Friday, 30 October 2015

I'd rather be a poly than a toff

I'm not poly, but I think my dreams are.

This isn't a one-off occurrence. I once had a dream in which my cousin was in a poly relationship with Lightsinthesky, but I don't even want to consider that. She's just had a baby and I'm very pleased it isn't his. No... I'm talking about last night.

In which I dreamed that I was planning to get married to the girl I had a crush on in university, while still being in a relationship with Jilly (there was naked Blacksilk in it as well, but I'm not sure what the significance is there), although - to be fair - the implication was that I was getting fake married to her for... whatever reason, it's not like she needs citizenship, she's a British aristocrat. Perhaps not my brain dredging up some long-lost or secret desire or something else.

And, you know, lots of casual nudity.

The poly lifestyle is something I've never had conflicted feelings about. I understand the concept (I even drew a diagram once); I have no problems with it; it's not for me. YLASRBLINMLASRBLBYLASRBLIOK, as they say. I've known people - both inside and outside the sex-positive community - who are in healthy polyamorous relationships and it's great to see this sort of thing working out for them (as it is with any sort of relationship, frankly). Despite whomsoever Dreamy Luigi ILB is going to marry, however, it's not my cup of tea, which is fine. Still with me so far? Good.

What I do have a problem with is the misuse of polyamory for one's own personal gain. Lots of sexual things are used for this - bits of porn are branded "abusive" and used as ammo by radfem campiagners. People trafficking statistics are interpreted as proof by SWERFs. BD/SM was misinterpreted and turned into gloopy dross by EL James and a slew of copycat authors. Being pounded in the butt by... no, let's leave that one, let's just not go there. Some accuse polyamorists of being selfish, or slutty, or indecisive, or cheaters. They are none of those things.

My first relationship ended with being cheated on. We know this. What we may not know is that, shortly after reading The Ethical Slut, my then-girlfriend had a sort of epiphany moment (in her words, "I thought I was polyamorous"), and started sleeping with a few different people - one in particular, which is who she ended up with - all without telling me, or even broaching the subject. She also had a semi-slutty, semi-poly friend (again, her words) - who I'd quite like to get into contact with now I mention her; I just forget her full name - whose glamorous appearance and sexual escapades appealed. She just "forgot" to tell me.

Cheating, I know, and not at all representative of the poly lifestyle. This did, however, put a bit of a blemish on the concept for a while, and although there wasn't a problem per se, I didn't really participate in any discussions about it, even though they were becoming increasingly frequent as the internet became more and more of a source of sex and relationships discourse. I was worried that what had happened to me would cloud my judgement, and so I (wisely, I think) stayed out of broaching the topic, until a bisexual poly friend of mine ended his relationship and wanted to talk to me about it.

I'd like to think I handled the conversation with consideration and grace, although I'm pretty sure I just ended up talking about how inappropriate tickling in bed was.

And so when I'm placed in more than one relationship in my dreams (and, before you ask, yes - it has happened before, I remember one of about ten years ago), it makes me feel uncomfortable not because of the concept, but because it's me, and it's not My Thing. Only last night's dream ended a little prematurely, and I'm a bit annoyed at that. Why? Well, because the main relationship I was in was the one I already am in; 47 was there and I miss him; naked Blacksilk; getting fake married looks kind of fun and I like a party...

...and there was food.

Now that's My Thing.

Tuesday, 27 October 2015

The "one track"?

"I was listening to some of Synthesiser's stuff."
"You know... my friend, Synthesiser?"

"Okay, well, I have this friend, Synthesiser."

(I probably don't need to explain that his name isn't actually Synthesiser. It's just quite an apt pseudonym, for reasons that will become apparent soon enough.)

"He makes this electronic music. It's one of the things he does. It's really good, actually."
"Well, not quite EDM. A bit... er, it's sort of electro kind of trancey orchestral... dance but not really... kind of synthpop but without the vocals, kind of..."

In hindsight, I probably wasn't describing his output very well.

"Yeah... yeah, EDM. Sort of."


