Wednesday, 27 September 2017

You're not you when you're horny...


Stalin's actions during World War II led to over two million Soviet citizens dying on the Eastern Front, although they did ultimately secure an Allied victory over the Nazis in eastern Europe. Operation Barbarossa was not a great success for the German forces, because of all the places in the world, we have to fool around in your mother's car?

Ooh. Yes, that's a good scene. Maybe I'll watch that when I get home.

You're not going home! You're going straight from here to see Rebecca, remember?

Oh. Of course. (My foot nudged my box at this point, nestled as it was securely under my desk.) Maybe I can watch it there, when she's not looking. Does she have Grokster? Maybe I can watch it streaming from somewhere. Perhaps it will run on RealPlayer...


Nikita Khrushchev referred, in his "secret speech", to a Leninist principle of "collective party leadership," and then went on to say that Lenin's theories were based on Marxism, quoting The Communist I told you, she's not my mother Manifesto. Hearkening back to the iconic quote, "Workingmen of all countries, unite!", what if we get caught?

I really like the way the music works, as well. It syncs up with the movements of Lisa Boyle's body as she rocks back and forth on her character's boyfriend's frame. I like the sort of power dynamic they have going on - she's younger, but she appears to be running the show. The dialogue works well. It's an excellent scene.

Hey! Shut up! You can think about soft porn on the coach on your way up to have sex in the Midlands! You have to finish this and...

"You have half an hour remaining."


Stalin claims in his book Leninism that he was following the official party line, but Isaac Deutscher disagrees, and points to the exile of Trotski and the subsequent purges of Zinoviev, Karmanev, Bukharin and the suicide of Tomski, all as a result of Stalin's paranoia. There's the other scene as well, where she's still in command even though he's on top. It's really well written, how they transition from an innocent flirt to full-on sex on the lawn.


I could link Stalin's paranoia to Fidel Castro and the similar fate of Ché Guevara, but I don't think that was Castro's fault. It doesn't really relate well to European history. They probably study it in Montana. That's an interesting name for her character - "Montana". Montana Stillman. I wonder why she didn't turn up in the sequel.


The sequel stars Paul Michael Robinson. I'm never going to think of him as anything but Haffron.

Shut the fuck up about soft porn and finish your god-damned exam, and I'll let you masturbate on the coach if you bloody have to! Jesus fucking Christ, dickbrain! Tell your cock to shut up and FOCUS!

And therefore it seems from these studies that

"Five minutes remaining!"

to the discerning historian, Stalin's claim that he was following traditional communism

"One minute remaining!"

Lisa Boyle's got amazing tits

"Thirty seconds!"

does not hold up under modern scrutiny

"Okay, finish the sentence you are writing and remain quiet while I collect up your papers!"

and led in the long term to recent events such as the uprising in the Ukraine and discontent in former Soviet states such as Afghanistan and therefore Khrushchev was justified in his excommunication of Stalin once he had assumed the premiership but maybe Richard Pipes would disagree! 

"Have you quite finished?"

Dear Lord, please bless this European History exam, into which I have put my heart and soul, and look upon me with mercy, for I have sinned. Or at least I'm about to.

Okay, now stand up, pick up your box and walk out of the hall.

Stand up? You're joking, right?

The sooner you stand, the sooner you can leave...

But I'm...

You have to get to the station! Your train leaves in twenty minutes!

I was going to...

Go! You'll miss the coach!

I don't want to fail all my A-Levels! What if I didn't write enough about Friedrich Engels?


Sunday, 24 September 2017

Soft Porn Sunday: Laura Gemser & Gabriele Tinti


It's the only Greek I know. Not that that really matters, but this film from the very brink of the '80s has an opening sequence that really, really, really wants you to know that it's set in Greece. It pans over Ancient Greek ruins and through streets beset with Greek architecture. It then shows Greek people doing Greek things and, just in case you weren't sure where you were meant to be, it lists the crew in huge letters... who are all Greek. Writer and director Ilias Mylonakos clearly has a very defined idea of where this is set.

