reach this point. I can't do that right now, because I'm hurting. But that's how I feel. It's at its loudest when I want to shout, when I want to evolve, regenerate, burst into a thousand shimmering sparkles of angelic light.

But here I am. Here is me. Just me. Just for now. I am just me. I am here. And I am quiet.

Into the eye of the storm.

Sunday, 24 November 2013


"You know," said my girlfriend, "I've noticed that things between you and 47 get a little bit... well... homoerotic, really."
"We're brothers," I shrugged. Okay, we're not really brothers, fair enough... but about as good as. I mean, neither of us ever had a brother. I did have sex with his sister, I guess. But that's not really the reason. "We do that sort of stuff all the time. Brotherly stuff. Except punching each other." (I'm referring there to the Makaton for 'brother', by the way).

I'm not sure, exactly, if I see the homoeroticism between myself and 47. He wasn't even here for very long, anyway; it was a few hours of catching up, getting free food from Prezzo and Doctor Who. Okay, there were a few references to bumming. There were unnecessary comparisons of condoms and an unused sexual party favour (well, I wouldn't show him a used one; we're not that close!). And there revelation that he's never used lube because:

"I find women tend to come with their own natural lubrication."

I do, too, but I tend to keep the stuff on hand anyway. Horses for courses, I suppose. And then there's all the other stuff lube can be used for. Even if it does have too strong an aroma of strawberries.

47 also regaled us with a story which I don't think I'll ever be able to forget: the time when I rolled over in bed and tried to spoon him, at which point he physically picked my hand up and replaced it on my side of the bed. I vaguely remember this, although I wasn't really awake while doing so. (My excuse was that I thought he was a girlfriend at some point: this is true, although I think he doubts!) There's also the time I took a picture of him with his trousers having fallen around his ankles. The point at which I drew a cartoon of him wearing nothing except pants. And the picture that Esque took once which made it look like I was in a deep kiss with him* (*I wasn't, it was an angled shot and an example of excellent photography).

Homoerotic? Not really. Not really really. Okay, yes, we do have an unusual relationship. Interesting, maybe. But then would we have it any other way? I mean, really. He's... well, he's 47, and I...

...well, I'm Innocent Loverboy.

(I wasn't sure how to finish that post.)

Wednesday, 20 November 2013

Boys will be Boys

Yesterday was International Men's Day and Twitter was awash with comments about it, ranging from the nonsensical to the frankly baffling. We had things such as:

i) people, mostly men, making comments such as "every day is International Men's Day", thus reinforcing the stereotype that men are by design a dominant gender
ii) people, mostly men, saying that they deserve a day of recognition for not being abusive, thus reinforcing the stereotype that all men abuse, and a non-abusive one is a rarity
iii) people, mostly women, expressing their distaste for International Men's Day for unspecified reasons, thus causing a problem
iv) people, mostly if not entirely men, verbally abusing people, mostly women, expressing their distaste for International Men's Day for unspecified reasons, thus adding to a problem
v) zero mentions of any other gender separate from 'men' and 'women'
We never get any of this sort of shit on International Women's Day. That's a day on which inspirational and effective women are celebrated. Those claiming that we celebrate inspirational and effective men all year around, so why do we need a day for it?, seems dubious to me. If you're going to take that attitude, then why do we need an International Women's Day? Why do we need an International Day for Children, like today? Why do we have a Mothering Sunday and a Father's Day? Somebody from any subset will be appreciated for any one moment, so why do we need a day, eh?

Obviously, this is an extreme example. All I saw on Twitter was people debating the existence of an International Men's Day, not actually doing anything that such a Day would likely be promoting to begin with. So let's talk about inspirational men, shall we? I'll start with Kier Hardie. What a guy.

As much as one might claim that there's a societal bias towards men for preference, I'm not entirely sure if that's true. There's a lot of sexism towards women, with evidence that they are paid less than men (unfounded, but I suspect it is true), but conversely, I'm sure that women are more likely to get jobs (founded, with my uncle who works for Mazars openly stating that the company used "positive discrimination" as a hiring principle, and me being turned down for jobs in favour of my friends who have less experience, but are girls).

