Monday, 30 June 2014

#AdultSexEdMonth - why do we need to educate adults?


I wanted to contribute to Adult Sex Ed Month - today is the last day - and I was planning to do so even before June started. But time ran away with me and I got lazy and busy and all sorts of things ending in Y that delayed be from writing a post. By this point, there are so many fantastic articles on the site that you're almost spoilt for choice with the amount of tips, tricks and advice adult sex ed can provide. Following the hashtag #AdultSexEdMonth is also worth doing.

So in an attempt to round up the month: why do we need adult sex ed at all?

Click for the site, y'know
Those of us over the age of 18 are meant to be The Font Of All Sexual Knowledge. We're the sex educators, the parents, the teachers, the older, wiser and more experienced bunch. Most of us have had sex, the average Brit having lost their virginity by the age of 17. Crucially, we've been through sex education ourselves - we have, of course, all had different experiences with sex ed (some good, some not so good, some almost too good) and we're the ones who are supposed to be passing it on. If we know it all, then why should we be educating ourselves as well?

I see the answer to that as simple: we don't know everything. Sex is a sweeping, diverse landscape and there's so much to do and explore - one of the main reasons why I love writing about it so much. 

And I've been doing that for a long time - sex blogging since 2007 and writing about sex in my everyday blog since way before that, in 2001. Like a lot of people, I started having sex in my teens and have been doing so intermittently ever since, although there have also been long periods of sexual inactivity. I've masturbated myself silly throughout the years and, although it took me a while, I dived in headfirst when it came to meeting up with people who could teach me more about sex - what with the CCK socials, Spiritual Space, Erotic Meet, Eroticon and even casual meetups since and around then. I've also been on sex ed courses, both being taught and being trained how to teach, and wrote/delivered a session at one of them.

I'm still learning more. I'm still discovering things that I never thought I would. I'm still finding things out there that I never knew existed. I'm close to people that I wouldn't have dreamed of being close to ten years ago. Every time I read a blog, talk to someone, discuss sex in an open way, attend an event... every time I do that, I'm learning. I'm expanding my knowledge. Every time, the world of sex gets a little larger and the light in my heart gets a little brighter.

And that is why we need sex ed - because it's not all about putting condoms on cucumbers and how not to get AIDS. It's more than just dispelling the myths about having sex standing up and that boys can't get raped. It's above and beyond a clear definition of what the age of consent may or may not be in Britain and around the world. All those things are important, yes, but it's so much more than that.

Sex ed is about understanding and opening up to each other. It's about sharing, the love of information, the appreciation of diversity, and how it unites and unifies us. It should be there for us to give to each other.

And that is why adults need sex ed. Because, in turn, it needs us too.

Sunday, 29 June 2014

New Haverbrook

I'M SORRY, I'M DEAF IN ONE EAR! SCARLET FEVER!
About a week and a half ago, I lost all hearing in my right ear. After a mild panic consisting mostly of going into work and asking everyone to repeat everything while teaching myself to lip-read, I decided that I really needed to do something about this, and went to a practice nurse to get my ears irrigated (both of them, because why the hell not?). She tried - hard - but the wax in there (and it is just wax, which is a relief, because I had enough hearing problems when I was in my infancy) wasn't budging. It was packed tight, rock solid and not going to be budged by the feeble efforts of sterilised water.

I made a repeat appointment, quietly cursing my ear in the full knowledge that it wouldn't hear what I was saying, and took the nurse's advice to get a little bottle of olive oil to put in my ear canal twice a day, lying on my side. I've never really been into putting food products anywhere except in my mouth (except for that one time), so that seemed like a prospect I wasn't going to very much enjoy. However, Cerumol ear drops are expensive, and since I don't have any money whatsoever, I got a little pipette and bottle for about £1, filled it up with extra virgin olive oil (because I am that cool), and have been lying on a towel, filling my ear with the thing I use for frying food. Twice a day.

Yesterday, we spent hours moving my sister's stuff into various recesses of SH, and this included moving the sofa bed I've been sleeping on into the lounge for her benefit. Her bed, which was taken apart by my dad, has been moved into our room, reconstructed with what seems like far too much effort for a Saturday evening, and OH MY GLOD IT IS THE MOST COMFORTABLE THING EVER at least when compared to the sofa bed I HAD THE BEST SLEEP OF MY LIFE I really hope my sister hasn't had too much sex on this bed because why do I think about these things?

