Saturday, 31 May 2014

La Petite Mort (pour toujours)

Since this is the end of May, Masturbation Month is almost over. This, of course, makes absolutely no difference to me whatsoever; my masturbatory habits are unchanged whether or not it's May. I suppose that is the same for everyone, but nevertheless, I felt as if I needed to clarify this.

I don't masturbate the same way I used to. When I was living alone (whether I was single or not, but certainly living alone) I used to masturbate an average of once a day. Twice or maybe three times during my stranger periods at university, perhaps, but mostly I sat in my computer chair in my bedroom at home, having a good old-fashioned wank to whatever I felt like wanking to at the time. It takes me quite a while to orgasm at the best of times, and because I often had precious little else to do (or that I wanted to do), I did like to take my time (these sessions often lasted about half an hour or more), warming myself up for a while before going for the main event. I learned the art of shifting rapidly between sex scenes with my left hand while my right one kept up the stimulation, and ended up sponging down my chair because there was A STAIN.

This is no longer the way I wank.

That's sad, in a way. I kind of miss it. My living situation has changed - I'm in a different house, a smaller one, with the same set of parents but a room that's smaller, less private, and crucially, often has a girlfriend in it. I'd feel a little strange (to put it lightly) to spend my time bashing one out at my computer with her sitting less than a metre away. I mean, I may be good, but I'm not good at being that surreptitious. These days, I tend to masturbate after sex (if I haven't already had enough - I tend to get about two orgasms out on a good day), in the bathroom if I really feel the need to, and occasionally a sneaky one if everyone else is out and I'm left alone. Since I don't use toys, it's pretty easy to just pull down my trousers and take control - it's the fear of getting caught that keeps me from doing so that much...

The best wank I've had this year was nary a week ago, when I was about to go to camp. This was the day after the election on the 22nd, and I had a strange ghostland period after returning from work. I'd been up all night watching politics unfold in a most unfavourable fashion and then immediately taken my girlfriend to Victoria Coach Station so that she could return to the homelands to vote herself. I had excused myself from work a bit early because I fell asleep halfway through talking to a client, went home, and was waiting (patiently, I hope) for someone to come and pick me up for camp. I had a few hours to kill and it seemed the obvious solution.

So I had an old style wank: in my computer chair (with a towel beneath me; I don't really want to stain this one), in front of that which is always guaranteed to get me off: soft porn, chosen from the selection I have on my external HD (I didn't have the patience to try one of my Discs of Wonder™ - they don't always work too well, often leading to mass frustration). I took my time, once again, building myself up and getting to a point which I found acceptable, then speeding up and taking control, eventually losing it just before the point of no return and covering my hand (and bits of my stomach; I always overshoot) with my warm, sticky semen.

It was glorious.

In fact, later on that day I did it again (while still waiting to go to camp) and even managed to persuade @tryitprincess to have a play herself - to which I enjoyed her response: "so good!".

I don't think we need a Masturbation Month, although raising awareness of why it's important is always a noble cause - they still, as far as I'm aware, don't mention it in schools (unlike porn, which is occasionally mentioned by sixth form boys) during sex ed - but you can (should!) do it at any time. Just like wanking, in fact. But I think that, in some ways, it is fitting that I had my best masturbation during Masturbation Month.


Thursday, 29 May 2014


I just Googled someone and found out that he's a business consultant. Considering how hard he worked at school, I'm quite pleased for him. I was always quite worried that he would do the "go to Hollywood" route - spend a lot of time in preparation, try really hard, and yet get nothing in return - so I'm assuming that this is a good job that he deserves to get.

I've only met this guy a few times, but he always seemed like a nice guy to me. He was introduced to me as a "bod" - that is to say, he was clever and therefore disliked by his peers. As a bod myself, I enjoyed talking to him on ICQ (wow, that just aged me 15 years) and marvelled at how lame his personal homepage (yes, personal homepage) was, despite it managing to pack in a number of pictures, text and a WAV file without being anything above 1MB in total. I even tricked him into thinking that I had a hot girlfriend once...

...but let's not go into that.

