Monday, 29 February 2016

Textually Transmitted Unease

I want you.

I want to touch you all over. I want to rub baby lotion into your sexy body and retreat into the bedroom with red wine...

My friend, the Manics fan with whom I wanted to have sex, hit "send" and, for the umpteenth time, danced out of my way as I tried to snatch my 'phone away from her.

"Who have you been sending stuff to?" I demanded as she handed my Nokia back. "I've got loads of people in the 'phone book, you could have been texting my mum or possibly my sister or..."
"Well, someone called James."

Relief broke over me like a wave. James was a safe person to proposition. Two years older than me, I'd gotten to know him while he was in the sixth form, and now that I was in the sixth form myself, he'd left school. Gone to study Geography at some university somewhere, which he later left after one term, deciding it wasn't right for him.

The text alert sounded and my thumb was on the brink of hitting the button when my friend snatched my back out of my hand and opened James' text.

Tell me moreJames had replied.

I am not who you think I ammy friend ventured. My name is [her name], and I have taken [my name]'s 'phone, and I won't give it back until he gives me a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a red rose.

My dickbrain started to scan the surrounding areas for the nearest florist.

"Here," she said, tossing me my phone. "Bored now." And she floated away, leaving me slightly dumbfounded and speedily texting James back to tell him that it was all her, including the initial text.

That's a shame. I was getting excited, as well. Is she free Friday night?

"Tell him you're not sure," came her voice from just over my left shoulder.

She's not sure.

Well, neither am I, said James.

Another text.

But the baby lotion... could I put it everywhere?

Saturday, 27 February 2016

Review: ORBIT Vibrating Bodyfit Stimulator by PerfectFit

I was actually sent this toy a while ago but, due to random occurrences including full-time work and falling over, I hadn't had a chance to test it yet...

...until now.

The ORBIT is a novelty(ish) toy designed for both solo and couple use. It is, essentially, the bastard
Pokémon designs were starting to look a bit silly.
offspring of a cock ring and a bullet vibe and, indeed, contains a PowerBullet (which is, on closer inspection, removable - so you get a free bullet vibe with this). Made from a sticky, stretchy black material, the ORBIT has a 2"-by-2" hole (which you put your penis through), a little button (which, I imagine, sits in the perineum) and a little nubbin resembling a clit - which is intended to stimulate the actual clit if you're using this thing during penetrative sex. The PowerBullet, providing the vibration, is in a little alcove underneath this.


The ORBIT (it says on the packaging) is designed for "improving your erection and stimulating your entire anatomy", fitting the entire thing over your groin and letting the bullet provide a gentle rumbling sensation while you either have sex (which is where the clit comes in) or masturbate (which is how I tested this, lying on my back). The bullet takes a standard AA battery, so there's no charging required.

Upon testing, I found that the hole is just about big enough to squeeze my fully erect penis through. It's a tight squeeze, but not too painful, although I did have to manipulate my foreskin to get the whole thing through. This is not, however, what the ORBIT is designed for; the box explicitly states that you have to put your penis and scrotum through the hole!
Directions: Turn bullet on to desired speed, stretch product over entire penis and scrotum until product is snug against your groin with bullet pointing upwards.
There was no way I was getting my balls through that hole, even with lube, especially with the full girth of my cock too (I do have an UNUSUALLY LARGE PENIS). The ORBIT is relatively stretchy, but it's not elastic, and I can foresee problems with anyone actually trying to fit both cock and balls through the hole. As a result, the nubbin for perineum stimulation sat in the middle of my scrotum, my penis was through the hole and the bullet was in place, but not exactly pointing upwards.

It doesn't fit. That's what I'm trying to say.

I found the most effective way to use this thing is to hold it in place with the left hand while wanking with the right (or having a girl sit directly on top). This is what I did, using my left thumb to press the button while using my standard grip with my right hand. This isn't particularly effectual, as half the penis isn't available (the bit that's in the toy) and so only the head is really there, and some of the shaft (I imagine that someone with a smaller penis may struggle). As a result, I'd imagine vaginal penetration would probably be difficult - while the clitoral stimulus might work, I don't imagine a half-sized penis would make for any great speed or depth.