There's a historical preference, sure. It's incredibly saddening that history usually has recorded "important men", but that's history. In the present, we are redressing the balance. And that's equality. And that's good. That's what we want.

So where does that leave men? With a stereotype.

I cried once. Well, I've cried lots of times. I mean, lots and lots. Esque once called me "crying-boy" because that's what I do. But I remember crying once because I was with a group of people from church. I was crying and upset and I wanted a hug. I hugged someone I considered a friend, who was also the boyfriend of a closer friend. He threw his hands up in the air, as if unsure what to do. Everyone else in the group looked distinctly uncomfortable. They began to trickle away, leaving me still crying.

I was told, later on, by my closer friend, that nobody knew what to do, because boys don't cry.

This is why we need an International Men's Day. Because there's still a lack of knowledge there, and if we are going to hold it for any and all genders, we should take a while to recognise that everyone, regardless of their chromosomes, is an individual.

So don't question. Just think.

Sunday, 17 November 2013

We're all in this together

At the sex ed training workshop I attended a couple of weeks ago, the first session contained quite a lot of discussion about what the age of consent might be. It's a common belief that it's 16 for both/all genders, and indeed that's used as a benchmark even if you're not sure. To avoid prosecution and all.

I don't think this is too young, and I certainly don't think it's too old. The problem I do have with the age of consent is that it's somewhat unspecified. Like most of the British constitution, it's not codified in any particularly distributed way, and I (for what it's worth) wasn't taught it at school - until it was mentioned in passing by a teacher when I was in year 7.

Year 7. I was 12 when I head the first mention of an age of consent. 12 years old and I hadn't heard of it. I hadn't even thought of it beforehand. Because nobody had mentioned it.

Insofar as the age of consent is concerned, at the workshop it was generally agreed that 16 is the most commonly cited age, but there's also an idea behind "cognitive ability to consent" that falls around the age of 12 or 13, at which a child is meant to understand the implications around consenting to sex, the risks implicit within, and all other factors. (The pleasure involved with sex wasn't mentioned, but I'm assuming that too.) I don't know if this is part of the law or not - I'm not a lawyer - but what was implied at the workshop was that it is, in fact, legal to consent to sex under the age of 16. It's if you actually do or not, and who you do it with, that is a legal thing.

Sounds incredibly vague, right? Of course. The age of consent is vague. I've always thought it's vague, and too far so to actually be thrown at you and taken as gospel. By the end of the first session at that workshop, we were all pretty much in agreement that two 14-year-olds could be legally having sex with each other and anyone wishing to prosecute wouldn't have a leg to stand on. This was a helpful view for later workshops, such as my own on sex and religion, in which we discussed the religious implications of under-16 sex.

I don't want to condone or disparage this idea - as far as I'm aware, your sex life if your own business and, unless you want to share it in a public forum like I do here, it should remain so. But I am aware, in many cases, of people - friends and others - who have had sex before the age of 16 while still being aware that they may have been acting outside the law, for various reasons... including wanting to have sex before the turn of the Millennium, being in a relationship for years and not wanting to wait any longer, being under the influence of drugs or alcohol... or just feeling that they are ready.

Which, again, I'm fine with.

The idea gets lost somewhere when one party involved is over the age of consent and one is below - Stu makes a good point on his blog entry about old men/young girls. I think it's accepted and acknowledged that this could be classed as assault. But what about a pair who are 15/16? Legally, there's a case there. But seriously? Is anyone going to take issue with this?

A large amount of the problem comes when there's an assumption that sex under 16 is non-consensual, because that's... well... rape. But talk to the people involved and you may find that it was, in fact, with consent. Or not. You won't know if you don't ask.

The suggestion in the news at the moment that 15 should be debated at a new age of consent - proposed by John Ashton and rejected, predictably, by David Cameron - comes after a claim that a third of British teenagers under 16 are, or have, having or had sex. This doesn't surprise me. What does is that there's still an assumption that a lower age of consent would make it easier for young people to get sexual health advice from the NHS.

You should get sexual health advice fron the NHS at any age.