Of course, it's never mentioned again; neither are any of the cast Greek, nor does anyone speak a single line of Greek throughout the entire 1:30:59 runtime, but I'm perfectly sure that the fact this is set in Greece is relevant.

Although as for how...

Appearance: Emanuelle: Queen of Sados, aka Emanuelle's Daughter, aka Emanuelle: Queen Bitch (1980)
Characters: Emanuelle & Tommy

Black Emanuelle (Laura Gemser) is back - she still hasn't managed to gain a second M in her name which would require the involvement of Alain Siritzky, and she still isn't black, either. She has, however, managed to gain a surname - Brindisi - which is the name of her much older, sadistic husband who delights in having her held to the floor and hitting her with a quarterstaff...

...seriously, that's what happens... she decides to have him murdered. She then spends the rest of a film struggling to evade the hitman Mario (Haris Tryfonas - hmmm, that's possibly a little Greek), who turns on her in an attempt to blackmail her, and take over her late husband's business, all the while trying to keep her stepdaughter our of harm's way. Hence the "daughter" of one of the alternative titles for this thing, I suppose.

Livia had a little trouble with the wind machine.
Livia Brindisi (played by Livia Russo - very imaginative character naming; well done, studio) is actually the best thing about this film. She's smart, sassy, pretty and completely unconcerned that her father is dead, because she didn't like him much either. She's also overly sexualised at points, and even gets raped by Mario later in the film, which is both disturbing and disconcerting, since she's playing a teenage girl who's probably just over the age of consent (she also has sex with her boyfriend Mike, but we don't see that). It's not the sort of thing I'd expect to see in an Emmanuelle film; the fact that this is one of the unofficial Emanuelle series seems to change things about this.

They've also put some actual sex into this one, unlike Black Emanuelle, which doesn't have much.

Despite the fact that she starts the film off married, Emmanuelle doesn't seem to have sex with her husband much, mostly on account of the fact that he prefers hitting her with things and she has him killed within the first ten minutes. She does have sex - immediately after the opening sequence - with the hitman Mario himself, who is actually the participant in most of the subsequent sex scenes in the film. Approximately 50 minutes later (of screentime, it's a week or something; it's not made clear), she meets Tommy, a friend of her husband who immediately proposes marriage, despite the fact that her husband's body isn't cold yet.

Emanuelle declines, but she has sex with him anyway, because...


...okay, I have no idea.

Because it's Greece, and Greece is hot, this sex scene starts outside. Tommy, of course, is rubbing oil
Not a lot of budget went on wardrobe.
onto Emanuelle's skin - because that's totally a sexy thing to do - while she's on a sun lounger; some weird synthy music decides to jump in at this point. It's nothing special, the music - not quite synthpop because the '80s hasn't really started yet, but with some conga drums somewhere and odd loops. But after an hour of this film I've kind of come to expect this music, so in it comes.

The action then moves inside (!), onto a (fake) animal skin rug (!!) on the floor (!!!), where they get down to having sex because clearly they didn't know where the bedroom was. There's a fair bit of foreplay here, with Tommy kissing his way down Emanuelle's back while she pulls her "I'm enjoying this" face; she then flips over and he kisses her boobs a couple of time for good measure, then her mouth, and then - oddly enough - her back again, as the scene jumps back to the beginning and plays the same footage twice!

Haven't I been here before?
When the film decides it's finally time to move on, we suddenly jump cut to a bird's-eye-view of things, which reveals Tommy is actually lying sideways on his front, all the better to kiss his lover, while she lies on her back on an incredibly tasteless lion rug. This goes on for a bit - we get a good eyeful of his bum and her boobs as he's clearly meant to be licking her out at this point (although I've never done so sideways)... but it kind of works, as we get a better impression of what's going on.