So today I lay my towel down, got onto my side on the bed, filled the pipette with olive oil, dropped it into my ear canal and...

...the bed was soft and I felt like I was sinking into it.
...my ear was full and I couldn't hear anything out of it.
...my other ear was pressed against the bed and I couldn't hear anything out of it either.

This was, without a doubt, one of the most trippy experiences I've ever had. I closed my eyes and felt an almost complete disconnection to... well, everything, really. Who needs drugs, I reasoned, when you can just stuff liquidised olea europaea into your orifices? I almost thought of marketing it, when I realised that this was an incredibly idiotic idea, and went back to feeling slightly not there.

Ten more minutes of feeling out of my body when I realised I'd had the feeling before. I sat bolt upright.
"Hey!" I said to myself because nobody else was in the room. "I know! This is just like the feeling I get after I have an orgasm!"
I almost punched the air with my realisation. However, at that point, my hand found itself busy being covered with olive oil that came pouring out of my ear as a result of my forgetting what I was doing before having such an epiphany.

Ah well. At least the bed is still soft. In fact, keep adding olive oil and it'll be nutritious too...!

Wednesday, 25 June 2014

Stocktake

My sister moves into our house for a while soon, and so we're sorting beds and rooms out. While I am slightly concerned that things here will be a little too cramped, I am somewhat more concerned about what to do with the large collection of smut and sex toys that's accrued under our bed. While sorting it out in order to put it all in a large bag that's going to be hidden somewhere in the attic, I took a list of what we've still got (considering we've lost some of it at points, and gained more, of course).

Here's the general idea:

EROTICON FABRIC BAG:

Lunchboxxx containing:
1 x jelly wedding-ring-that's-actually-a-cock-ring
1 x Sex Toys UK inflatable thingy
5 x female vibrators
1 x set of Ben Wa balls

Velvet Lovehoney pouch containing:
5 x YES lube sachets
4 x  Give Lube sachets
1 x Pasante lube sachet
13 x Pasante condoms (assorted)
7 x Pasante Halo condoms
6 x SKYN condoms
6 x Durex condoms (assorted)
2 x glow-in-the-dark sperm keyrings 
1 x bottle of Durex sensilube

CARDBOARD BOX 1: 
6 x Eroticon lanyards
7 x books (erotica and sex manuals)
1 x book manuscript (self-published)
2 x notebooks (unused)
1 x female G-spot vibrator
1 x PULSE male sex toy
collection of adverts, leaflets, bumph, etc.

CARDBOARD BOX 2:
1 x softcore VHS
14 x softcore DVDs
3 x hardcore DVDs
1 x Lovers' Guide DVDs

I also have a REV 1000 somewhere, but I've no idea where that is!

In any case, it filled the whole storage bag. On the plus side, there's much more room under the bed now...

Tuesday, 24 June 2014

TMI Tuesday: School Daze

I haven't done TMI Tuesday for a while, so I'm doing so now in order to clear a little writer's block. Today's topic is about school, with a list of subjects, the prompt being to share a memory. I'm going to try and think of something sex-related for each subject, as there ought to be one - they're your formative years, of course!

Credit should go to Virtual Sin for this idea. Let's see if I'm any good at interpreting it. (Spoiler: Probably not.)

*
1. English

By far my favourite subject and the one that I was best at, I basically lived for English lessons and (to be frank) showed off a lot in every single way I possibly could. I also had a lot of good teachers in the subject, so I got pretty lucky with that, too.
Sexual Moment: My year 8 teacher was my favourite - he seemed to really "get" me. I remember a dicussion about rape in the class, and he went through the mechanics of female-to-male rape. At the age of 13, this would have been shocking - now I'm 29, I'll agree that what he had to say made a lot of sense.


2. History

I took this one for A-Level after not doing the GCSE. It was always one of my favourite subjects, but I didn't have space for it in year 10. I enjoyed the AS and A2, though, although I probably worked a little too hard on the coursework - over ten redrafts of the damn thing!
Sexual Moment: Discussing whether or not Rasputin would have been any good in bed. I think the general consensus was that he would have been, although I can't exactly remember what the catalyst was for coming to that assumption. During the leavers' party at the end of the sixth form, we danced to Rah Rah Rasputin at my history teacher's suggestion. I also wore a Ché Guevara T-shirt underneath my dress shirt to that party, like I was trying to be subversive or something.