I put minimal effort into the lentil bake I was making this evening. I was tired, didn't want to chop any more vegetables than I reasonably had to, and besides, it's hard to cook with a huge tent in your jeans caused by the raging erection that comes from sub-editing one of your girlfriend's anthologies (protip: don't ever try this, it leads to accidents). Slightly more worrying, though, was the music bouncing around in my head.

I could visualise perfectly the sex scene that came with it - it was the one that everyone downloaded half of back in the days of KaZaA. A fairly routine teacher/student scene, amped up by the fact that the girl was really hot and the sex was real. I've no idea if that was rare or not; I didn't often download hardcore. But I liked this scene. Everyone did, including Rebecca... and her younger sister, who managed to download it off my computer for her own entertainment.

I'm not sure if I feel guilty about that or not.

As I ran my finger under the cold tap trying not to swear too loudly at the same burn I get every time I make lentil bake, something tweaked in my mind. The build-up to the sex bit was perfectly aligned... the gradual increase in drum beats with clicks. And the bit where they start doing it, up against the blackboard... well, that was good too, with the drums. I even considered watching it; I have the scene somewhere in my Disks of Wonder.

But then the hook came into my head - the synthy hook, which suddenly jarred with the scene. I'm sure this scene didn't have that bit in it. Or, if it did, I wasn't aware of it.

No. No no no no no no no. I never get porn wrong. I'd know this if I heard it. So where was the hook...

...the hook...



I raced back to my netbook at Mach 10 and practically slammed ModPlug Player into existence. A frantic scramble through the MODs and, there it was, the track that so resembled everything I'd thought of, down to every last hip thrust and open-mouthed expression, up until the hook, which threw me off-kilter and back to reality - the track I was thinking of, certainly... just not quite the one from the scene.

A grin unfurled across my face as I suddenly realised a new career path for Synthesiser to go down...




Sunday, 25 October 2015

Soft Porn Sunday: Monica Mayhem & Todd Tetreault vs. Mia Hope & Chriss Anglin

Over the last week, my sex drive has come in peaks and troughs, from cold fish to raging volcano. In my sleepier, hornier moments, I don't seem to be able to shake one particular scene from my mind - one that I was absolutely sure would get me off.

I've now watched it and it hasn't. Whether or not that's something to do with me I'm not sure; the scene's certainly good enough. It would probably go so far as to make me laugh, were it not for the fact that I have man flu and laughing hurts.

In any case, this is really meta and could only be beaten by a scene featuring somebody watching themself having sex with themself (which I think actually does happen later on in this bonkers series. My inner geek is almost satisfied.)

Appearance: Emmanuelle Through Time: Emmanuelle's Skin City (2012)
Characters: Two Men & Two Women

While I have expounded upon this series in great detail over the past few years, I've only really focused on the main characters in my scene reviews, and haven't particularly donw one featuring any side characters. I don't even think I've ever featured a scene at all featuring an unnamed character ("Leggy Blonde" doesn't count), so here's one that features four.

This entire sequence happens while Emmanuelle is wandering lost and confused through the alternate
I suppose that I'd smirk too if it were me.
Las Vegas in a universe where she is both ubiquitous and mega-famous (later retconned into one reality in an infinite multiverse, each of which containing a different version of Emmanuelle, thus explaining why she has more faces than Doctor Who). In keeping with the "lulz, fame is weird" trope they have going here, among the things Emmanuelle (Brittany Joy) encounters are strange Underground-like video adverts for products she can't remember inventing - for example, Emmanuelle's Luscious Lipstick - "now every woman can kiss like Emmanuelle!" / "wait until you kiss him somewhere else!": cue soft porn blowjob!

In any case, eventually she chances across adverts for "Sense - the new fragrance by Emmanuelle", and later, "Emmanuelle's Beauty - a new cologne for men", both of which follow the same pattern: application, flirtation, sex.