I agree with many of the points he's making. Yes, we do need open discussion in a fre environment to encourage sexual discourse and security. Yes, we are getting inaccurate representations of sex in pornography (although not all porn - this is tackled, brilliantly, in feature film Don Jon. Yes, countries with a lower age of consent (Italy, Spain, many parts of Japan, Sweden...) do show, statistically, that teenage pregnancy and sexual activity in the underage is also at a lower rate.

But the main point - again! - comes back to sex education. If there's an idea that you need to be at the age of consent to get sexual advice from the NHS (or any other sources), then there's something wrong here. We have sex education in schools and sites like Justin Hancock's BISH available and yet the message still isn't getting out there if there's something as radical as a change to the (admittedly vague) age of consent in order to combat poor education!

Nick Clegg's statement that a blanket reduction in the age of consent isn't an answer to the "difficult dilemma" is something I understand - although he should have gone on to mention that we need higher standards in sex ed. Nevertheless, I agree with Nick.

This isn't to say that I wouldn't support a lower age of consent (especially if this involved clarification of the actual law) - of course I would! When I was 14, I'd have liked nothing better than the idea that I could have sex! But it's not an answer, and it's nothing like enough. Until we get better sex ed, the message that it's out there to access for free without any problems, and less of a stigma over giving this information to young people, we're still going to have a problem.

Saturday, 16 November 2013


[I was going to title this post "Book!", but I've already done that. I hate, hate, hate to repeat myself.]

I love a good notebook. I barely write in the things, not wishing to befoul such a pristine work of art as the blank page. But people will insist upon giving them to me at Christmas, so I do build up a collection in my various travels. And none more so than in educational environments, wherein the things are handed out like flyers. Throughout my various exploits in all forms of education, I've developed even more of an affection for notebooks, and definitely the things that could be contained therein.

When I was in the sixth form, two notebooks started circulating around the students, various people adding bits to them like that collection in American Pie. One of them, "Den Buch das Dude III: Ein für der Strasse", belonged to Lightsinthesky - yes, it was the third in the series, a collection of random drawings, stories, poetry and sexual lustings produced by Lightsinthesky himself (under the inventive synonym of "Dude"). As a friend, I featured in these books a lot, although never in a particularly positive light.

The third was a lot more interesting. This belonged to a group of girls and it shed more of a light on sixth form life than The Book of Dude. Among their musings - which everyone was allowed to add to, by the way, which is what made it so interesting - there were a number of lists. "Hot men, in no particular order" (containing Orlando Bloom - I never saw the appeal myself - and Simon Thomas from Blue Peter), "fit women, in no particular order" (written mostly by the boys, comprising entries like "all the women in porn films whose names I can't remember"), and a list of the most physically attractive boys in the sixth form.

What's a glist?
Evidently this was jocular - you're hardly going to put down a list of boys and pass it around. Although they did. Allegedly, according to one of the girls, boys made the list if they matched some, all or many of the criteria in the book's first - and longest - list: "Things that are hot." This included such physical delights as "arses", "visible adam's apples", "attractive stubble", "no visible nose hair" and "does not mind if you burp or fart, because those are natural processes and girls do them just as much as boys, if not more, so should not be ashamed at you for this".

It was quite a selective list.

All the boys I'd expected to be in the top 10 were on it - this didn't include Lightsinthesky, but Music Man was at number one, followed closely by the guy with the eyebrow piercing, several of the punk rock boys, the computer god in the upper sixth dating one of the girls who wrote the list, and me, at number ten. Pleased as I was at having made the list, I couldn't help feeling that there was a slight quandary surrounding the last two positions, and eventually I was bumped down to number 11 (and therefore off the list, as only the top ten were written down), usurped by a guy called - you couldn't make it up - Brad.

To be fair, I wasn't really upset by this. My mother thought it was hilarious, which gives you an idea of her level of humour. But then I had a slightly twisted sense of what was attractive back then, anyway. I added Rasputin to the "hot men" list at number 67, after which was a complicated and well-thought-out note by one of the girls that this was not a great addition, as he looked like a corpse, and that Boney M's song was very complimentary, but false.