Yet more licking and kissing later, via an alarming shift into soft focus like someone's sneezed on the lens and yet more repeated footage, and the two change positions, Tommy lying on his back and Emanuelle kneeling to kiss him all over - eww, he's really hairy - and then, a full five minutes after this scene starts, she finally begins to ride.

YAHOO! Oh, wait, that's the wrong Mario...

I wasn't actually expecting this. Laura Gemser's first sex scene was ages ago and mostly in the spoons position. I wasn't expecting Emanuelle to have sex again (since she spends most of this film being a bitch, and it's more of an action thriller than erotic drama), but here she is, full-on astride, doing it rather slowly as opposed to being too bouncy. But then this is romantic sex, I suppose. She has a great body, so that helps.

A minute or so of this and then they kiss standing up (WTF? What happened to having sex?), again footage that's repeated several times over.

A minute or so of this and then they kiss standing up (WTF? What happened to having sex?), again footage that's repeated several times over.

She's tanned, but she's still not black.
At which point I've lost interest. It's a pretty boring scene. Laura Gemser does have a certain sensuality to her, and after yawning my way through a few sexless Black Emanuelle titles, it's nice to see her getting a few actual sex scenes in. This moves very slowly, there's not much to it, and there's no escaping the fact that you're waiting through five minutes of uninspiring foreplay for about forty seconds of very slow, very unconvincing sex. The whole thing is intercut with footage of Livia and Mike on a date, which is a storyline I'm much more interested in... but seriously? Why intercut it? What's wrong with a separate scene?

It's a real shame, actually. In terms of plot and cinematography, this is one of the best erotic films I've seen. It's certainly the best unofficial Emanuelle film I've seen by a mile - it'll never be as good as the real ones, but at this point the project had stalled - Emmanuelle 7 wouldn't come out until 1992, and the Marcela Walerstein series following in 1993. 1990 was a year without Emmanuelle - for an unofficial one, this bridges the gap nicely, with a storyline that did keep me engaged and a certain amount of thought put into it. It's all very pretty.

Except Gabriele Tinti. I'm sorry, but he's seriously not attractive. That shouldn't be a major problem, but he also can't act. His heart genuinely isn't in this - it's difficult to believe the famously hedonistic, pleasure-seeking, openly sexual Emanuelle - even if she isn't the real one - even considering going anywhere near this bored, bland, unattractive man. Then again, she's also had sex with the hitman at this point, and he's even worse...

Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose.

Wednesday, 20 September 2017

Come along, Pond

I had a sex dream last night.

Despite talking about them a lot on this blog, one does have to take into account the fact that said blog has been extant for almost a decade. I don't have that many sex dreams, and out of those, only one has been what you might term a wet dream... I've always thought "sticky" might be more appropriate, although this one was fairly wet, taking place as it did mainly in a lake.

But I digress. Slightly. The sex dream I had last night also took place in a natural body of water - too small to be a lake, too large to be a pool, so I'll go with "pond" - and, although I was a participant who almost had sex, I didn't actually end up doing so.

Which, I've realised, is a theme. I have lots of sex dreams which involve almost having sex. Maybe there are some kisses, maybe some cuddles. There's usually flirtation, and one person - it's always been a girl so far - who I seem destined to be having sex with. I certainly get close, but it's not the right time, or the right place, or I'm called away to do something else first. Last night's dream even involved me getting my erect penis out (while in the pond) and almost having sex with the lifeguard (yes, there was a lifeguard; yes, it's somebody I know; yes, it doesn't make sense either...), except it wouldn't go inside, since she wasn't ready yet.

She wanted to have sex at midnight. I handily turned off the sun for a bit, but it probably still wasn't right. Plus, you know, there were kids in that pond. So yeah.

I've no idea what this means. The person or the water or the inexplicable fact that people seem to find me attractive. I'm not even sure why I'm getting trolled by my brain into thinking that I'm about to have sex, and then not actually getting to do so because LOL NOPE!