This works fine on its own!
The bullet has three speeds, the highest of which being the only one that I felt to any large degree, although it isn't very loud. This is clearly designed to stimulate both partners, vibrating the clit stimulus bit and the hole; it certainly vibrates, but it's too far from the hole to make any particular difference from the penis and (after testing it with the head of my cock) it's not actually very powerful, due to the fact that it's buried inside the plastic.

And finally, the product is made from a mixture of silicone and TPR. It's stretchy(ish), mildly sticky and black, so picks up lint very easily. It's like wanking with a head's worth of dandruff on your cock - unless that's your kink, I'm not sure that's very sexy.

I'm finding it hard to envision a target audience for the ORBIT. It's probably impossible to actually get both cock and balls through the hole (as you're meant to do), even while flaccid and with lube, unless you are very small in that department - and, if you are, you may not be able to get any of the top half of your penis available. As a couples' toy, it may work, although I find it a little too big and clunky for any particular comfort, and I don't imagine she would either.

If you want something that fits around your shaft while buzzing to stimulate the clit, then the best thing to use would probably be a disposable cock ring, as that's cheaper and more efficient (and, crucially, doesn't take up any space). This effectively does both, but it's a bad design and promises to do something which it doesn't. Needless to say, I didn't have an orgasm with it, and I had to remove it to finish myself off - unlike other products, like the PULSE or REV 1000, it didn't stimulate my erection either.

But, as I said... free bullet vibe, so there's that...

ORBIT Vibrating Bodyfit Stimulator by PerfectFit, kindly provided by Sh!. Available for £49, directly from them.

Wednesday, 24 February 2016

12 Bar Bruise

I got my tax back last week.

I wasn't aware of this until Monday, but at some point last week, the tax man gave me a rebate on everything I paid (or didn't), which is a relief, because without it, I'd be in a bad state financially. In fact, with this money, I can buy important things, like books. If there's any left, I'll buy food.

As a result, I was feeling quite chipper on Tuesday morning, and decided to treat myself to coffee from Costa on the way to work. I took the bus one further stop than usual, went to Costa, attempted witty banter with the barista (and failed - she assumed I was trying to order a skinny latte), and even managed a brave smile as I started my journey across Tesco's car park (which I need to cross) towards Quasar (yes, Quasar), which is the shortcut back to where I work.

The next thing I knew, I was hurtling towards the ground at great speed, and smashed onto the floor with an immense amount of velocity. My bag flew a metre or so away, my chest and arms took most of the brunt of the impact, and my coffee burst open and flooded all over my right hand.

I had fallen. I had tripped over something and fallen onto my front.

By the time bystanders had picked me up (for which I thanked them), the office was open and I was losing time. Assuming the damage wasn't that great, I gathered up my things, headed towards work...

...at which point I noticed that the pain wasn't temporary.

I was bleeding. 

There was a large open wound on my right arm about the size of two 2p coins, and one on my thumb (about the size of two ants... but still, my thumb, it hurts!). Both hands were grazed (and the right on was swollen from the coffee), my right knee was bruised, and the nail on my right big toe had bent backwards, with a scab forming of displaced blood. More worryingly, I was finding myself short of breath and unable to walk long distances, and was swearing under my breath every few steps as another shock of pain coursed through my body (mostly from the open wounds on my thumb and arm, although less so from my arm once the first-aider had put a huge bandage on it). With nothing else to do, however, too healthy to go to hospital and too present to just go home... I went and sat down in my room and worked the full day.

I got home at about 4pm, having asked my dad to come and get me (which he did) and raided his bathroom cupboard for replacement dressings (I found a few). With girlfriend absent, fan heater on and bed freshly re-made, it would have been very easy to drift off into slumber and wait for my wounds to re-knit...