Now that's good rationale.

Tuesday, 12 November 2013

An Inconvenient Truth

I hadn't changed the sheets in far too long. Another testament to my laziness, really, since it was something I both should and could have done two weeks ago. I freshly laundered my favourite bedsheets - blue, like the ripples on a lake - left them to dry in the boiler room... and then promptly forgot about them. And, to be fair, the red sheets that Jilly's mother had sent us were getting ridiculous. I just didn't want to change them.

Perhaps the main reason that I'm not particularly fond of changing bedsheets is the far corner of our room, next to her side of the bed. Although it's a good opportunity to be Manly™, levering the whole mattress up on one knee while fitting one corner of the bottom sheet, there isn't a lot of space between the bed and the wall. I usually get around it by manoeuvring my body in unexpected ways, standing on whatever I can find and getting the mattress up as soon as I can (the slats on the bed frame bear my weight, thankfully enough).

But this time was different. Stuff had accumulated in that corner, and although I attempted to plunge my foot into the general mulch that was there, it just wasn't going anywhere. I could stand on top of the collection of magazines, soft toys and Coke bottles, but it wasn't a prime position to be in. I couldn't bend down to get the mattress, and crucially, I was worried I might break something.

I took a few minutes to gather up as much of the stuff as I could, laying out several issues of Empire wherever there was space. Taking a random guess at how much floor space I'd find, I carefully lowered my left foot downwards.


"My foot's vibrating."

I hastily tried to clear more of the stuff away, but couldn't find the source of the vibration, even though I was pretty sure what it was... it was both hilarious and mortifying at the same time. Would've been more so if someone else had walked in, granted, but then - being topless and having pictured of naked cosplay girls on my wall - I probably would have had more problems in that sense first. I mean, it could be anything that was buzzing. A particularly persistent ringtone. An electric toothbrush misplaced onto the floor for some reason. An unusually angry bee. Something like that.

By now Jilly was on her stomach, groping around aimlessly (she kept hitting my foot, which I'm pretty sure wasn't deliberate, so I moved it out of the way).

"Hang on... I've got it..." she grunted, before extracting a huge purple thing which chose that very moment to cease its buzzing. I stared for a while, trying to fathom how it worked, before shrugging and getting back to being Manly™. Just one of the occasional perils of two sex bloggers living together, one supposes.

A few minutes later, after being a blue ghost for a while, I'd managed to wrestle the bed into submission. I stood back to admire my handiwork...


The corner of the fitted sheet zipped back to the centre of the mattress.

Saturday, 9 November 2013


47's university has the curious quality of having quite a large online presence in the form of various IRC rooms. Lots of UK universities block IRC, but if there's a large enough geek presence, I assume some form of chat room would start up. Just not on the university's own webspace - I'm not sure a domain ending would be too friendly to people trying to join using mIRC.

I've probably lost some of you here. I'm going somewhere with this, promise.

I went to university the year after 47, and to a different one in a very different bit of the country. Having seen 47 participating so actively in his university's IRC community that he put a computer in the kitchen, I was anticipating doing the same at my university, using my university's IRC chat rooms.

Except there weren't any. And, believe me, I looked. I actually went to quite a big university - one of the largest in the country - and yet our web presence was relatively small (although, in recent times, their Twitter activity is astronomical!). I even looked on other IRC networks to see if there was a chatroom there focused on the uni. There wasn't. Even then, I was aware that IRC was becoming a deprecated medium, but I thought we'd at least have some uber-geeks around...

In my second year, I decided to have another go and did some more digging. In the end, I managed to unearth a gold mine, of sorts... an actual IRC server hosted by the university itself! A server, indeed, ending in - created, so said a website, by a project once hosted by the university's English department and then abandoned the year before I joined. So, in effect, a ghost IRC server. With an active bot. Exciting, eh? (Well, I thought it was exciting.)

I immediately created a room and knocked up a small Java applet, pimped the address on the university's LiveJournal, and waited.