I've since met this guy at house parties while at university and beyond; however, the main reason I remember him is based around a whole ICQ message from back-in-the-day. I was on my computer in the lounge and nothing much was happening.

channel 3 - itv

I walked across to the TV, turned on ITV and saw Michael Douglas doing something or another.

what is that? I asked.

you're too late - you missed the good bit... with the woman

I turned the TV off and continued doing nothing for a while.

I met with a mutual friend about a week later and we had a discussion about how this fellow bod was "like that", although what "like that" was lacked any further definition. Remember that I was about 13 or 14 at the time and still a little green when it came to sexual interest - I myself was watching soft porn regularly by this point, of course, but when it comes to talking about it... well, I'd never talk about it. And a six-second sex scene in a mainstream movie with Michael... M'Douglas is totally off-limits for sexual excitement. I mean, that's not the point... right...?

As time continued on, I found myself in more ICQ conversations in which this fellow bod managed to slip a reference to porn into things somehow, until finally he came out and said it blatantly.

yeah, i like porn lol... hard porn is great, but soft porn is more of an art form! lol

I agreed (and still do), but I still didn't say anything.

A pervasive theory is that young men spend all of their time talking about porn (if not football), due to the fact that they think about sex every six, seven, or eight seconds (it varies according to which hackneyed piece of false information you're reading). I can't remember even mentioning porn out loud before the age of about 17 or 18, which I originally knew as "porno". In any case, even people such as Lightsinthesky (who clearly had a lot of the stuff) were shy of mentioning its existence, as if in total denial about our sexual development. Our token black friend was the first in our group to lose his virginity, but even he didn't talk about that much, either.

I do have to wonder if other groups of boys talked about porn in such a frank context. I don't know - there was no way of knowing. Infrequent half-mentions of soggy biscuit and "whacking off competitions" gleaned from watching at the fringes of cool weren't enough to get much of an idea, and although porn was a pervasive topic, it was always mentioned as a bit of a joke, as were cybersex and sexting (although we did those too, to various degrees). I talk about porn a lot now, of course... but then I'm 29 and a sex blogger.

As for my fellow bod... well, he's a business consultant. I have no idea if he's ever had sex. I don't wish to know. But I am divided in opinion as to how I feel about him now. In part, I respect him for working hard, keeping up a pleasant enough demeanour despite all the pressure and cheerfully mentioning porn in mixed company, even if it was over ICQ. But the other half of me feels a slight amount of resent...

...because he got higher GCSE results than me.

Old wounds don't go away.

Tuesday, 27 May 2014


I haven't been slack, honestly. I've still been around, leaving comments on other blogs and replying to tweets within acceptable timeframes. That I haven't updated this blog for longer than a week is telling, on account of the fact that it is the first time such a thing has ever happened. The fact that I try to post about once every two days makes it slightly alarming when it takes a few to get something out onto the blogosphere, and evenmoreso when it takes over a week. As I said, it hasn't happened before.

In my defence, as feeble an excuse as this may be, I have been incredibly busier than I had anticipated, campaigning hard (politically) over the last week and even going into work on Friday morning, having stayed up ALL NIGHT to watch the election results coming in, feeling somewhere between sleep and death before taking a sick day to get me adequate amounts of sleep... before heading off the same evening to camp, from which I returned yesterday.

Camp was the same as ever, although with less people in attendance than I'd usually expect. While I was sharing a tent with Mane, Mane Jr. and the young raver (who's less of a raver now than he is a slightly dodgy social worker), Robinson was sharing a tent with Lovely (which makes sense, since they are engaged), and my friend-who-is-a-midwife and friend-who-is-a-nurse were both AWOL. Though I was geared up for the usual glut of sexual conversation since Seaside Slut's post about overheard tent sex handily posted the day before I left, there wasn't actually a lot of it*, although I managed to slip a reference to Sh! in when people were discussing Hoxton Square.

(*Discussion, not sex. There wasn't any sex... I think.)