3. Foreign Languages

I actually took German up to GCSE level after chucking French at the end of year 9 (because I could already speak enough French and was wasting my time, basically). My German lessons were brilliant fun, mainly because we had one of the best teachers I've ever encountered.
Sexual Moment: Among the phrases we got to write in our vocabulary books was "my girlfriend is gay". We decided that this was a very useful phrase to know if you happened to be a girl.


4. Psychology - we didn't do this subject at our school. I think you'd be hard pressed to find a school that did offer it around here, although I know some people did it via the collegiate system, so it must have been available somewhere...


5. Mathematics

My least favourite subject and the one that I was worst at, although (like everything else) I was in the top set and took the Higher paper for GCSEs. I scraped a B - which was my lowest grade - and gave it up after year 11. I was very pleased to have that grade for a subject I had zero enthusiasm for.
Sexual Moment: One of the best moments I ever had at school was when we entered the classroom to find somebody had written "RS RULES!" on the board in huge letters. I actually liked RS, but a lot of people didn't. My former bully walked into the room, took one look and disparagingly said, "RS rules, my arse!" Our maths teacher came back instantly with, "I really don't want to know what rules your arse!"


6. Physics
7. Chemistry
8. Biology


Since I didn't take any of these for A-Level, I took all three as one subject - Double Science. I wasn't really a scientist, although I took the extension paper for year 9 SATS along with Einstein and Lightsinthesky. Our rationale being that if we took the higher paper for Science, we should be able to work out how to cook Super Noodles. Our results were more successful than our noodle cookery, of course.
Sexual Moment: During year 9, we had a cool young teacher and a few rather excitable young ladies in the class. One of them, the one who kept talking about sex (although there were a number of these), came up with the idea of giving a suggestive thrust of her hips with the phrase "givin' it a kickstart!" whenever a kickstart was needed (this could be as simple as lighting a match, however; anything was an excuse for that motion). Later in her career, she decided she wanted to be a science teacher. In the same lesson, she wrote a letter to her boyfriend which contained the words "fuck me now!", which my former bully read out loud to the class in his best commanding voice.


9. Gym

In this country, we don't tend to have "gym" - I've always referred to is as "PE", or "ouch, that hurts." I'm not the sporty type, so I didn't have much time for Games - the core element of PE we had to keep taking until year 11. I quite liked the more elegant bits, though, such as dance, acrobatics and stretching. I wasn't any good (apart from at dance, wherein I was OK), but I tried really hard. It just wasn't my strong point.
Sexual Moment: It's difficult to define one, because what a lot of the more uncouth boys decided was sexual (mostly bra-less girls running around with a very thin sports T-shirt on) I usually decided was a little disrespectful. I was more concerned with my physical appearance during changing time - one of my bullies once saw that I had swollen nipples, latched onto the size of my moobs and never let me forget it. He even composed a song about my "big tits", which I chose to ignore.


Bonus: Did you have sex education class in school? What grade or age did you have this class? Thinking back on the sex education class what was the most surprising thing you learned? Was this class helpful to you in your sex life?

Yes. Year 9 - I would have been about 14 at this point. This was, in my opinion, far too late to have sex ed - we had a brief mount in year 7, but it wasn't really enough, and mostly about the biology. The whole "responsibility" part wasn't covered until PSHE two years later.
I didn't learn much in this class, as it was mostly about how not to get HIV - we watched the same video twice! I put a condom on a cucumber once - it's the thing to do, apparently - and that was the extent of our hands-on approach. It wasn't the best sex ed class, but it was better than nothing at all.
Sexual Moment: For a class all about sex, this one wasn't really very sexy. I always had my suspicions about my form teacher, however. Apparently he was a "smooth mover" on the dance floor, and ended our entire sex ed class with the declaration, "yeah, so... sex is wonderful." Nice to know, 54-year-old form teacher. Cheers.

Monday, 23 June 2014

Sleuth

"So there I was, housesitting," said my token black friend, "and I thought to myself, I thought, they have to be somewhere."
"What have to be somewhere?" I said. He ignored me, although maybe he didn't hear me due to Lightsinthesky giving a laugh that sounded like the bastard offspring of a dog barking and a klaxon. We were, by this point, 17, and the sixth form common room was the ideal place to have a conversation. Very few people eavesdropping.