But, despite all this (and despite the fact that it didn't go anywhere, a fact for which I am aggrieved), I was pleased to be having a sex dream. I've been stressed out recently, with serious money worries and lack of physical motivation in the extreme; having a dream about sex - even if I don't end up actually having any - does go to show that the important bits of me are still working. It's a nice reminder, and a bit of dirty frippery, if nothing else.

Of course it's also content to write about too...

Saturday, 16 September 2017

Mote vs. Log

As I walked through town today after depositing my pitiful wage into the bank, I stopped to look at an art installation somebody had put up in the space usually occupied by a funfair. It wasn't much - a load of white signs promoting peace, justice, brotherhood and other things that Tories appear to be against. But I stopped to look anyway. In fact, I was so distracted by reading all the signs that I didn't look exactly where I was going.

Otherwise known as "Mistake Number One."

"Jesus loves you," chirped a young man appearing out of nowhere, "and died for your sins!"
I stepped back instinctively.
"I... I know," I stammered, speaking for the first time in over an hour.
"Oh, you're a Christian?" he beamed.
"Yes," I said, truthfully.

This is what usually puts evangelists off talking to me. The fact that I don't need to be converted is often both enough, and confusing. I don't actually agree with evangelism, ethically, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

This guy, however, was militant. He lobbied me with questions, as to which church I belong, whether or not I was baptised, and if I read the Bible - all of which I seemed to pass. It was only when he asked if I believed the whole Bible that I paused.

No, I don't. But I wasn't going to say that either. I don't even think that he does - Deuteronomy 22:23-24 condones stoning to death a woman for not being a virgin, and Numbers 15 says it's okay to stone someone who works on the Sabbath. (That's Saturday, since this is the Old Testament. Today's Saturday. I wasn't going to stone this guy for working on the Sabbath, but I tend to desist from violence.) I don't think that he believes that stuff.

"I'm not sure I believe every word of the Bible," I said carefully, "but I think that all of it carries a message, even if I don't think it can be taken word for word."
"So what do you believe?" he challenged, making me feel less and less comfortable for having engaged him in conversation after all.
"Uh... well, mostly the Gospels, and most of the New Testament makes sense," I mumbled, "apart from Revelation." Only I added that last bit under my breath.
"Oh, good, so you don't agree with gay marriage?"


"No! No, of course I agree with gay marriage!"
"Do you know any gay people?"

"Yes! I know lots of people of any and all sexual orientation! I'm in a long-term relationship with a queer bisexual woman myself and it's the best relationship I've ever had!"
"But God says..."
"God says a lot of stuff!" I protested. "Listen to Jesus! Why do you look at the mote in your brother's eye while ignoring the log in your own? (Matthew 7:3) Judge not, lest ye be judged!" (Matthew 7:1)
"Paul says, in Romans, that homosexuality is a sin."
"Paul also says in Romans that you shouldn't be so judgemental! You may think you can condemn such people, but you are just as bad, and you have no excuse!" (Romans 2:1)
"But it says in the Bible..."

"I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan!" I shouted. "Very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women! 2 Samuel: 1-26!"

For that one, he didn't have an answer.

"You don't need to convert me, and I'm never going to agree with you," I said, "but I'm already a Christian. If you're handing out tracts, I'll take one."
And I took one.
"I'll pray for you," he said as I walked away.
"I'll pray for you too," I responded.

And on I went.

Wednesday, 13 September 2017

C. R. U. S. H.

Out of all the short-term crushes I had (although I wouldn't really call The Zebra Project short-term), the one that lasted the longest - over a number of years - was also the one that hurt the least.

That's not to say that it didn't hurt at all. It did - all my crushes hurt - but, this time, I was older. As was she. We were both in our late teens. I was also three-and-a-half years older than her, but at that point I didn't care. I first met her when I was 19; she was 16, and she was beautiful. Short girl, with red hair cut into a bob and square glasses. She played the drums. She liked indie music. She was a Woodcrafter. It all seemed to fit into place. She even lived in London.