For a while, there wasn't anything. Eventually, while I was idling idly on the idle channel, a beep alerted me to something I hadn't expected - activity. A girl I didn't know from the ICT department had entered the channel. We chatted for a while and seemed to click. In the end, she seemed to hang around the room more than I did, and when the occasional drifter came along, we handled conversations well enough between us.

Then this happened.

It was a lazy afternoon. SM, my friend and, by this time, de facto co-op, was set to "away". I was working on an essay (or playing Superfrog, I forget which) when mIRC beeped, and in came someone I didn't recognise with an odd nickname. She, it turned out, did agriculture (something I had no idea our university did) and was primarily looking to fix somebody up with a single friend of hers. Essentially, she was a human agriculturist masquerading as The person she fixated on first was both single and available... me.

"What sort of music are you into?" she demanded, without preamble.
"I like all kinds," I said, truthfully, "but I suppose my favourite kind of music is alternative."
"Oh, I've got a friend who's into alternative music. You should meet her."
"Well, lots of people are, but okay. Anyway, tell me about you?"
"How many tattoos have you got?"
"I... don't have any tattoos."
"I don't have any of those either."
"Well, you're probably not my friend's type. Do you want to talk to her anyway?"
"Okay, I'll come back here later! I'll bring her too! Bye!"

At which point she disconnected. I was slightly shaken and confused by this whole encounter. Bright and breezy she may have been, but maybe too much so for me. I related this tale to SM later in the day, and she had the reaction that I had expected... lots of confused emoticons mostly consisting of =/ and >_>.

Of course, I never ended up talking to this girl's single friend, who I doubted actually existed, but the girl herself (whose name I also forget) kept coming back to the room, mostly in order to regale me with stories of her own course and how majestic her boyfriend was. She even created a website at one point: something that looked a little like a personal home page from 1993 with lurid pink text in Comic Sans MS and the lyrics to the Frosties advert substituting "u" for "you". Still, you had to admire her pluck.

And then this happened... via MSN this time.

"I think you have a crush on ME!!!!!!!!!!"
"I've never even met you," I blinked. "How could I have a crush on you?"
"You tell me!"
"Haven't you got a long-term boyfriend?"
"Not any more!"
"When did that happen?"

"Ages ago! It says so on my MySpace!"
"You haven't mentioned it in the chatroom before..."
"I'm not going to say it in the chatroom! You never know who might be listening!"
"Who else? Nobody really uses the chatroom!"

"Whatever. Anyway, do you want to talk to my single friend?"

At which point she signed off, my answer half-composed on the inactive window in front of me. I never heard from her again.

But at least I have it on good authority that she ended up dissecting a horse's leg.

It's the little things in life.

Thursday, 7 November 2013


I looked up from my chair, having just remembered I was meant to be working. My client sat there in front of me, with an inquisitive look on his face. But he wasn't looking at me; he was frowning at the paper he balanced on his knee, looking decidedly indecisive about what to put. He was even chewing on a pencil - my pencil.

"How are you doing?" I ventured.
"How am I doing?" he said.
Kira Reed gave a great shuddering gasp in response and pushed his head back between her thighs, which was probably an appropriate thing to do.

Blink. Focus, ILB. It's just something he said. It's not a cue to start linking everything anyone says to a scene in soft porn.

Thankfully, the dialogue in the rest of the scene which had just leapt into my brain from four very innocent words couldn't really come out in a normal working situation. Added to the fact that my client didn't look a bit like actor Micah Bradshaw, that settled me down a bit.

I ran through the dialogue that would put me back into the scene:
- "Gently! Gently!" [Not likely to be said.]
- "Try to think of it as an experience, not a conquest." [Would be nice if I could slip that into conversation, but no.]
- "Well, I was hoping to have... sex with you." [Say that, and I'd get fired. But they don't have any problem with "fuck off".]
- "Fine. You have no problems at all there." [Need to avoid that one.]

Readjusting my brain as best I could, I turned back to the task at hand. My client, hopefully oblivious to what I was thinking about - I'm probably right in assuming not everyone watches Passion Cove - was looking up at me now.

"How's this?" he said, handing me the paper. I took a cursory glance over what he'd written. Looked good to me.
"Wonderful!" I replied.
Kira Reed relaxed onto the bed, breathing heavily, while Micah Bradshaw got his breath back.