Although there was that time we played Fuck Her Gently by Tenacious D at maximum volume and our head of sixth walked past. And that other one when some of the scallywags enlisted me to watch for any teachers coming while they tried to hijack the vending machine. But usually.

"And I searched everywhere in the house for them. But I couldn't find them."
"What couldn't you find?" I interjected - again.
My token black friend rubbed the bruise he'd gotten on his left arm by manipulating it into the vending machine and took a swig of one of the three Pepsis he'd managed to obtain. "And then, in the bedroom, under a cabinet, there they were."
Lightsinthesky, Music Man, Einstein and I all stopped breathing, partially because he'd been so clandestine about invading someone else's bedroom, but also because we'd all just worked out what he was talking about.

"Some really filthy stuff," he grinned. "Really, really explicit, the nastiest stuff I'd ever seen. I took it downstairs and watched it all and..."
"Oh!" I said. I'd been expecting him to mention condoms. Although why a single person whose one sexual experience had been a disappointment may want to find someone else's stash of condoms escapes me somewhat. The house he was sitting, it turns out, was owned by a married couple, so he assumed they'd have porn somewhere.


I don't know either; just go with it.

Still, one good turn deserves another. I decided that I ought to reward him for his fascinating tale of bravery, derring-do and porn. Scouring my own house that night, I came up with something.

"Here you go," I said, pressing a VHS of Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy into his hands. "Here's something, I think you'll find, which is just as filthy."

Sunday, 22 June 2014

Shine

If this week was difficult, and it was, it wasn't made any easier by the attitude of my parents, who - to be fair - are under a lot of pressure. But they've been taking it out on me at some points, and... "dude, that's not right." I've had comments about my job, with my mother saying that it's not a real job and hinting that it's either beneath me or that I'm not suited for it. I've been criticised for how I dress - these comments contradict earlier ones, so I've no idea what they want - and I still get comments on my weight, my mother telling me yesterday morning that the size of my stomach suggests I'm getting diabetes.

I already feel bad enough about my physical appearance; I don't need my mother pretty much telling me I'm getting fat verbatim. Because I've been ill, I haven't been able to exercise this week - not that that seems to be making much difference anyway, to be fair.

By the end of the week, I was a bit of a wreck.

I was invited to spend summer solstice last night with @pandorablake (of Dreams of Spanking and other stuff) who, as it turns out, lives about 15 minutes' walk from my house. I asked (persuaded, actually) Jilly to come with me, and off we went. We were 45 minutes late and were still the first ones there. I last saw Pandora at Eroticon 2014, which seems worlds away by now, but it's genuinely pleasant to have somebody in the community who is actually nearby, what with all the "being-far-away" everyone else seems to be doing these days.

As the evening melted slowly into midsummer's night, we were joined by more people - those she knew through various misadventures. I was steadily reminded of my headier days, those of my early 20s, where I used to stay up all night with the more liberated and culturally sensitive, and by the time midnight came around, I felt perfectly at ease, plus mesmerised by fire poi.

One whole night spent awake surrounded by diverse, accepting, experienced, unique sex-positive people and I felt like everything in the world was as aligned at it could be (hugs, cuddles and kind words were a bonus too... and those were all certainly shared). So, for that, my sincere thanks to everyone involved.

Next week may not be fun, considering on how bad people at work and home fuck things up. But I do, at least, have the advantage of starting the week feeling better about my body than I did seven days ago. So that is certainly something.

Friends are good, yo.

Wednesday, 18 June 2014

Illocent Loverboy

I can't remember ever being this ill before. I mean, I must have been - I've been worse. I can't quite remember when. I can't remember much. I've been sick quite a lot: increasingly so in the past few years, for various reasons including back luck, bad diet, no exercise and living in a room without adequate light and heat.