I spent the years counting down to national Woodcraft events because they were my lifeline, but no small part of that was the fact that I'd get to see her. At every event, her hair colour had changed, but she was always the same - cute mannerisms, odd sense of humour, wonderful smile. I started to leave trails - presents for her via the secret friend system, even if she wasn't my secret friend, with very small hints that it was me. I even snogged her at one point - four seconds, right on the mouth, tongues and everything - but I'm not sure that counts (she was drunk!).

As the gaps between events became wider and I was increasingly worried that I wouldn't see her again - ever - I wondered whether or not this was still a crush, or whether I was actually in love with her. Our brief MSN chats were all too brief; I talked to a few people about her (who didn't know her, so it was a bit pointless); I even told a fellow Woodcrafter about it. She sympathised - and understood. The sight of her kissing another girl, also while a little drunk, was enough to reduce me to tears once.

As the years went by, and I stopped attending events (at one of which, allegedly, she lost her virginity - in an orgy that took place just one event after I stopped attending - typical!), I started spending time in a confused haze. I was, with increasing and alarming rapidity, writing songs about her; this started with a funk jam that I'd wanted to do for a while and her name just kind of fit, before throwing caution to the wind and writing a full-blown love ballad about her (and some stadium rock...). Even at the age of 21, when I'd left university and hadn't seen her for months and possibly also had a crush on H, I still thought I was a little smitten with her.

Maybe if I hadn't written all those songs, or taken all those pictures, or kissed her...

And then, at the age of 22, I was invited to an event that I could still go to, as the age limit was 23. I didn't know that she was going, but I was pleased to find out she was there - again with a different hair colour, and again with the pretty smile. I was sure, at this point, that I would have moved on - that this whole stage of my life had ended and that I'd found someone else who took my fancy a little more. Surely this wouldn't cause any confusion. Of course not.

For the whole week, I couldn't keep my eyes off her.

Saturday, 9 September 2017


[9am on a Saturday morning. Of course we're still in bed.]

ILB: "Vaginas are pretty."
LLB: "Hmmm?"
ILB: "Oh, I was just thinking about vaginas. They're pretty."
LLB: "They are."

ILB: "..."
LLB: "..."
ILB: "..."
LLB: "Surely you mean, 'vulvas'? Vaginas are the inside bit. You're thinking about vulvas."
ILB: "I'm thinking about both. At least I am now. But yes, vulvas... vulvae?... are pretty. They're both pretty."
LLB: "Yes, they are."
ILB: "..."
LLB: "Well, I'm going to get up now..."
ILB: "Cuddle first?"
LLB: "Mmmm."

Thursday, 7 September 2017

Not quite... but almost

Inspired by Girl on the Net's post. Er, kind of.

While commenting on said post, I was struck - yet again - by the fact that I've never actually had sex outdoors. I mentioned that I've come close, but that one simple act (the one that features in a large number of my fantasies) has eluded me so far. As I get older, I'm almost resigning myself to the fact that it will never happen.

So, in order to make myself not feel completely ineffectual (and because I'm a sucker for a good listicle), here's a list of places I have had sex... even if none of them were in a churchyard, strapped to the side of a truck, in a farmer's field, or bent over on a bridge overlooking a motorway.

Which are all things my exes have done. Glod damn, do I feel undesirable right now.

In a motorhome

Rebecca's father sells motorhomes for a living... that is to say, he did. I'm pretty sure he still does, if he hasn't retired by now. We were on a kind of work-related holiday in Stratford; a lot of the family was there (except 47, who was busy or something), including some people that I didn't know existed. I don't even know much about motorhomes. I'd never been in one before, and the one I was most familiar with was from Sooty & Co. 