While away, Twitter exploded into a frenzy of terrifying stories and gender politics, which I deliberately chose not to wade into on account of the fact that there isn't anything I could say that hasn't already been said elsewhere (and it's a thorny issue anyway). But I got lots of nice tweets which kept me connected to the sex blogger world, however tenuous; sitting in my tent playing with my 'phone was more pleasant than one may anticipate to begin with. And, before you ask, I didn't masturbate even once.

Well, twice on Friday. But that was before I went to camp.


After all of this, I am back: ready to continue with whatever it was I was trying to do before all this stuff happened. I didn't intend this to be an "apology" post for being away so long - I really don't like those, to be honest - but there's certainly more to write about than I've actually written about recently. So, yes, that's all forthcoming.

And I really want to have sex tonight. 

Sunday, 18 May 2014

My Writing Process

In lieu of writing a real blog post today, because I am a lazy ho, I'm going to have a go at doing the meme Blacksilk did recently, sharing her writing process. Like her, I'm not going to tag anyone - I'm just going to post it here with the comforting knowledge that you'll find my answers so awesome, you'll immediately run off and write one yourself.

Credit for this one goes to SheBoppin. since they thought of it first, apparently.

Anyway... post!


What am I working on?

Officially, I'm working on a couple of pieces of erotic fiction told (as is the way) from a female point of view. The bit of erotica I wrote the other day is one of the rare instances where I actually wrote as a boy. In any case, I have about three stories that I've started but haven't finished. I suck at getting things finished.

The same goes for the soft porn script I started writing, the novel(s) I started while at university, and the musical screenplay I'm meant to be revising for my family to perform. But when it comes to sex writing, once I start something I like to finish it. Hence why the blog posts vary wildly in length!

But in reality, I'm not really working on anything. I go from day to day, often writing something but also sometimes not doing so. There's nothing that's unfinished that I'm genuinely aiming to work on enough to finish. I'd rather write ten more blog posts than something else the same length that's never going to see the light of day.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

It depends, but I think I'll focus on my blog posts here.

Okay, you all know what I'm going to say. There aren't many straight male sex bloggers. There are some, certainly, but there aren't many, and I think out of all of them, I'm one of the ones that posts the most frequently. But then again, the things I write are somewhat varied: the things I focus on most are dreams I've had, sex I've had, views and opinions on sex, soft porn reviews and conversations with my friends. Amongst other bullshit.

A few of these things I haven't seen on any other blogs. I've rarely seen softcore mentioned outside of my own blog. I don't often see transcripts of conversations with friends - I think those are some of my favourite posts to write - and when it does come to writing about my feelings, I won't try to hide them. I think it's a shame to pretend everything's OK, especially when it isn't.

The thing about writing my blog is that I'm not actively trying to be different. I started it back in 2007 when there were markedly less sex blogs around and I didn't have much of an idea what I was doing, except that I had plenty of opinions to share and addictions to confess. I still have that mindset - I'm not trying to please anyone or achieve anything in particular - so if there's something that's unique on here, it's just me being me! And I'm different!

Why do I like what I do?

Well, why shouldn't I? I love creative activities, I love words, I love sex and I love computers. I also love cake, but that doesn't contribute... much!

In all honesty, writing ILB is the best thing I've ever done. It's a creative outlet which is unparalleled by anything else, and I've got plenty of artistic endevaours which I've tried over the years. This is one of the ones that stuck and, for me, it's the one that comes most naturally.

I'm not sure why that is. I can't pretend to be an expert in sex and sexuality. But I'm still finding things to write about after seven years - so I must be doing something right!

One thing that I do love about sex blogging is the community that comes with it. I'd never have guessed that I'd meet dozens of new people and good friends when I started, so that's a bonus and a half!

How does my writing process work?

I know I'm going to sound awful here, but I never redraft, nor do I check or revise what I've written. I start writing whatever it is I'm going to write, and I write it until I finish. I don't like interruptions and I don't want to have to second-guess myself, so I don't give it a readthrough when I'm about to post.

Despite this, I often do read back over what I've written (out loud, as if I am performing them on stage; they usually read quite well) usually months after the first time I post it, and then I'll notice a rogue typo or missing letter which I'll hastily put back in!