Let's step back a bit. I'm not well. I don't even know what I have, apart from a list of ailments stemming from something of completely unknown origin. I'll go for aliens - that's the most likely explanation, and the geekiest. So, yeah, due to aliens, I have the following:

- consistent back and neck pain
- Psyduck-style headache
- stuffed-up nose
- bad throat, loss of voice
- hacking cough
- heartburn and chest pain
- shortness of breath with laboured breathing
- intermittent stomach pain
- loss of hearing in one ear
- total lack of sleep
- lack of energy, leading to stoop
- nausea; malaise; sleepiness; dizzy spells
- projectile vomiting

Sounds like 'flu, doesn't it? But it isn't. There isn't enough discharge for it to be 'flu and the symptoms are too varied. I'm more inclined to think I got food poisoning on Sunday as a result of eating a lot at my uncle's barbecue, exacerbated by the fact that I then threw up directly following a well-intentioned shower. This hasn't been helped by the fact that my insomnia is worse than usual, and my girlfriend isn't sleeping much either, so we are ending up both lying awake, lacking energy and feeling pretty miserable, to be honest.

I just think I'll define this as "everything". I need an overhaul or a spell in one of those healing machines they have in Elysium. At least I'm not pregnant. I don't think I am, anyway.

The absolutely moronic thing is that I'm acting as if this isn't happening. It's pointless complaining to my parents because they may lack sympathy, and I haven't taken any time off work because I can't afford to. Things are also reaching fever pitch at work, with things speeding up, extra hours to be put on and external powers that be making things difficult. I'm turning up and pretending I'm firing on all cylinders; realistically, I'm running on slow burn. I'm still able to do my job - but I begin to flag at the halfway mark and by the time I get home, I can barely move much.

I've also gained a lot of weight in a very short space of time. I can't remember being any fatter, and I lack the ability to exercise (past walking - I used to go running at least three times a week; now, if I try, I stagger and feel like I may hyperventilate). So I'm feeling a little physically repulsive as well - I know I don't like the way I look anyway, but this is that even more, if that is humanly possible!

Hooray. I'm amazing.

This, of course, means I haven't been having sex. I haven't even been masturbating, so this leads to some very peculiar behaviour of my body at times, including incredibly random erections (and I mean random - even without a stimulus of any kind), exaggerated imaginary visualisation of sexual conquests past and present, increased wondering about the sexual habits of fellow commuters and co-workers and being very tactile and affectionate to my girlfriend (although I don't think she minds that much; plus, I'm always affectionate). I'm sure I'd put the effort in if the opportunity were to present itself, but I'm not even sure I'd survive!

I need some recovery tips. Something other than "drink more water", "get more air" or "man up" (which never helps, and I find it insulting, anyway). And, failing that, I'd really like a cuddle, a massage, a good book and someone to bring me hot chocolate.

Fat-free hot chocolate, obviously.

Friday, 13 June 2014

Volador

The class was almost done for the day and, for some reason, we were all crowding around our home-made Volador models. Our sweat and blood had gone into these and, at the age of nine, one did have to admit it was perhaps the most exciting thing in the world.

I don't remember mine. I assume I worked with Robinson and my friend-who-is-a-midwife on it - we did everything together - but I don't actually recall what it looked like. I do recall the giant letter made two years earlier by Robinson and my friend-who-is-a-midwife, which had my name and address on it. This was on a slightly smaller scale, but nevertheless, I still appreciate the effort.

I turned innocently (I was 9!) to Christopher, who was poring over his own Volador, which had developed a slight droop. "Who did you do it with?" I asked.
"Er... Tony and Yusuf," replied Christopher, at which the aforementioned Tony let out a very Edna Krabappel laugh: "HA!"
"What?" said both Christopher and I together.
"He means do it, as in... ungh! ungh!", explained Tony. To prove his point, he punctuated his unghs by thrusting his crotch forward, which one might say is inappropriate for a boy of that age, but then again, Tony was always a rather forward person. He was one of the first to use the word "fuck" as punctuation in his speech. By the age of 10, everyone was doing it. (Saying fuck, not having sex with the air.)

My primary school was weird. We knew that Doing It meant Having Sex, even if most of us didn't know what Sex was (I did; I was told when I was very young and hadn't put much consideration into it), and that Sex was a Disgusting Thing our Parents Did Once. "Hey, you did it with ______!" was some sort of insult people used in the playground, and that if you even so much as touched another person, even when playing "it" or something, then that was it: they were pregnant, even when it was a boy. and it's All Your Fault. Robinson fell over in the playground once, and even as I helped him up, Tony let out another belly laugh and pointed at the star-crossed lovers.