A lie she once told came back to haunt me on that trip, so it wasn't one I must enjoyed. But, while sitting in a park picking at grass, she told me how horny she was feeling, and how desperate she was. We stood up, walked briskly back to the big show field, and entered the family's motorhome. Squeezing into the tiny receptacle designed for one person above the driver's seat, we had a squashed, uncomfortable, but very illicit shag. Of course, nobody entered at the time, but they could have.

In a hotel room

But of course.

I like hotels. A lot of the best sex I've had has been in hotels, and even if I've been dumped in one - or left high and dry in another one - there's always a hotel breakfast afterwards. But the story above happened in a luxurious room with a huge window above a twinkly city - a window wide open without the curtains drawn. So, y'know, there's that, too.

In a jacuzzi (almost)

I like swimming. I like water, really; I can swim, I just prefer playing. Even if I can't float. Not keen on the way my body looks in a swimming costume, but hey ho.

I have mixed memories of this one. I remember a coin-operated hot tub (yes, really) that I felt Rebecca up in while everyone else trod lengths in the square pool. I remember a long, protracted snog with the drinking girl while in a "hot whirlpool" at Center Parcs. And I remember my third date with Catherine - at a spa hotel - where she told me that I couldn't slip my hard cock into her while we sat together in an outdoor jacuzzi. But that didn't stop her bringing herself off with it.

In a car

I almost didn't remember this one. That week at the beginning of 2001 is all a blur in my head; I hardly recall any of it, apart from all the heat and all the skin. Plus a fair amount of music and quite a lot of swimming.

Louise drove me around some of the pretty bits, on the fringes of some greenery and down some dirt roads (as well as many more well-maintained ones). It took up a whole day of a break which wasn't intended to be mainly shagging, but ended up being so. Horny girl as she was, she didn't want to exit the car as we pulled back into her driveway; she just hitched up her skirt, straddled me, and didn't stop bouncing for about ten minutes.

In a restaurant's disabled bathroom

With Louise again, only this time it wasn't because we were particularly horny. It was because the waiter took offence to our appearance and we wanted to do something fun just to piss him off.

In a tent

Yes! Achievement unlocked!

On a golf course

No, not really.

Those of you who have been reading for a fair amount of time may remember an incident at a house party which resulted in me writing a story about bouncy sex. I don't recall ever writing about the party, really - about the host (scene girl), or her guests, the fact that I did the dance to Single Ladies fairly accurately, or the massive clean-up effort that Robinson, Mane and I did together (as a surprise to her, so she wouldn't have to wash anything at the end of the party). I had my 'phone with me, though, so I may have tweeted it...

Anyway, her back garden (behind the trampoline) leads onto a small stretch of woodland... the sort you go crashing through when everyone's drunk and also members of an organisation who do a lot of foresting. It emerges, as I discovered that night, onto the local golf course, which is in fact a private one, for members of the posh club.

I didn't have sex on the fairway. I certainly ran the length of one, and picked up the girl-I-used-to-have-a-crush-on from a puddle on the green. I carried my sister's shoes for her, as she kept falling off the heels, and I joined in a lusty sing-song which we did just because we were on a golf course in the middle of the night. I cheered on the young raver as he ran off into the distance (and back again). But no actual sex occurred.

Which may be a shame. But you never know. I now know how to get into the golf course...

Sunday, 3 September 2017

Soft Porn Sunday: Krista Allen & Paul Michael Robinson

From the time around 12 or 13 (I don't recall exactly) when I started watching soft porn, up until the present day, it has mostly made me cry through my penis. I say "mostly" for the simple reason that it's not the only way soft porn has made me cry.