The advert for Sense features a woman (Monica Mayhem) searching for something to wear before a hot date, but unable to find anything - a bit like looking for clothes in my flat, really. Instead, she opts to wear nothing except a spritz of Sense, and then answers the door naked. Her date (Todd Tetris...
er, sorry, Tetreault) clearly appreciates this gesture, because we then jump cut to them having incredibly enthusiastic sex on a handy bed, over an accompaniment of those electric guitar stabs soft porn uses to imply good love-makin' action. It's a fun little scene, with some attractive enough people and some fairly explicit sex considering what this is, and I do like the brave attempt at commercial-lampooning humour.

Beauty has another, similar advert which comes immediately
This looks like Krista Allen... but it isn't her! Really!
afterwards; rather than turning up naked, the man in this one (Chriss Anglin - you know, with an extra "S" because it's edgy!) is dressed up quite nicely for a dinner date, sprays some of the cologne on himself and sits down at a table for his slavegirl girlfriend to serve him food. Evidently, they don't really get around to eating much of it, because after taking a whiff of Beauty, she (Mia Hope) rubs herself for a few seconds, before jumping up, grabbing him by the lapels and having sex with him on the kitchen table.

Promo pic for Wii Fit's new workout option.
It's also fun, but mostly because I really like the flamenco-style guitar music accompanying the dinner bits and how well it's replaced by bouncy MIDI-style jingles when the tabletop roleplay happens.

After a bit of bonking from various angles, this scene intercuts with the sex from the previous advert, and jumps back and forth for a while. It isn't needed, but all this chopping and changing does make for a decent sex scene, even if it technically isn't one - since we get two couples in different locations having sex. You know... if you're into that sort of thing.

The entire thing ends with a title card for both scent products with the sex continuing on in the background.

[promotional affiliate link goes here] #spon

Looking at it with a more critical eye, I can sort of see why this isn't bringing me to orgasm: it's not as sexy as it could be, and is clearly played for humour (there are other scenes here too, longer ones more designed for that purpose), but it certainly makes me laugh and makes me hard at the same time. Throughout both ads, we get a few confused glances from Emmanuelle herself as she watches, hovering somewhere between disbelief and amusement (as are the audience, I assume), which serves to remind us of what's actually going on here, and that certainly adds something extra to the proceedings.

So, overall, the commercial spirit of this one wins me over. Perhaps it isn't the sexbomb my memory made it out to be... but it certainly works... you know, whatever it's meant to be for!

Saturday, 24 October 2015

Master Chef

I'm in the kitchen making risotto.

It's an easy dish to make (albeit difficult to master) - I'm making it after initially intending to have lentil bake for dinner, and then feeling the crushing disppointment brought on by not having any cheese to add to said lentils. Groping through the remaining dry goods, I chanced upon some rice. Risotto it is.

My housemate - the one who kept us awake by watching The Phantom Menace at maximum volume a few nights ago - enters and enquires as to what I'm making. He seems surprised when I say I'm making risotto, but that's nothing compared to my surprise that he's wearing a bomber jacket. I always thought bomber jackets were mythical.

I point out that he's wearing a coat - which I don't actually mean to do; I'd assume that he knows he is - and he assures me that he's on his way out to spend the night with a friend in South London, as his church is nearer that location than here, and he wants to go to church tomorrow morning. I talk for a little about my church, which is in a nice little purpose-built church building, and he tells me about his, and then some more about his, and then some more, and finally he hands me a leaflet showing some stock models of varying ethnicities and genders praising God together.

I thank him and wish him well for church tomorrow.

At which point I turn and throw some chopped spinach into the risotto, realising that I've just had this entire conversation while wearing a T-shirt.

20 minutes later and a teenage boy walks into the kitchen.

I'm still wearing it.

Thursday, 22 October 2015

Get Sexy

There's a recording of James playing The Old Grey Whistle Test from back when most of the band had hair. Tim Booth is wearing an amazingly '80s jumper and singing his heart out and, all in all, it's a good video. He's not moving as much as I'm used to him doing, but nevertheless, I find it very enjoyable.

That was 30 years ago. Times have moved on and, somehow, Tim Booth got hot.