I don't like to stop, but if I am suffering the occasional writer's block, I tend to go and make myself a cup of tea, and by the time I get back from that, I'll have thought of a way to continue. And I'll have tea, which is never a bad thing. This was more effective in my old house, where my bedroom was as far away from the kitchen as possible, so I had more walking time. Here in SH, everything's so close together, it hardly feels like a break at all!

So, yeah - no redrafts. You can probably tell, too.

One thing that I mentioned at Eroticon (which prompted someone - I apologise for forgetting whom - saying that she'll never look at a blog post the same way again!) was the fact that, due to Blogger changing its default font sizes, I always start with one line of HTML to keep the font size at 85% (the previous default size for "small"). So, in every case, that's the very start of the writing process, before the first word.

I'm hardcore, me.

Friday, 16 May 2014

Fiction: Moon

The summer had been a scorcher, and I lay supine on a lounger staring at the moon. A Chinese paper lantern's twinkling light added another star to the sky while somewhere, in the distance, a shout of laughter made its presence known. Drunken or otherwise, I didn't mind, really. It served only as a reminder of where I was.

"The moon's bright tonight."

I hadn't heard her coming. But I wasn't too surprised to have someone chance across me. I didn't think that I would be particularly incongruous, shadowed as I was in the gathering darkness, but she did in all fairness spot a boy lying on a sun lounger looking at the ducky sky above. In the middle of a camp site. Alone.

I couldn't place the voice. It wasn't someone I knew well. Someone from one of the other camps, perhaps? Whoever she was, she was certainly talkative.

"Although the moon isn't really bright," she continued to herself, "it just reflects the light from the sun."

I'd love to know what goes on in that head of hers.

"You saved me the trouble of pointing that out," I offered as a murmur, still not taking my eyes off the moon. "So... thank you for that." At which I heard a small snap. Initially I placed it as a log on one of the fires in the nearby tent circles. It seemed a safe assumption. Although the fact that I wasn't correct didn't seem to matter, as the next sound - something I can only describe as flump - was unmistakeable. Clothes falling on grass. Quite why I recognised that so quickly, I've no idea. I don't think I wish to know.

"I like being correct," she said, the words almost falling out of her mouth into the balmy night air.

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. She was closer now - almost too close. I was idly wondering exactly how much she had taken off, but didn't remove my gaze from the surface of the moon. My hands were busily fiddling with my zip, but I didn't need my eyes to look anywhere else. I wouldn't have been able to see, anyway; the moon wasn't that bright.

"Do you?" she pressed.

As she said so, I felt it. The slightest touch of warmth, not from the sultry air pressing over Essex, but from something altogether different. Wet and soft and... human. It caressed the tip of my cock and stayed there. At this point, I did want to look down - but kept resolutely staring upwards. How had she seen what I was doing? How had she timed, exactly, the moment at which I would have pulled it out from my pants and exposed it to the air, as I was sure she had done herself? I wasn't expecting it to go any further.

Casual nudity, I suppose.

"I don't like being wrong," I answered, finding my voice after what seemed like an aeon searching for it.

"Is this wrong?"

And I suddenly felt her spread open as she lowered her body down onto me - effortless, smooth, easy. I wasn't aware that she'd even be aroused. But here she was, wet enough to ease the whole of my shaft inside her with barely a hint of discomfort. From the way her sex contracted around me, her inner walls moulding themselves around my shape, and the fact that she was adjusting her body in a businesslike manner, you would think we had spent more time together than half a conversation in the dark.


And she shifted forwards as I timidly placed my hands on her sides, feeling bare skin.


I felt her doing what seemed like the shadow of a ghost of a bounce. Just a little one. but full of intent.


And with that, she rocked forwards, and I saw her face right in front of the moon, obscuring my view for the first time. Sheets of curly red hair cascaded down over her shoulders. Eyes sparkled continuously with a mischievous grin unfurling on her face, complementing them perfectly. The moon cast a halo around her head - positively angelic, perhaps. Given the situation, anyway. And she was, wonderfully, completely naked.