The following year, we were shown the sex education video (I was absent on the day itself), and suddenly, Sex became less of a thing to make fun of people about. From what I picked up, it was Scary, it was Unnatural and even a Thing To Be Feared. The year after that, being Gay became the standard mock, and the year after that - my first year in secondary - I had no choice; I was the gay one. My bully made that known to everyone.

It's often said that we need better sex education in schools. I agree entirely - we need to educate children, as well as educating ourselves. But I do wonder at times who learned enough early - and who was misinformed enough to think that something I said was a veiled reference to a forbidden act, when all I was doing was standing in the corner of the room, looking at the Volador.

Monday, 9 June 2014

Grand Slam

There isn't a lot of space between my room and the kitchen, unlike how it used to be in my old house, but with the way my thoughts move at something approaching lightspeed, there was enough time to both register and wonder at the noise coming from its vague direction as I approached for the purpose of making some kind of stimulant in liquid form.

It was unmistakeable - a little thwack, followed by a female grunt somewhere between pleasure and pain.

No, I thought. Surely not. There can't be any sex happening in the kitchen.

Of course not. My parents don't make noises - I'm not even sure if they have sex at all, really. They sometimes put whale song on or one of those godawful "sounds of the forest" CDs, but I think that's mostly to act more middle-class than they actually are. I've had sex to Tim Booth - now there's a challenge. My sister, so I hear (from her) does include a bit of light BD/SM in her sex life, but she wouldn't be doing so in our kitchen, mostly because of the fact that she doesn't live here and moved out of our old house about four years ago. And I wouldn't come here just for a spank.

So I continued on my way to the kitchen, ready and waiting to confront whoever might be wielding an implement and making someone shout in agreement and reciept.

This concept lasted all of a second and a half before I realised that my dad had left the radio on and that it was actually Maria Sharapova making those noises.

I'm pretty sure that says more about me than anything else...

Sunday, 8 June 2014

Soft Porn Sunday: Susan Featherly & Christopher Sheffer

I've been underdosing a bit on soft porn recently as whatever it is that stops me from watching soft porn and wanking incessantly takes precedence. As such, it was difficult to choose a scene, particularly as I set myself some provisos this time: it has to be from a series, rather than a film; it has to be different from anything I've done before, and it can't be anything I've had on my mind for the past week or so.

It also had to be something on my hard drive, as I didn't fancy plugging my DVD drive in to attempt to get my discs of wonder working. Porn and DVD drives don't always go together.

Possibly a Donkey Kong Country homage.
I settled on this one, for a few reasons. However, what's important to note (and is, in reality, the main reason I downloaded it) is that this is the first sex scene I ever saw from Passion Cove. I'd seen sex scenes before, of course, but Passion Cove - which is my favourite softcore TV series - has delivered some of the best ones. This one may not be fantastic, per se, but it's worth a glance. After I finish writing this, I may well go hunting for the rest of the scenes from this episode. That's how fanatical I am... and how much of a life I genuinely don't have.

Appearance: Passion Cove, Series 2: "Ghostly Passion"

Characters: Grace & Jason

Okay, before you ask, the title is not a joke and that is genuinely a hint at the plot. The two main characters, Jason (Sheffer) and Grace (Featherly, credited as "Michelle Turner" for some reason), are ghost chasers, and they are hired by perennial one-shot-per-episode-character Samantha (Caroline Ambrose, who manages to avoid ever taking her clothes off) to investigate paranormal happenings at Passion Cove, conveniently glossing over the fact that there's already been a series and a half of this stuff, and ghosts haven't ever ever ever been mentioned before, ever at all ever.

Well done, production team.

This scene happens pretty soon after the episode begins and it doesn't even happen at Passion Cove,
I like the bra, but what's the ladder for?
probably necessitating the crew to hire a different set. However, it does happen in a trailer, so maybe that wasn't so difficult, and I think you'll find also cheaper. Jason and Grace run their paranormal investigative business (yes, really) out of a small trailer (yes, this one) with an inordinate number of computers in it. Because computers help you find ghosts or something. I've never found one, so I wouldn't know.


Anyway, so they're an unmarried couple and apparently they have a lot of sex, which helps if you are a couple, and the question allegedly hanging over their heads is the will they/won't they ever get married? one. At least, that's what the continuity announcer said - I can't remember seeing any sign of that throughout the episode, but my memory is a little hazy. Whatever, it gets lost in the sex and ghost bits, so let's forget that subplot ever happens, shall we?