Tim Booth isn't really supposed to be sexy. He's in his 50s now and writing very confusing happy lyrics about people dying. He still has an amazing singing voice, even if it does sound a little strained at points. But he is, at the end of the day, getting old and shouldn't have the confusing sexual mystique that he appears to command. And I'm not talking about the massive erection he appears to have on one of the live album covers.

Booth's dancing has changed over the years, from his curly-mopped marionette with broken strings to the strange staccato jumpiness to what he's doing now, which is an odd, but very fluid, sort of snake-like dance with prominent use of his arms and hips. It's slightly mesmerising by its absurdity, and that's what keeps Tim Booth sexual (well, that and his continuous ruminations on the subject in his solo stuff) - he knows how to move his body, and despite his continuous assurances that he's not enjoying himself very much, he has audiences eating out of his hand.

I wonder how one is supposed to channel that.

I know I'm not old, but I'm feeling it. I can't dance like Tim Booth (although, so help me, I try) or swing my hips without them cracking. I can't even lie down without a groan and a wheeze. Sex is great but takes a superhuman effort, even more so with masturbation (although that also feels great). While Mr Booth takes power naps before gigs (so I hear), I take naps because I'm out of power.

Tim Booth's neighbour also probably doesn't blast really loud music through his wall in the small hours, which may explain more than it should about my current energy levels.

But this is all physical. On the inside, I'm overflowing with it, fizz-popping like a sherbet volcano with ideas, thoughts and intrusive fantasies. My brain is doing the serpentine dance avec hips for me and, although I may not be able to lose myself in the motions like I used to, I've been sleeping on the Tube recently (due to neighbour-related shenanigans above mentioned), and it's in those moments - when my brain's on standby - that I feel the sexiness stirring; buried deep, perhaps, but still alive somehwere there, and purring.

I may not be able to bring the sexy like Tim Booth. But it's nice to know it's there.

And I intend to share it.

Sunday, 18 October 2015


"I love your orgasms."
"I love your orgasms."
"What was that one like?"
"That one."

"Which one?"
"The orgasm! The one you just had!"

Upon reflection, "the one you just had" was probably not an adequate description of said orgasm. But I felt it would be a little passé, not to mention irrelevant, to describe to her the orgasm in detail. After all, that was what I was asking her...

...but nevertheless, I wanted to know.

I'd been squatting on the floor, with a cushion to protect my knees (I'm an old man, I know), with my head between her legs, which were open and wrapped around my shoulders. A squirt of an incredibly slick, watery lube had been applied to her perineum, which one of my fingers was brushing up and down, with another finger steadily working its way inside her, flexing around in small circles to get at her g-spot. And a third finger, the little one, was probing softly at her anus - not in any particularly forceful fashion, though, just to add a little stimulus.

"Well, there was a lot going on..."

You have to take into account that, while I was occupied with all that, I'd also been spending the best part of half an hour licking her to a well-lubricated, wet, warm state, and that my tongue was now busily lapping at her clit with repetitive, rapid flicks, feeling her wetness run down my chin, into my beard, and even down my neck.

I even reached up to squeeze her breasts at one point, upon realising that I still had one hand free. Waste not, want not.

"And it all sort of came at once..."

And, if I'm being honest, I do have to register my surprise at just how much she came. With so much happening, and after such a long time without any action at all, one would expect a lot, but I wasn't prepared for just how much she writhed and moaned, how high she arched her back, and how tight her thighs were around me as her vagina flushed a deep red and my mouth filled with her girlcum. I added a few long licks to guide her through the whole thing before pulling back and allowing myself a satisfied little grin.

"That's quite intense."


I reached out and pulled her close.

"Happy three years."

There was a pause.


Saturday, 17 October 2015


The surroundings were all dark - black. Almost too dark for me to see, except for the corner I was in, which was lit slightly, so I could at least tell what I was doing. It wasn't much, to begin with.

As I acclimatised to my surroundings, I became aware that I was naked. I also wasn't alone; there were other people with me, extracted from various bits of my life both past and present. An indistinct jumble of faces and voices, but those I recognised. The shapes became more solid as I concentrated... and then, just as I divined the first complete person - who happened, perhaps unsurprisingly, to be my girlfriend - I noticed that I was also erect.