Tuesday, 5 November 2013

TMI Tuesday: Eat It

Hey hey hey, it's TMI Tuesday!

There's nothing particularly about sex in this one (although I suspect a lot of people might twist it into an "I like food play LOL" post), but I thought I might do it anyway. Not a good idea, really, as I'm now incredibly hungry and I've got a bar of peanut brittle just waiting to be devoured. Damn you, temptation!

Musical accompaniment? Of course.


1. If your sandwich is cut in half on the diagonal, creating two triangles, do you bite the hypotenuse or the point?

What, not the opposite or adjacent sides? How dare you?!

Anyway, it depends what kind of sandwich you're talking about. My favourite type of sandwich is the cheese toastie - the consumption of which results in lots of small crumbs on the plate. These need to be swept up by the toastie itself, and the open side (which I'm assuming is the hypotenuse in question) is the best one to do this, as it has a certain amount of sticky cheese to do such a deed. To create more sides, I'll bite from the right-angle in order to create more such sides, working outwards.

I do this with any sandwich, however - just with a toastie there's more of a reason to do so!

2. Dipping a tortilla chip – do you dip the tip or the side of the chip to scoop the dip?

This is ridiculous; I've never even thought about this. I rarely dip tortilla chips anyway, although occasionally I'll do so with nacho cheese or hummus. In any case, I've not taken much notice of what I'm doing with the thing before stuffing it into my face. From vague memory of time spent in Chiquito's or the darkness of the cinema, I'd hazard a guess that I hold the crisp at the side and use the tip, as that seems more natural.

3. Do you think you drink too much coffee? How much do you drink daily? What is a “cup” of coffee to you – how many ounces or grams?

Yes, I drink too much coffee, although I've switched to decaffeinated recently, with the exception of the one cup I get at work, and even then I'd usually ask for tea, which I marginally prefer over coffee. As my favourite drinks are lemon flavoured, I'd go for one of those via preference, but when I drink coffee at Starbucks, I tend to ask for a shot of vanilla in it, for various obvious reasons.

I'm not anally-retentive enough to go and measure out how many ounces of coffee is in my standard cup on account of the fact that I'd rather have my skin peeled off and go rolling around in salt. I have one teaspoon of instant coffee. And two sweeteners. That's it.

4. Do you take cream in your tea? How many sugars?

I take milk in my tea, not cream. Coffee and cream, yes. But in tea, milk - preferably skimmed - serves me fine. I like sweetened tea, but I am trying to cut down on sugar, so I'll always go for sweeteners as preference, such as Hermesetas. I have either one or two, depending on how many fall out of the little box when I press the switch.

5. How do you eat a burrito?
a. Pick it up with your hands, bite into an end.
b. Cut it in half, then pick up one half and eat it.
c. Eat it with a fork and knife
d. Open the tortilla, eat the food inside and eat the tortilla last.

Because this is the correct way to eat a burrito. It's designed to be picked up and eaten easily. Option D here completely negates the fact that you've ordered a burrito!

You may be wondering what I have inside burritos as I'm a vegetarian and many of them are served with meat inside. Well, most places will do them with some form of salad, often with cheese added. I've also invented my own at Mexican food places when I don't like the look of the veggie option: flour tortillas with cheesy chips and onion rings work incredibly well, in fact!

6. How do you eat a slice [of pizza]?
a. Pick it up and eat it as an open slice.
b. Pick it up and fold it together, then bite into it.
c. Leave it on the plate and eat with a fork and knife.
d. I eat the crust first, then the rest of the slice.

Because all my friends do this, so that's how I do it, Yay, peer pressure!

This only accounts for pizzas I eat at restaurants, though. With take-away pizzas I'd go for option A, and then dip the crust in hummus or garlic and herb dip at the end of the slice. I don't think anyone seriously eats take-away pizzas with a knife and fork. Not really.

Bonus: What is the weirdest thing that you are into?

Food-wise? Or just in general? Because you could take that question any way you like. This is all getting a bit personal.