This sex scene starts off as all good sex scenes should: with lots of kissing and disrobing. For the first twenty-five seconds, I would get really annoyed at the regular lightning-flash effects which happen at this point, were it not for two important points: one, they provide handy jump cuts to various states of undress for both characters, so there's no waiting around for them to get their damn clothes off like in The Regina Pierce Affair. I also like kissing in soft porn - I always kiss before sex, don't know about you, but I'm assuming you do too - so it's good to see that for a brief instance, as long as it's not too much.

The second (and main) reason I don't mind these flashes, however,  is that they sync up with the music - deliberately. It's a familiar piece of music - I've heard it before in Passion Cove - and it's in 4/4 time. Every fourth beat coincides with a light-flash-jump-cut, until 25 seconds have elapsed, when the guitar comes in and it starts to become a continuous scene. I am, of course, probably the only person to have ever noticed this, but somebody put the effort in, so well done, person who I'm acknowledging for doing something so minute but really quite clever in an irrelevant way!

Anyway, on with the scene.

You monsters! He was one day from retirement!
At 00:27 we get a simulated blowjob in the standard style of obscuring the male actor's crotch with the back of the female actor's head. This is followed by Grace "climbing" Jason's torso so she can kiss him again. They're both topless by this point, and I'm pleased to see the lack of rippling muscles on Christopher Sheffer, making Jason seem like an average enough guy. Susan Featherly, of course, is absolutely gorgeous, especially with her reams of straggly blonde hair, and it's all pretty to look at. At 00:44, I am briefly scandalised that they sweep some computers off a desk to have sex on it - how dare you treat computers like that! - but the sound effect is inadequate for the massive crash that may come from doing such a thing (it's clearly a crew member choosing something from The Games Factory sound effects), so it doesn't bother me that much.

Also, they look a bit like Acorns, and nobody uses those any !more.

Grace does the YMCA for a bit while Jason removes her knickers and hitches up her skirt, kisses down
"Ah, my magic bar."
her thighs and (presumably) licks her vagina, although it's hard to tell with these things, and then we get three more light flashes (more random this time) before actual sex happens, which we first see in the missionary position through their trailer window. We see a lot through their trailer window - "we paid enough for this damn bit of perspex, let's use it as much as we can!" - but it's easy enough to make out what's happening - the movements are clear enough and Jason's making a noise like a wounded rhinoceros - although when we snap back to the view from inside the trailer, it's less appealing due to what he's doing with his face. Still, they appear to be enjoying themselves.


It actually stops at that point - they only have sex for about fifteen seconds; Boris Becker would approve - and to fill time Featherly laughs a bit (I presume it's the actress laughing, actually, rather than the character, it may not be scripted!) while Sheffer does basically nothing. "I need a vacation," says Grace, once they've straightened up, and so off they go.

Here, have some boobs.

Hang on, wait, wait a second. They're ghost investigators. They're going to investigate ghosts. That's not a vacation. That's work. They're going to do work, work being the job they do for work, work they've been commissioned to do by the person who hired them to do their work, who's expecting them to work at Passion Cove, which is where they're going to do work! Where'd the "vacation" thing come from? You're going to work, idiot!

He's just read Yodelling for Beginners.
Anyway, so why do I like this scene, apart from the nostalgia and ignoring the wanton destruction of computers? Well, to be fair, it is all done pretty well. The music is recognisable to fans of the programme and syncs up with the action, even the light flashes, which I like. The urgent sex idea is carried across pretty well to the point where she still has her socks and shoes on throughout the entire scene (and her knickers are hanging from her right ankle too; now that's forethought!). The small trailer where they do their business and do their business is made to seem large enough to have sex in while small enough to feel cramped - somehow. And they're both putting a lot of effort into pretending to have sex.

So there's that.

Oh, and by the way, if you were wondering... they do get married, and there are ghosts. Spoiler!

Thursday, 5 June 2014

Songbird

Inspiration for blog posts can come from the strangest places. This one came from erotica.

Okay, yeah, so it's a sex blog and so I suppose erotica isn't so strange as an inspiration source. But the content of the story I was reading (editing, actually) wasn't anything to do with what I was inspired to write about. It was the title: Songbird.