...except there was one rubbing against the sheets whichever way I turned. Every angle was painful; I wasn't going to get to sleep on either side, and lying on my back was boring too.

Hey! Why don't I masturbate? my brain trilled. That'll at least alleviate some of the stress!
Good idea, said my penis! Let's get together! Okay, hand, come on, do your stuff!
Righty-ho, replied my hand, let's just bend this right arm and...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

It's a safe bet that I could really use some stress relief right now.

Saturday, 20 February 2016

Dear Community...

you know...


a lot of things have gone wrong recently

feuding, infighting, broken hearts

censorship, bigotry, injustice

loss, loneliness and lethargy

self-image, self-confidence, self-assuredness

and my radiator leaking...


but you know...


one thing is not likely to change

and that is that i love you

all of you

and sometimes i hide myself, ashamed, unworthy, unattractive, feeling i have faked it

but sometimes... like just now... i suddenly feel a rush of affection for all of you

and how we keep going

and keep fighting

and keep loving

and that you, i and all of us... we... we are beautiful

in all that we say and do

and that is what i love the most

your beauty

and ours.

Friday, 19 February 2016

HornyHour: One for the Road

The bus that takes me to work every morning crosses, briefly, a long A-road that bisects my bit of London. It takes you into central London (by, admittedly, a rather circuitous route) in one direction, and further afield, towards the wilds of the North and West, in the other (and more, if you're willing to go around the M25, to which it connects). My bus goes across it... and yet, every time, I wish it didn't. I want it to carry on.

Nearly all the adventures I've had in my life start with someone (I can't drive myself) driving me off down this road. The cinema we go to's on it, so I'm there a couple of times a week, anyway... but it's the far end that I'm more interested in. The vast unknown beyond, where who-knows-what lies ahead.

Of course, one could look at a map, but that would be much less exciting. I don't need anything more than a vague concept of where I'm going; for me, it's never been the destination as much as it has been the journey.

And this is the road far too much less taken.

At the start of one of my journeys, my friend (who was taking us to, I believe, the North... although I've never actually been too sure; most of our journeys ended up in the North) had stopped at a red light, just behind a white minibus, from the rear window of which someone (he says it was a white girl; I saw it as a black boy, but who knows?) foldled their nipple and flashed it at us with a grin. Another time, 47 drove off down it with the promise that he'd be getting engaged at some point soon (he did, that day). And then, last week, our hotel looked out onto this road, with the hundreds of cars speeding past - maybe commuters, maybe holidaymakers... but all going on into the myriad of possibilities.

"One for the road", for me, becomes synonymous with wanderlust: the anticipation of what's to come bubbles up inside me, with excitement both nervous and wanton, at the start of every new journey.

There are times, of course, when I could have focused more on where I was going than actually when and how I was getting there...

...but where's the fun in that?

http://hornygeekgirl.com/2015/09/08/hornyhour-1/ 
click the image for this week's prompt

Tuesday, 16 February 2016

Talk about missing the point...

Just when I though it couldn't get any more simple-minded, the Tory government pulled out another blinder - and today revealed its plans to impose age verification on 18- and R18-rated porn sites without actually telling anyone how it's going to verify age.

Leaving aside the obvious question of how one reveals one's passport number, credit card number, electoral roll details, measurements, greatest fears and next of kin should you get killed by facesitting without acquiescing to the Snooper's Charter while contravening the Data Protection Act, there's something inherently wrong in all this.

UK Law has an (admittedly vague) established "age of consent" at 16, although it also defines the "age of capacity to consent" at about 13 or 14 (meaning that you can't press charges if two underage people are having sex with each other). When set aside the 18 and R18 certificates, this seems highly incongruous - you can have young people of 16 or under having regular consensual sex within UK Law and they're still not allowed to watch films with depictions of sex, even softcore.

What the fuck?

And then there's the fact that their public consultation also mentions the frankly horrifying notion of being able to fine or even pull entirely the business of pornographers who "do not comply" - because they can't, won't, or don't know (I suspect the latter may be an issue) - on the discretion of a completely ambiguous "regulatory body" (sure, because ATVOD and Ofcom have done a sterling job so far).