In any case, I like milkshakes containing Weetabix. The kind you can get from ShakeAway. With something else - perhaps chocolate and Weetabix, or maple syrup or something. Which is strange, because I haven't eaten a real Weetabix in years.

Bonus Bonus: Do you care if your different foods, on a plate, touch each other? Yes? What’s that all about?

Oh, yes! I absolutely hate mixing my food unless it's something I've deliberately effected myself; in fact, a lot of my least favourite foods (like baked beans, for example) tend to have some sort of sauce that may "infect" other things on the plate.

A particular offender is spinach. I really like spinach, actually - particularly of the fresh kind. My dad buys frozen spinach, which is quite nice steamed: I won't have it on my plate, though, as it tends to generate food water, which I find particularly revolting. I'll eat the spinach out of a different bowl, thankyouverymuch!

Monday, 4 November 2013

'Mo Softcore, 'Mo Problems

Yesterday evening I took a disposable razor and, having used liberal amounts of soap and water on my face, covered myself with shaving gel and scraped off all facial hair apart from that which is abundant on my top lip. Essentially, I now have a Movember 'Mo.
Is this sexy? (Clue: No.)

I've done this twice before (and not always through laziness, although that is the usual reason). Two years ago, I was at college (fourth time around) and still managed to grow one, although I looked like a porn star from the Seventies when I did so. After I'd managed to stem the flow of blood from various bits of my neck yesterday, I inspected the damage and saw, once again, that I'd revealed a latter-day Ron Jeremy, which the led to the idea I had for this post.

Some porn stars have moustaches. I mean, why wouldn't they? Men grow facial hair; leave it for a while and you've got a moustache. But not many of them. Apart from the aforementioned Ron Jeremy, I can't think of any male porn stars with facial hair at all (although maybe one of you could help me out?). Peter North, Evan Stone, James Deen... I can't recall any scenes I've seen with any of those sporting even so much as a goatee, never mind a full moustache. Mind you, my knowledge of hardcore porn is limited, so let's move on to something I'm more familiar with.

Ken Kerr. Nice bloke. Lovely teeth.
Soft porn doesn't like hair. It genuinely doesn't. Back hair and body hair are more or less eliminated from most forms of softcore (apart from the earlier stuff), including pubic hair on the ladies... and facial hair on the men. I spent a while racking my brains for any characters in softcore that both have a moustache and sex. I could only think of a couple... besides things I think I may have seen in the past. I mean, I remember a slightly bearded guy in Compromising Situations once. Chad McQueen from Indecent Behaviour II has a slight bit of fuzz below hie bottom lip. I was looking for full-on, philtrum-covering hair.

In all honesty, the first place my brain went was Emmanuelle, specifically First Contact (or Queen of
Help! They've put Mario in soft porn!
the Galaxy if you want to call it that), simply because there's a character in it with a very obvious and totally ridiculous moustache. This man is called Richard, and he's an absolute idiot - played by Robert Nassry. Richard is the ex-husband of a character named Alexandra (Kimbra Westervelt), and Emmanuelle - in finest "I have a cunning plan, my lord" mode - plots to get them back together. How? Flowers? Chocolates? Fake notes? Frank, heart-to-heart discussion with mediation, education and support setup, outlining areas in a relationship to strengthen and build upon?

Nope, more effective. Haffron morphs into a clone of Richard and has sex with Alexandra himself.

I'm done here.

What confused me about this (apart from the completely ridiculous EVERYTHING) was the fact that real Richard doesn't have a moustache, while Haffron!Richard has one roughly the size of Nebraska. While you'd think Alexandra (being his ex-wife and all) may notice, the film casually glosses over that part, choosing instead to make a hilarious joke in which Haffrard claims that "this thing is itchy". Utter hilarity.

Straight to the point.
In reality, the only softcore that I can really think of, featuring moustaches without remarking upon them, is Beneath the Valley of the Ultravixens from 1979, directed by Russ Meyer (who had a particularly fine 'Mo himself, actually). This cult classic has an awful lot of sex in it, mostly featuring the one female character (Lavonia Shedd, played by Kitten Natividad, RM's paramour at the time). The men she has sex with throughout are varied (and number half the population of Small Town, USA, in which the film is set). But every single one of them has a moustache. This is never even touched upon... it just is.