Was I at some sort of sex party? I couldn't see what the other people were doing. The odd snatches of conversation didn't add any clues, and although I was paying a lot of attention to my girlfriend, she seemed a little distracted (although, as I later learned, she was otherwise entertained by her own sex dream). Idly touching her skin turned, frustratingly, into grasping at thin air as she vanished into the dark ether ahead.

Shalla walked past with a coquettish look (yes, really) and, just as she did so, I felt something touch my leg. On a glace down I could see it was a girl.

Not one I recognised - or, at least, not one I remember in any case. But she was there, and lying on the floor, her hand reaching up to do nothing more than caress the back of my leg...


I have no idea either. I just needed, really needed, that to happen at that one moment. I didn't need a touch, or a release, or anything else. I just ad a sudden sexual yearning for that hand on the back of my leg, slowly stroking up and down. And now it was happening. I needed to show my appreciation, to tell Girl X that I really liked what she was doing, and that I didn't want it to stop. So I made a noise.


At which point a rattle of cannon fire awoke me.

Bad timing, landlord. As always.

Sunday, 11 October 2015

Soft Porn Sunday: Chloe Armstrong, Kate Bell, Miranda Nation & Sam Worthington

Have I not reason, beldams, as you are?
Saucy and overbold, how did you dare
To trade and traffic with Macbeth
In riddles and affairs of death?

The film I saw the other day
Had cut a lot out from the play
Including this speech, and others too
Like sisters making witches' brew

Rendering it hard to understand
So stylistically underplanned
That Shakespeare himself would have mourned
At poor Macbeth, which ILB scorned

Still, it's better than this one
With this actor Sam Worthington
And poorly executed effects
Ridiculous set pieces...

...and sex?

Appearance: Macbeth (2006)
Characters: Macbeth & Three Witches

So, as you may have gathered, I didn't like the 2015 version of Macbeth. This is for a myriad of too quiet, too confusing, too lavish and too thinky reasons I'm not going to go into, but among the reasons I don't like this bit of dross is the lack of supernatural activity in it. There are FOUR witches - FOUR!!! - who hardly turn up at all, no mention of ghosts or spirits or familiars, Banquo's ghost is just Banquo wearing makeup, and Hecate isn't mentioned at all.

And since Macbeth is my favourite of Shakespeare's plays - if not actually my favourite play of all time - I wasn't sure whether to get upset or angry over this hatchet job. I settled on both.

Four witches. I mean, really.

*Yoshi noise*
In any case, the 2006 version - set in Melbourne amid gangland wars no seriously please don't ask I genuinely don't know how they made that decision - has more witches in it, which is to say they actually appear and have sort of an effect on the plot, so you'd expect me to like it more. It's not necessarily a better production, and isn't a patch on the Roman Polanski film from 1971, but at least Macbeth has a bisexual orgy with all three witches and WHAAAAAAAAAT?

I may need to contextualise this. This is Act IV, Scene I: the famous "double double, toil and trouble" scene, where Macbeth goes to find the witches to ask them for "advice". In the 2015 version, nothing much happens. In the 1971 version, it's very similar to the play. In the 2006 version, Macbeth is wandering aimlessly down a corridor when a naked witch jumps on him and forces him into a conveniently-placed bedroom.

No, seriously, that's what happens.

What follows probably isn't what William Shakespeare originally envisioned. Three witches (Chloe
Macbeth-Riding for Dummies
Armstrong, Kate Bell - no, another one - and Miranda Nation) appear, heavily tattooed, insane and invariably naked - in a room filled with tealight candles. The first witch (Armstrong) says a mangled version of the "hear our speech, but say thou nought" line in Samuel L. Jackson's voice - either that, or she's in bad need of some Strepsils - before pulling Macbeth (Sam Worthington) onto the bed and...

...something wicked this way comes.

I don't know what's happening here, but there are the soft porn candles.