Imagine making an entire living through pottery and then having your livelihood yanked away from you because the govenment doesn't want people not happy to reveal their entire family tree to buy your pots. Now turn that into porn and viewing porn and you have the problem I'm seeing with this.

However, the absolutely bewildering fact that I'm getting from this is that whoever wrote the consultation seems completely blind to the fact that it's completely unworkable. There's absolutely no foolproof verification system and anything they try to impose would contravene existing law regarding security and data protection - not to mention, as Myles Jackman mentions, territorial issues (what about Pornhub? As an American company, are they exempt or not?).

And all in the name of child protection!

Monday, 15 February 2016

Listsinthesky

"What's that you've got there, Lightsinthesky?"

I had looked over at him (on account of the fact that we sat next to each other, it wasn't too difficult to do) at precisely the wrong time. He still had his German exercise book open, after everyone else had packed theirs away; it was certain, however, that he wasn't looking at the folded pages of vocabulary that we'd been working on five minutes prior. It was the very last page, and nothing he'd written was in German.

It was a list of names that I vaguely recognised. All first names - some misspelled, but after a while, I realised that it was a list of girls in our German class. While not responding to me at first, he flipped the page over, at which point I noticed that he had, in fact, written down the forenames of practically every single girl in our year. Some - including all the attached girls and his ex, who was also in our German class - were crossed out.

"Hey, er..." he said to the girl I had a crush on, "hey, do you want to, er... I mean, are you, er... interested in, er...?"

I kind of knew what he was implying, but I'm not sure she did. This girl - the one who, as it turned out, was easy to confess to - thought he was asking her out on a date. Another one of our friends - the odd girl who thought Rome was a country and is now married to a policeman and has two kids named after Old Testament prophets - was watching, and her face was beaming. Apparently she thought so too. She also stopped me from intervening, which was probably a mistake.

A week beforehand, he'd been seen asking her something and came back to the usual group of misfits I tended to feel awkward in.
"Hey, she's a metalhead!" he informed me in an undertone. "We can have sex!"

I hadn't bothered to point out that her love of music with distortion and guitar solos wasn't exactly an immediate assertion that she was ready for sexual intercourse. Lightsinthesky was both too young and unlikely to be having sex any time soon (the fact that he ended up being one of the first to do, however, was both unforeseen and hilarious in equal measure), although he certainly wasn't particularly choosy when it came to potential procreation partners - hence, The List.

"I... I don't think so," she answered him. "But thanks for asking. I mean, that's what you were doing, right... asking...?"
"Okay," he said brightly.

He turned back to his exercise book, found her name - which, I saw, had a little star drawn next to it - and crossed it out.

I suppose you can't really blame a guy for trying.

Saturday, 13 February 2016

Abscond

What am I doing for Valentine's?

It's always a question I ask myself around this time of year, usually influenced by my relationship status and exactly how sarcastic I feel at the time. I've ranged from walking into town and talking to psychic ladies to waxing lyrical about the beauty of love to dating myself for the sake of food. And covering Justin Bieber.

But, as time goes past at whatever rate it chooses to do so, it becomes more and more difficult to think of things to do. Yes, I reasoned to myself, I have money - not a lot, but enough to do something special - and (as opposed to just buying my girlfriend a book; she has far too many, we're selling some) that could really be anything. I thought and though and thought...

...until one of my clients at work asked me if I was okay.

I said something about unicorns, I think.

I did my research. Two tickets to next week's James gig? No, that's almost £100 - I don't have that much. Weekend away to Center Parcs? Not a chance. Dinner and a movie? Well, that's already on the cards - Deadpool followed by Chimichanga. There needed to be something else.

So what, I asked myself, do I do for Valentine's? What does she want... what do I want to do for her? If I could do anything for her, for just one night at least, what would it be?