Pinned under her body, I could only lie back and do the best I could, hoping my lounger would take the strain. It didn't disappoint, as she started to ride me, picking up the pace but never missing a beat of the rhythm she was creating. I steadied her, my hands on her sides and holding onto her thighs, cupping her breasts, feeling for her bum - all wonderfully bare, curved, and there for me to find. My cock twitched and pulsed inside her, feeling completely enveloped with no way (or will) to be anywhere else. All the time trying not to make any noise, lest it carry to one of the nearby camps.

That was the hardest part.

She continued merrily bouncing on me for a few minutes until I suddenly felt the strain. I would have warned her with a look, but it was dark. I made do with squeezing her hand; an inadequate warning, perhaps, but it was all I could do before I throbbed, bucked, yelped, and shot rope after rope of cum deep inside her - unable to stop for a while, as she - forgetting all pretence - let out a low, long, guttural moan, which I'm sure at least someone must have heard.

A sigh, a noise, a movement. She lifted herself off me, my cock sliding back out of her as easily as it had gone in. I heard a giggle, a rustle as she picked up her clothes, the soft padding of feet against grass receding into the distance... and she was gone.

I lay there with my world slowly readjusting into focus. A second Chinese paper lantern lazily flew by, catching my eye for a second or two... and the light of the moon continued to smile down at me, indulging my every moment.

Tuesday, 13 May 2014


ILB: "I know it's a bit of a way, but I'm actually surprised not to see Louise here."
Esque: "Of course! Hang on... Louise?"
"You know... Louise?"
"Short, blonde, thin? Incredibly rich? Lived in South London?"
"Moved to Africa? Smiles a lot?"
"Oh, come on! I had sex with her, remember?"
"I don't tend to indiscriminately follow everyone you have sex with."
"You don't?"

How time apart changes people.

Thursday, 8 May 2014

Bathe in the waterfall

Over the last week I've started working full-time. As if I didn't work full-time anyway. Since January 2013 I've been working from 9am to 12:30pm every day with constant requests for more hours... not because I want to do any, however; I just need the extra money. These requests have not been filled until this week; I'm now doing the same job for another company in the hours I had free.

At least I thought they were free.

I'd completely forgotten, it seems, what full-time work felt like. Having been staying in Central London until four every day and then commuting back means that I don't really get home until it's nearly six, which I suppose is meant to be kind of average. It just doesn't work for me at all. I'm finding myself home with absolutely no energy, no will to do anything of any particular worth and, crucially, no time in which to do it. Before I know it, it's 10pm and all I can think of doing is going to bed.

Not to have sex, shockingly. To sleep.

Not having sex as much as I could/should/would-if-I-could-stay-awake is having an odd effect on my brain. I find myself slipping into things which aren't quite daydreams and aren't really fantasies: just rumination on a single word or phrase or picture which I either find sexy, or shouldn't find sexy but do. So I was both pleased and a little disturbed to find myself having an incredibly vivid and explicit picture in my head last night when I settled down in bed for a nap (yes, a nap) after getting back from work.

I know what female ejaculation looks like. I've seen Cytherea's videos. I've never seen a real-life "squirt", but then again, there are other ways of experiencing orgasm and I'm quite adept at identifying one. I've talked before about the "spreading" sensation that I've felt while giving oral sex and knowing what that is, and often there's a vocal cue (there certainly is with my current girlfriend!) which identifies the start (and continuation) of an orgasm too. But yeah, I know what a squirt looks like.

I also know what it's like to incite orgasms through giving oral sex. TD didn't even like to have sex until I'd licked her to orgasm at least once first. Rebecca kind of liked it, Catherine couldn't stop once I'd started, and snowdrop almost shot me in the face with the tampon she was wearing.

So with that delightful image in your mind...

The image I had yesterday evening was incredibly vivid and it combined the two above elements (as if you hadn't guessed by now). It was in the first person and I was giving a girl oral sex to orgasm. The orgasm itself was certainly a full squirt. It just, you know, wasn't meant to be quite so full.

Because it went everywhere.