Macbeth and all three witches then embark on some sort of semi-Satanic magical orgy of magicalness, starting with a nauseous series of crossfades in which not a lot actually happens. Randy Macbeth then makes love to each witch in turn (astride, doggie, missionary, in that order according to number and hotness of witch), them giving him the three revelations (as opposed to the apparitions giving them, but I can forgive that) during sex. While this is going on, whichever two witches aren't otherwise engaged with the penis of Glamis and Cawdor are going at it with each other.

Whatever would Lady Macbeth think?
At least for the first half of the scene. The longest bit of sex - with the third witch - happens while the first two are basically lounging around, as if they've gotten bored with magical precognitious Scot-humping and are just waiting for it to finish. At which point Macbeth has an orgasm which sounds like he's been run through with a sword and falls onto the bed looking like he's wondering why he agreed to do this film.

The entire scene is overlaid with actual porn music - and I really mean that. It's the thumping repeated uhn-tiss beat with swishy overlaid synths and occasional stabs of electric guitar. Of all the decisions, this is the oddest: it's as if they're trying to underline how incongruous this whole set-up is by adding appropriate music. It fits the scene, even if the scene doesn't fit the rest of the film!

I saw this in a cinema with H (who actually is Australian) and I still don't quite understand it.
"Oh fuck! I'm actually in this film!"
Attractive as the witches are (and more believably witchy than the underfed vultures they have in the new version), this is completely baffling: there's absolutely no reason why there should be a massive bisexual orgy which, effectively, has Macbeth cheating on his wife. It genuinely does come out of nowhere, isn't even particularly sexy, and there's too much going on to actually pick up on the three important bits of information Big Mac is meant to be hearing!

For all that I've said, at least the director had a vision and it looks to be realised. I'm not saying it works - because it doesn't, it's awful - but at least he had an idea to make Macbeth more "original". So I suppose the lesson to be learned here is this:

If you're going to fuck up Shakespeare, you may as well fuck it up properly.

Friday, 9 October 2015

HornyHour: Summer Rain, 2006

As the rain increased in frequency and efficacy, the soft plik-plik-plik on the canvas steadily began to work its way up towards a tattoo, punctuated by the snuffling heavy breathing of my hairy friend and the light, whispy inhalations of Bob. I turned onto my back, my sleeping bag shuffling with a zip against the ground, and listened to the rain.

Bob was definitely asleep. My hairy friend, also slumbering heavily like a gentle giant, had an arm around her - they had fallen asleep while hugging. The thought made me suddenly feel rather lonely, even though I was in close proximity. He was a friend that I'd had since youth; she was somebody we'd only just met that week. It was the last night. Both groups had merged nicely into one.

The rain began to fall in earnest and I wondered about the brave souls who had chosen to bivouac underneath a large sheet propped up with sticks. Who the young raver had been kissing, if anyone (spoiler: two girls of 15); who else was up there with him. His tent (and theirs) was empty, and I fancy I heard a few footsteps heading for the relative safety under a flysheet. I was grateful that I hadn't chosen to bivouac myself, although - as I ruefully smiled to myself - how much of this choice was not wanting to leave my hairy friend alone in a tent with Bob may have contributed to the factor. Bob, herself, was fairly hot, but he was dating (quite seriously, as it turns out) my little sister's friend, Vee. I myself had no particular designs upon Bob, but I was grateful for her presence nonetheless.

I idly entertained myself by picturing the raindrops cascading down the sides of the Vango, and how the hundreds of people elsewhere on the campsite were experiencing these last vestiges of summer rain. Certainly it was warm, although night was upon us. Maybe there were those dancing, or walking through it, or making love in the rain. Perhaps there were campers enjoying a midnight beer in one of the fair-trade co-operative bars we'd set up. Or maybe the entirety of the camp, like us, was under canvas, waiting for the sandman to take us away.

Staring up at the lightless canvas, attuning my breathing to that of the water, changing brown to green and grey to blue, I allowed myself a smile to the gods.

And was content. 
click the image for this week's prompt

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Fiction: Impassioned

I don't know how to dance.