And then a random memory floated back to me. Not one week ago, we had a conversation about moving. Our flat is tiny; we are sharing a kitchen with 10 other people. It's cold, there are ants, we are getting no sleep, and the radiator leaks.

The solution?

When we first moved into a room in a share house, our window looked out onto the street. The long A-road that leads into London was visible in the distance, and I found the twinkling lights and occasional sound of sirens comforting. And, as it was being constructed, I couldn't help but notice the new Travelodge taking shape, the sign being switched on while I was watching - a beacon of light in the dull suburban darkness.

Tonight we are staying in that hotel.

Escape.

Sunday, 7 February 2016

Heart 106.5

There was a streak of red painting its way through the grey clouds in the distance. As the sun began to dip its way past the horizon, my sister's head lolled against the seat next to her and she fell into one of her strange deep sleeps.

The car ground to a halt somewhere in the middle of the M1 behind a queue of traffic. We'd known there was going to be such a queue; there was, however, no way to avoid it. It was a bit like being a lemming. And I was worried.

"Are we... are we getting near to London?" I asked, my voice rusty from misuse.
"Oh, well, maybe," came my mother's helpful and certain answer. "Are you wondering if we're close enough to get Heart 106.2 on the radio?" And she started twiddling the dial.
"Yes!" I said, a little too eagerly, pleased at being handed this convenient excuse. I wasn't, of course, overly concerned that we weren't listening to Heart 106.2 - we had it on in the car all the time and I'd heard every song on its playlist about four bzillion times. I was more concerned about getting home for 10:00. It was about 8, but our journeys from Grantham took hours, hence my slight worry.

It was half-term. I was in my late teens at the time, and I'd taken to - at that point - checking Radio Times every week to see which adult film Channel 5 was showing in the Friday evening slot. More often than not, it was something I'd seen before on L!VE or Bravo - something starring Shannon Tweed or made in the early nineties (or both) called something like Lap Dancer, Warm Texas Rain or Sins of the Night 7. They played, on rotation, '70s sex comedies like the Confessions series or Rosie Dixon: Night Nurse. Occasionally they had a Surrender flick or something by Russ Meyer. Whatever it was, I was going to watch it anyway.

But that evening I really wanted to get home to watch. It was something I hadn't seen before which had Lisa Boyle in it. And I'd recently managed to get an old TV in my room which has my SNES hooked up to it (I didn't use it for anything else) - before we went, I'd spent about half an hour attempting to get a clear enough picture of Channel 5. There was still a bit of snow, but it was watchable. I reasoned that I didn't care; I no longer needed to go downstairs to watch Gran's cable TV and using the little one in the lounge next to my room necessitated movement. I'd already seen Dangerous Touch on BBC2 using my TV, so that would be okay.

My mother managed to find a vague but discernable version of Heart 106.2 on the radio.

"Good call," she said. "Back in Heart country."
"We'll be home in about half an hour," my dad responded.
I breathed a sigh of relief.

A few hours later I was sitting in my pyjamas watching the film. It wasn't actually spectacular, but there was bound to be something that happened at some point.

The first sex scene with Lisa Boyle started...

...and I ran to the lounge to get a better picture.

Friday, 5 February 2016

Tina's doing her dance

Paul's getting down on the floor
While Hannah's screaming out for more

Between the ages of about 21 and 23, I did the Craigslist thing. I can't say I'm proud of it, or even that it was particularly successful (here and here are two situations in which it was far from successful...), but - being short of cash for adult dating sites and really, really, really wanting to have sex - I occasionally used to have a quick look through Craigslist's (in)famous "casual encounters" section. Since then, it's been taken over by people seeking payment for their services (a result of Craigslist removing their "adult services" section) - a similar fate befell Gumtree's section before they, too, removed that.

I wasn't really a shark. I'm not "that guy" who sends the same message to a large number of girls on the site with a badly-written sentence and unsolicited cock shot and I never was. I did, occasionally, send a missive which, I hoped, was carefully thought out and correctly written (without a cock shot), but never really got much of a response - despite trying my very hardest.