I doubt this is a stylistic choice. Moustaches were probably more popular in the Seventies. RM himself had one, Semper Fidelis (Michael Finn) and Mr. Peterbuilt (Pat Wright) also sport them in Beneath... as does Lavonia's husband, Lamar Shedd (Ken Kerr). In fact, the only men without moustaches in Beneath are the ones with whom she doesn't have sex - the exception being Rhett, but he's meant to be 14 years old and therefore wouldn't have one anyway.

And that's it. I can think of four characters in soft porn with noticeable moustaches. Four. And three of those are from the same film! Bearing in mind how much soft porn I've seen in the last sixteen years of my life, that's really not a lot!

So... why does soft porn shy away from moustaches (or, actually, body hair at all... the exception, again, being RM's films), particularly when they suggest masculinity? Is there something wrong with mouth fuzz, particularly when some girls I know have stated categorically that they find it incredibly sexy? I'm not a fan myself per se, but nevertheless, hair can't be considered totally unattractive...

Having thought about this, the best reason I can come up with is that a lack of facial hair is suggestive of youth, which in turn suggests virility. Yes, this may seem an incredibly questionable connection,
Let it shine! Let it shine! Let it shine!
and I agree. However, most men in soft porn are depicted as being somewhere between 25 and 40, with the majority in their early thirties (in terms of actor age; characters are rarely defined). Considering characters like Haffron, who's meant to be an alien roughly the same age as Emmanuelle (herself about 30, perhaps), or any of the Merry Men from Virgins of Sherwood Forest (apart from Friar Tuck), or the various boyfriends from Mirror Images II, et al., some suggestion of youthful vigour seems to be important. This isn't the case in younger characters, in which it seems to be implicit.

Mind you, this is only a guess on my part. Like I said, I don't particularly find the moustache a particularly attractive accoutrement. But, in most soft porn, they are conspicuous by their peculiar absence, leaving the characters with them (and beards, at that - grow a beard in softcore and kiss any hope of sex goodbye), and while I won't complain too much about that, it does make me wonder - for what it's worth - exactly why that is!

Any ideas? Answers on a postcard...!

Saturday, 2 November 2013

Good Morning! I'm Norman!

The other day I discovered this video on YouTube. I used to love this series, designed to help you learn French - there was a monumental waiting list for it at the library. Once I got hold of it, I was reticent to let the VHSs go, and lobbied my mother to buy me a set of my own - she didn't, but I managed to learn French anyway.

The language, that is.

A few weeks ago I remembered the tune that goes with the appearances of Norman (and his bike) in Le Grand Muzzy. And, since it's so infectious, it's easy to remember:

Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, doo-doo-doo doo doo doo.

Easy, right?

So I've been humming, whistling, tapping... any form of vocalising or eliciting the tune in many different variations (I haven't yet tried it on my glockenspiel, but only because I'm too lazy to extract it from under my bed), often with increasing inversions of pitch and tempo. Truly, I am a musical genius. Innit. And why have I been doing this, you may ask? Simple: I'm absolutely sure it works in any given situation.

This was put to the test on Thursday night. It had been a long day. Quite stressful in parts. Even a little upsetting for no apparent reason. It was just one of... those days. There was, perhaps maybe by the smallest of possibilities really but not really okay really a little masturbation going on that night. By both involved parties. In the same bed at the same time. As I said... long day.

Oh God, it's HIM again!
In any case, masturbation turned into kissing, which turned into sex, which somehow managed to turn into a Simpsons quote session, although how that happens during sex I'm not entirely sure. But no matter what we were quoting - what we were doing was a little more horizontal than usual. And thus the laughter began. Laughter during sex... that's meant to be good, right? Right? But there was certainly something missing. Something that would have not only validated, but improved, our laughter-based penis-in-vagina experience.

And the answer hit me like a ton of bricks.

"Oh... yes!"
"Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, doo-doo-doo doo doo doo!"

I'm special.