This is what people tell me. My feet don't do what they are expected to do. I can't hold a rose in my mouth without the thorns drawing blood. I use my arms too much. Sometimes I just stand in the middle of the dancefloor slowly rotating, lost in my own world, the music and the movement helping me retreat into my glorious visions and imaginings.

I dream a lot when I dance.

And yet people say I don't know how to dance. That I just move randomly. Well, I do. I let the music take me where it wants to take me. I throw shapes that haven't been invented yet, slide when I'm not meant to slide, and jump when I'm not meant to jump. Sometimes I roar into the air, sometimes I fall on my back and spring back up. I am a marionette, dancing with broken strings.

I don't know the reason why people say I can't dance. I'm not doing what they expect me to be doing. I'm certainly not doing what they're doing. I'm doing my thing, the thing I don't know how to do. Dancing grabs me and holds me. It takes me. When I dance, I feel nothing else. No burn. No malaise. No hurt. I am lost into the ether and the only thing I think is to myself. I think:

You are beautiful.

That's passion. That's love. That's art. And if that isn't dancing, what is?

I get some odd looks when I'm thrashing around on the dancefloor - some of amusement, mostly of disapproval... and it's only when I stop to get some water that I notice her.

Standing at the side, following my every move with an eyebrow cocked. Her eyes sparkle mischievously at me as I glance over. There's no mistaking her small grin and her little nod at me as a signal of approval. I may not know how to dance... but she likes it.

I respond by losing myself in the movements one more time. I dance like nobody's watching, even if I know deep down inside that at least one person is. I whirl like a dervish, pop like corn, and leap like a frog. And it's only when the lights come back on and the club starts to filter out that I bring myself out of the frenzy.

And she's gone.


As an entry for Charlie Powell's lipstick competition. I know nothing about lipstick, but this was fun!.

Monday, 5 October 2015

Addiction XX: Hope

[This post has been removed due to Reasons.

If you would like a copy, please ask me via e-mail or Twitter and I can send you one.

Comments also removed For Great Justice.]

Sunday, 4 October 2015

How To Masturbate Like a Horse on Steroids
A Guide for Lads


❤️ The Ultimate Male Sex Blog, Honest ❤️

Coming soon:
 - YouTube video of me reading this post out verbatim
- List of reasons why I know more about sex than everyone else in the world
- How to win a lock of my hair
- "Dear Glod please vote for me on Kinkly!" button

 Okay, so here's how I masturbate. Obviously, this is the only way to do so, so read this word for word and do exactly what I do, because this is the ultimate masturbation manual. I've had sex a few times, so clearly I'm the one who knows. Aren't you lucky that I'm sharing my worldly knowledge with you?

So what you need to do is this:
1. Masturbate
2. Er...
3. ...that's it.

I don't actually care how you masturbate. It doesn't matter to me what your gender, sexual orientation or preferred pronoun is. I don't know the methods you use to masturbate and, were I not as curious as I am, I probably wouldn't want to know (because, really, it's none of my business). It makes no difference to me whether or not you use an implement or just your fingers; I'm not keeping a tape measure at the ready in order to measure how far your cum flies or a super-absorbent paper towel to see how wet you are.

I'm fairly certain that you may have masturbated more than once. It's not likely that you've done it the same time on every single occasion. You may have done so hunched in a darkened corner of your bedroom [my amazing guide is here]; or possibly lying on your back [my incredible guide is here]; in a public place because you are a daring rebel [my guide is here, it kicks arse]; before looking at yourself in the mirror [do you want to know how? here's a guide!] or with Olympian results [ZOMG! GU1DE!!!!].

But if it works, then that's how to masturbate.

I have friends who talk about masturbation as something quick - an illicit fumble once or twice a day (certain young ravers set times for it, so I hear). Some people take a lot of time over it, spending entire afternoons making love to themselves, getting to know their body intimately and very au fait with what works. There are those who hold off for a while and then have explosive orgasms until their entire existense dissolves into a gentle hum of low-level pleasure. Some people don't do it at all.


Because it's entirely, uniquely, totally, completely, and ultimately your call.

I just wish I had more time to do it myself!