And then there was something that piqued my interest.

There was an ad under the w4m tag claiming to be from a man acting as an intermediary from a very famous person looking for anonymous sex. This person, he claimed, was a household name, but frustrated with their mediocre love-life and had started craving guilt-free, no-strings sex, and had asked him to find it. With the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy from his sack, he had presented this idea as a wondrous offer, stipulating that if you responded to the ad you needed to put in a lot of effort: explain exactly what you were looking for and why you should be the one to sleep with a famous person.

It didn't ask for a picture, a physical description or a name (which makes me think that it wasn't a picture hoarder or some dude looking to expose everyone). Just a rationale. And, the more I read, the more it seemed to make sense - despite being posted on Craigslist and, initially, beyond belief.

But
then there was the final line:

And remember... there ain't no party like an S Club party...

Could it be?

I wouldn't call myself a fan of S Club 7, although I did - admittedly - watch a bit of the first series of Miami 7 after seeing them on Blue Peter. My friend-who-is-a-midwife regularly breaks out their Greatest Hits CD at parties and we will all inevitably end up dancing to Reach (ch00n!) and/or Don't Stop Movin' (bangin'!) and/or Bring It All Back (positive comment here!), but that's about it. Unlike all the other boys in my odd social clique at school, I was never that much into Rachel - preferring Hannah, who had the prettier smile - but (not doing the celebrity crush thing) I wasn't really ranking the girls in S Club in order of preference for sex.

And yet here was a man offering one. Or, y'know, claiming to be. Or hinting that he was. Maybe he was. I have no idea. I didn't respond to the post.

I was surprised at how long it stayed on the site for (I checked). Nobody appeared to have flagged it and it remained up for days and days and days. I wondered who responded, and what sort of a reply they got. And about whatever motivation the poster had had when he originally posted it. I highly doubt that a real member of S Club had enlisted his help to get anonymous shags and suggested Craigslist as an appropriate medium to do so.

But, at the back of my mind, I've always wondered. Jo? Tina? Hannah? Rachel?

And, at times, I wish I'd responded. Just to see exactly what was going on here... if anything at all.

Unless, of course, he was referring to someone from S Club Juniors. That'd be all kinds of wrong.

Monday, 1 February 2016

Crossing the Streams

"You can't write lyrics," said my mum. "You haven't got time to write any lyrics. You're too busy to write lyrics. And forget about chords. You haven't got time to write chords. You're far too busy."
"I haven't got a job," I pointed out. "I'm not really doing anything."
"But you're getting up at 8:30 to search for jobs until 6 every day, aren't you?" she chimed in, knowing full well that that was a lie.
"Boots on the ground," interjected my dad unhelpfully.

That was three years ago. I, in fact, wrote a fuckload of lyrics during the following month, and chords too, to songs which I still sing (if that's the active verb - maybe "sing" is a bit too hopeful) today. And I've been doing so, intermittently, for the best part of fifteen years, since I first picked up a guitar and decided most chords were too difficult to play.

Yesterday evening, I was struck by the fact that I ought to be writing lyrics for a project I do every year, and that I hadn't done so. Or even thought about it at all. I'd just moved all my instruments back into my studio parents' spare room, so I'd at least given myself a rehearsal/production space, but hadn't gotten any further than that. If I could write lyrics, at least I could make a start.

Notepad was open, the cursor blinking at me incessantly, waiting for me to write anything more than a few words. I hit random keys, seeing if anything occurred to me.

Nothing.

I had writer's block.

In desperation, I tabbed through several windows that I had open at the time. Back into the IRC chat to see if anything inspired me, as it did last year. Twitter, to catch up on the (lack of) sexy gossip that was happening. Facebook, to avoid all the baby pictures and despair at the lack of lyric-writing. The game I had open, but wasn't really paying much attention to. And the femdom erotic fiction I had open and was trying to edit down.

The femdom erotic fiction I had open and was trying to edit down...

My new song is about editing erotic fiction. Now if only I knew the chords...