Appearance: Emmanuelle In Space 2: A World of Desire (1994)
Characters: Emmanuelle & Haffron

Whole lotta kissin' going on.
For all its reputation, the Emmanuelle in Space series does take a while to get going with the Emmanuelle/Haffron sex (that should have a ship name - Emafron. I ship it.). Sure, they have sex in the first film, but only once (well, twice, but the second time, Emmanuelle's in disguise); in the second film, they have sex twice (but during the first one, Haffron's in disguise). Haffron's barely in the third one, so it's not until the fourth - Concealed Fantasy - when the fairly continuous banging starts to happen.

Anyway, this one happens somewhere in Random European Country #216, after a fairly random plot involving horses, artists, a French maid (with an American accent) and a Romany chief with whom Emmanuelle has sex. Some more random shit happens; Emmanuelle then returns to have more sex with the chief, only it's not actually him, it's actually Haffron, because LULZ!

And so we get the second sex scene in the entire series where Emmanuelle and Haffron have sex when they're both:

a) aware of each other
b) played by their respective actors

Took your time, didn't you, ASP?

This is one of those odd beasts that rears its head from time to time: a romantic sex scene. Whereas it's relatively difficult to convey romance through sex in film, one can kind of tell a scene is meant to be romantic from a number of things, and they're all present in this scene.

i) the speed of the sex

Romantic sex scenes almost always show slow, measured sex, often with repetitive movements. There can be a lot of passion, but the movement comes from the bodies themselves, not how hard they're thrusting. Yes, this scene does have slow sex, but I actually quite like the way it's done here - it also doesn't mean that it's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment.

ii) the proximity of the participants (to each other)

It's fake! The plant, that is.
This is a big one.

When I was a kid, and started to rate sex scenes in my head because I'm a weirdo, one of the things that I looked out for was the idea that the characters are what I called "connected" - ie. of course the actors aren't really having sex, but they're close enough together for the audience to believe that they are. This doesn't always happen in the cheesier erotic sci-fi, but in scenes like this, it's more important... for some reason.

During this entire scene, Haffron's crotch is nestled right between Emmanuelle's thighs (which she ends up wrapping around him), and there's no reason to imagine that for a second he doesn't have his firm penis buried inside her warm... excuse me, I'll be in my bunk...

iii) the lack of variation

She is beautiful, isn't she?
Something else I've noticed is that, while longer sex scenes do tend to have more than one sex position employed (so you can fill in squares on your bingo card - astride! missionary! doggie! spoons! some really weird one that probably doesn't exist!), the romantic ones tend to stick to one. In some ways, that makes sense - if the main character is going to have an orgasm, they should be able to do so as a result of their sexual partner being very very very good consistently at one thing. It's sex, not an Olympic decathlon.

This entire scene takes place on a chaise longue, with no variation from the missionary position. It works.

iv) the music

Ahhhhh, where would we be without soft porn music? Stabs of electric guitar mean the sex is hot and reckless. Swoopy synths mean it's fun. Slow strings with a piano mean, of course, that it is romantic. This'll never change.

v) be long

Loooooooooooooooong. The average sex scene is about a minute long. This one is two minutes, thirty seconds exactly!

vi) have a definable orgasm

This is the defining characteristic of this one scene in particular. There are some minor vocalisations throughout (from both), but Emmanuelle has an incredibly audible orgasm right at the end of the scene (in fact, after Haffron stops thrusting, which seems slightly incongruous to me - perhaps that's why it's so memorable...). 

Her mouth wide open in a kind of perma-smile, Krista moans loudly fifteen times in rapid succession, long after Paul kind of gives up. It's nice to know she's enjoying herself.

vi) end with a kiss

And this is the bit that made me cry.

You see, the first time I saw this (well, second; I presumably saw it when Emmanuelle in Space was first broadcast on UK TV, but I was 14 when that happened), I'd downloaded the scene and then gone off to see my girlfriend. I was missing her hugely, watching this to try and calm down a bit, and then the one tiny kiss that Haffron leaves on Emmanuelle's chest (complete with a kiss sound effect) set me off.

Do you like leg?
I ended up curled into the foetal position on my bed in floods of tears and a huge erection. Thanks a lot, ASP.