I love singing. I do. I love music and I love to play my guitar, and dance and sing, often at the same time. It's an unfortunate by-product of moving to different places and being fairly restricted in terms of space that I haven't ended up being able to do that much any more, if at all. I used to stand in front of my computer and belt out vocals like nobody else was listening, occasionally doing a few turns if I had the space. I used to be afraid to dance outside my own room. Now I don't really have a room.

Have I been sung to, like the recipient of the songbird's vocals in the story? Well, both yes and no. I remember TD singing a lot just because she could, but not exactly to me. Rebecca, for all her faults, could sing, and she even did so for me once, though I was slightly mollified by the declaration of true love she wrote for her tutor in song form I do, however, have fond memories of a friend singing I Just Want To Make Love To You for me. I never actually heard that performance - I was just told about it, so for all I know, it may not have happened - but the idea that it had happened and that she had me in  her mind when she sang made me pleased, nonetheless.

But, much as I like the idea, I much prefer doing it myself. I haven't got the best singing voice - I mean, I'm okay but there are much better singers than me, including my friend with the huge cock - but that doesn't stop my love of song. I catch a few bars where and when I can, but now I'm in the situation I'm in I rarely, if ever, do whole songs any more, which makes me sad.

Sometimes, when I look deep into your eyes, I swear I can see your soul.

Doesn't quite work as text.

But, whatever I sing, I'm singing it to someone. I imagine great audiences in front of me, or gatherings of friends, or even one person. Sometimes I'm doing it as a musical. Increasingly often, more sex bloggers are involved as well. I have no doubt that there's a kick-ass musical performance in our collective consciousness. And if you're reading this, I'm singing to you. What with the new James album and the amount of time I've been investing in my iPod recently, and the long hours of solitude I'm having in my less interesting job, it seems the time is ripe for a reprise.

On my count. One, two, three, four...

Tuesday, 3 June 2014

Deficiency

Work has been slow recently.

Without going too far into the intricacies of my job, because it really isn't that interesting, we are currently in a lull period. There aren't many clients, specifically in my department, and over the last two weeks there's barely been anything for me to do. Some days, I haven't talked to a single client. Although they all seem to like me (because I am, after all, full of natural charm and joie de vivre), clients have tended to come to me, we work together until they get to the point they want, do their final thing and then leave.

I suppose this means that I'm quite good at it, but I've never really considered that.

On the surface, it looks the same as it always has - the same players are there, including the receptionist who looks like a girl I once had cybersex with, my 78-year-old boss who can still do the job standing on her head and the administrator who always turns up and opens the office ten minutes after we're meant to have started. My usual array of suited co-workers, some of whom even know my name, also make cameo appearances.

But it feels different. I tend to sit in place, alone, spinning my chair and scrolling absent-mindedly through Twitter on my BlackBerry, half pleased that I get a quotient of rest I often don't get at night time (I actually fell asleep last week), and half agitated on the assumption that somebody's going to come in and ask me to do something and I won't be in a state to do it because I've already started to drop off. Today, thankfully, things started happening relatively soon after I got there and I only started to get bored just before I went home.

I digress. 

What's interesting, if you synonymise "interesting" with "annoying", is the effect that this has been having on my sex life. While Seaside Slut notes an interesting way of spending time at work, and it's always possible to crack open a private browsing window and scroll through the sex blogs for a while (I've done that before - although I've changed jobs since), I don't really feel the urge to do anything particularly sexy while I'm there. Well, it's not really the environment for it, even if there is at times a sanctuary available.

This has spilled over into my home life, and I am NOT HAPPY WITH THIS.

It's not that I don't want to have sex. I do want to - dear God, how I want to have sex. I just come home incredibly tired, and my girlfriend is tired too, and it... well, it doesn't happen. I mean, it happens, but not as much as I want it to. As energetic as I may want to be, it just doesn't go anywhere. I can masturbate, but what I really want is to have MOAR SEKS.

But I'm working on a return to normalcy. I've started going running (and complaining about it) again, my parents are back to doing what they usually do, I'm coming home at the usual time and doing the same stuff I usually do (which mostly amounts to pratting about online and playing Luigi's Mansion 2, but you get the drift). And with normalcy comes familiarity, and with familiarity comes sex, the mind-blowing, mutually beneficial, sweaty and dehydrating sex we can (and will) have.

Fuck work. You may take my energy... but you'll never, ever, take away my sexy.