I was drenched, the bed was sodden, there were bits on the carpet... on the walls... on the ceiling. I remember my dream-self almost cessating sexual activity entirely in order to go and find a cloth from somewhere. (Almost. I had sex with the girl afterwads and her vagina was certainly wet enough.) I'd certainly like to elicit a squirt some day, but perhaps not Hydro Pump... why did I have that image?

I don't know. But it certainly got me thinking... any of you squirt?

Monday, 5 May 2014

Something something, something something, something maypole

I maypole you.

[Waits for applause. Doesn't get anything other than crickets. Ploughs on regardless.]

My mother broke out the maypole this morning. Yes, she actually does this every year, she is that twee - she even had some tea and scones ready for a respite. What's worse is that I actually took part: a green ribbon in hand, I danced in a circle around the giant phallic symbol, for no reason other than to really earn my bank holiday. I haven't done much with the rest of the day, though. Went for a run. That's about it.

But this got me thinking, because that's what I do: think. "Pole". All UKIP-like references to people stealing our jobs aside, is it really a verb as well as a noun?

Think about synonyms for coitus. "Have sex", "sleep with" and "make love to" are all in major circulation, are are taboo words like "shag" or "fuck". But then we also get things people say which are actually nouns - words that mean "penis", so shouldn't really make lexicographical sense at all. Pole - as in, I'm going to pole your girlfriend - is one of them. I understand the sentiment, insofar as you are going to use your pole (penis) on/in her, but something jars with me there.

I have the same problem with "bone" someone (I've been boning his sister for years now), "dick" someone (Dick's the tutor and Dick dicks the tutor with his dick), and, worst of all, "cock" someone. I wasn't even aware anyone said that until I saw it in amateur pick-up porn, where the main, hairy and totally disgusting star asked if he'd "cocked" a girl they saw on a college campus. I mean, really! You're not going to pick anyone up with grammar like that!

Who's she? I haven't seen her before. Have I cocked her?
- a complete idiot

The main problem with this sort of thing, inappropriate use of nouns aside, is that it seems so phallocentric as to be ridiculous. I don't think these phrases are meant to be sexist - not really intentionally, anyway - but it seems too much like hyperbole to be taken seriously, as it doesn't seem to actually involve whomsoever receiving the "pole", etc., at all. Were I a heterosexual girl about to have sex with a boy, I don't think I'd want to be poled, boned, dicked, or (worst of all) cocked. Fucked? Sure. It's a swear word but I have no problem with it.

But these just seem violent. Not so far as to be rape synonyms, but nevertheless...

Am I going too far here? Do any of you lovely readers use "pole" as a synonym for "have sexual intercourse with..."? Or am I just being oversensitive to the misuse of nouns as verbs and misconstruing them as having savage overtones? Let me know. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Now please excuse me while I go and bang my girlfriend. Oh, there's another one!

Saturday, 3 May 2014


I'm not lazy. Not really. Well, not genuinely. I may seem lazy; it's difficult to get me out of bed when I don't technically need to be. It's not easy to get me to work in the mornings and it's nigh on impossible to distract me from wherever I am when I've decided I've absolutely, positively got to have a speedy wank. But I wouldn't call me lazy.

Other people would, but I wouldn't.

It's the same old situation when it's a warm Saturday afternoon and you've just done grocery shopping at the Sainsbury's down the road. You've played through a mission of Luigi's Mansion 2 and you're even considering doing that again; there may well be e-mails to be answered, but who's going to do that on a Saturday? You have ever-so-small stirrings in your pants which suggests that your penis needs a bit of attention, but that can always happen later.

You enter your bedroom to find your girlfriend sleeping with just enough space to fit your frame in behind her. Well, I ask you, what would you do? What with your ability to just perch yourself on the bed and put an arm around her. Nuzzle your face in her hair, stroke her arm gently, maybe even close your eyes yourself. I mean, it really seems like the obvious course of action, doesn't it?

And then there's always the chance to show a bit of affection after she wakes up, right? It probably won't be very long. As long as you don't fall asleep, of course.

Two hours later...