Okay, I'll admit it - sounds boring, doesn't it? Two and a half minutes of very slow missionary sex with uninspired music and a delayed orgasm? Yeah, maybe it does. There's loads of great sex in the ASP films and this is just one of a myriad of other scenes you could be seeking out. But, for the past couple of weeks, this has been my go-to scene for a quick get-off wank.

Maybe I'm a sucker for romance... or maybe, just maybe, I've been needing to have a good cry.

Friday, 1 September 2017


For the first half of secondary school, I was in possession of a unique red coat once owned by my uncle (and then passed on to me). It reminded me of him, and I wore it every cold day, even though it wasn't in the school colours. Not that that really matters - it wasn't a puffa jacket by Adidas, or Nike sweatshop trainers with built-in air bubbles, or a Slipknot hoodie reading PEOPLE = SHIT. The staff didn't mind a red jacket so much by comparison.

My dad, who's slightly shorter and thinner than I am, also occasionally wore it, if he needed a coat and couldn't find one of his own (they were all black; could've been in any dark corner). In its cavernous pockets, both of us used to collect "useful" things - pens, compasses, odd-looking things one found on the ground, that sort of thing - which would inevitably be rediscovered next winter. I found £5 in a pocket once, which I'd completely forgotten about.

It was while groping in one of the outside pockets that I found it.

Dear [ILB], it read. I love you so much and I think you are so so sexy please could you go out with me. Love from Jannis xxx 

It was decorated with little hearts and the occasional star.

I was stunned. I'd never had a declaration of love so profound before (or, indeed, any). Evidently, it has been slipped into my coat pocket when I wasn't looking (which wouldn't have been difficult - I often draped it over the back of chairs and stuff, for want of an actual place to hang it.) I'd even been called "sexy", which is something I was perfectly sure I wasn't.

There was only one problem. I didn't know anybody called Jannis.

I racked my brains for several days until it alighted upon someone I sort of knew who I'd talked to about twice. She had a similar name - not "Jannis" but close enough - who was a library monitor, like me, and may have had access to my coat at any time during the preceding months. The more I thought about it, the more she seemed like a likely candidate. I wasn't attracted to her at all - those affections were elsewhere - and I didn't want to let her down. I wondered, with increasing desperation as I realised how long the note had been there, what to do...

...and then I realised, with alarming clarity, that it couldn't have been her. I hadn't been to the library in months - Lightsinthesky wouldn't let me go - and in any case, I don't think she would have misspelled her own name. But then why would anyone...?

"Daddy found a love note in your coat pocket," said my mother, apropos of nothing on a lazy afternoon.
"Oh yeah," I heard myself say. "That's a fake. It was put there by some idiots in my class as a prank. They don't even know how to spell her name."

And, instantly, it all fell into place. I suddenly knew exactly who it was, and how they could have gotten to my coat. In fact, more and more pieces of the jigsaw became apparent - the constant sniggering, the glances in my direction, the fact that I saw one of them scuttling away from my place as I walked back into form after a toilet break one morning, even the bad spelling. They'd decided to trick me into thinking that someone (who, and I mean no disrespect, wasn't particularly attractive) was interested in me, and this would lead to a potentially embarrassing situation in which I either said yes or no, confusing both of us and leaving a lot of hurt.

It's a very cruel joke to play.

Or so I assumed. I certainly never asked Jannis or the most likely perpetrator about it. I wouldn't have known what to say, in either case. I was 14, but wise enough to know that asking either person wouldn't have been the best idea, because I'd be sharing too much information and that was likely to get me into a whole heap of trouble. I'd just spent the best part of two years trying to convince everyone that I wasn't gay, for one thing.

But I kept the note.

I know not why. I just never took it out of my pocket. I've lost the coat since, but for all I know, it's still there.

And, as it turned out, I did have a secret admirer. But it wasn't her. At least, I don't think it was...