Sunday, 26 November 2017

Soft Porn Sunday: Erika Jordan & Darcie Dolce

One of the things I like the most about soft porn is that, due to the nature of the beast, there are always sections of dialogue, basically filling up space between all the sex scenes. As a subgenre, erotic sci-fi generally does this in an idiosyncratically ridiculous way: technobabble that doesn't actually mean anything; alien species who look like, act like and speak the same language as humans from Earth; CGI sequences which are more reminiscent of ReBoot than Star Wars; everybody female in the intergalactic cosmos is beautiful, busty and bisexual. But, oddly enough, they're not having nearly enough sex.

Except in this film. Which is mostly sex. By which I mean almost entirely. It's the dialogue that makes it, though, if you can hear it over all the boobs.

Appearance: Escape from Pleasure Planet (2016)
Characters: Aria & Pleasure Android

The premise behind the plot for this thing is helpfully explained fairly near the beginning. Beautiful, busty, bisexual Princess Dianna (yes), played by Blair Williams, is celebrating her royal birthday by visiting an interstellar brothel - presumably the titular "Pleasure Planet" - in order to enjoy herself with one of the famous beautiful, busty, bisexual 'pleasure androids' (Darcie Dolce), which she duly does, providing the viewers with a watery, lusty lesbian sex scene and adding a whole new dimension to the term "royally fucked".

What she doesn't know - incidentally we don't know this either - is that Cassia (Veronica Vain, who is beautiful, busty, bisexual and doesn't appear to own a bra), who operates the planet, is secretly working for intergalactic tyrant Aria (Erika Jordan). Aria turns up and attacks the planet; the princess and her bodyguard escape, and Cassia is dispatched to find and retrieve her, as with her capture, Aria can take over the universe. I can't say I didn't find myself wanting her to succeed.

At this point the film's budget presumably ran out, because the rest of the action takes place on Earth.

Cue the dialogue.

Told you she didn't own a bra.
"Cassia to Master Aria, come in. I've located the princess on the third planet from the star of Braxis."
"Come in. Aria? Hello?"
"What is she doing?"

There's a lesson in this somewhere. Something about not leaving a beautiful, busty and bisexual intergalactic warlord on a planet completely vacant of inhabitants save for a sentient robot whose only skills involve sex. I can't quite put my finger on it.

There's plenty to say about the ensuing five minutes of incredibly intense lesbian action. They both start out naked, so there's no time spent disrobing. We are thrown directly into the sex, which manages to incorporate kissing, cunnilingus, nipple-sucking and mutual masturbation all within the first thirty seconds! Blimey, movie - you're spoiling us!

For all that they had available (and the end credits suggest this entire film was made in one day, which is very impressive if true), they manage to keep this scene not just entertaining, but well-shot as well as keeping it stimulating. There are technical limits to what you can show with lesbian soft porn, and yet by employing varying camera angles, numerous bits of the set (there's a large pool there, but a lot of the sex happens out of it), and switching up some of the action every now and again, this is incredibly well-thought out.

There's a lot to be said for the actors, too. Darcie Dolce does her thing as the pleasure android,
I'd be her loyal subject.
although we've already seen her at it with the princess. She does the writhing and moaning well, though, and both gives and receives with a pleasing amount of gusto. Erika Jordan, however, is something else. She is absolutely stunning - gorgeous red hair, a body that's well-proportioned without being too thin (which I don't like), captivating eyes and, yes, great boobs. There's also something to be said for Aria being a would-be universe-conquering tyrant who's clearly turned off her communicator to have sex for a while. It's naughty. It's fun. It's not meant to happen, yet it is happening, and I love that.

Something else that I've noticed (and it's probably only me) is that there's an unexpected power dynamic going on throughout. As Aria is a commander and the pleasure android is... well... a pleasure android, you'd expect Aria to be on the receiving end all the time (and, in fact, that's how the scene starts). But as it develops, she ends up giving just as much as she's getting - taking control herself and touching or licking her android to orgasm, being a giver without becoming too subservient. The android, of course, spends plenty of time between Aria's legs to bring her off, but there's no clear leader between the two of them, and they both seem like they are genuinely enjoying themselves.

Forgive me, Aria, for I have sinned.
However, none of this wonderful lesbian cornucopia would be half as arousing were it not for the jump cut directly after the dialogue above. There's about half a second of exasperation from an oblivious Cassia before we are thrown immediately into the midst of sex, complete with nudity, licking, set and music (the music is an odd '80s-style synthy pop loop; it's odd, but it really fits the scene). It's a truck driver's gear change of a cut, but the sudden incongruity (and the fact that you've worked out exactly what's about to happen within that half-second) and the fact that the hot and heavy action slaps you right in the face is incredibly difficult to ignore.

So much so, in fact, that when reviewing this, I was hard from the moment the dialogue started.

The rest of the sex in this film - and there's plenty of it - is pretty routine, though shot in the same
That's some serious hair action.
style. It's arousing enough, but there's just something about this one that makes it special. Maybe it's the way its set up, the way it starts, the actors themselves, the way they've played it, or just Erika Jordan herself. But whatever it is, these six minutes (seriously, it's that long) are worth the rest of the film. just by themselves. Of course, they don't make any sense without the rest of the film, but...

It works for me, in any case. It really, really, really works for me. All hail Aria, our new, naked, lustful intergalactic overlord.

Saturday, 25 November 2017


I'm not even sure if I'm qualified to talk about this. But then, that's what a blog is for.

There are so many things that could be said about MindGeek. I have more of a problem with the Digital Economy Bill itself, obviously, but as the Vice article that's been doing the rounds suggests, the whole 'sharing of information to get access' thing is risky and flawed, and Blake's post about it does ask the important question: just how much do you want to give MindGeek, specifically when you don't know who's going to see it?

But I'm not here to talk about that - to add another scared voice to the throng. There are plenty of articles about the DE Bill and why it's an imperialist right-wing neoliberal stranglehold that's a contravention of international civil rights law (although it bears repeating) and, as linked to above, articles about its knock-on effect and handing over your identity to the Pornhub network.

But while I have my issues with this whole business, the thing I take issue with, really, is that all the tube sites on the Pornhub network use stolen porn.

And yes, I get it. Porn can be expensive. I certainly can't afford any, but then again, I can barely afford food. There's a lot of temptation there, when you're horny and nearly there and you just need that little kick to take you over the edge, to jump into RedTube or Thumbzilla or YouPorn and tap in keywords that you know will yield a specific result. It's the modern-day equivalent of downloading videos off KaZaA via your 56K dial-up connection back when you were a teenager. If it's there, and it's free, it's a lure. I've been there - it's so very hard to resist.

Lakitu is MindGeek; the 1UP is porn.
Yet there's still that ethical pickle that's presented. You know, at the back of the mind, that you need to pay for your porn. It's the right thing to do - it supports the people involved - the actors, the writers, the producers... everyone. You do the same thing when you rent a DVD from a shop or stream a whole series of BoJack Horseman via Netflix, and nobody seems to have a problem with that. Why is porn so different? Is it too sinful to pay for, or just too easy to find?

"Hang on, ILB," says the devil on my shoulder. "There's that one scene, isn't there? There's always that one scene you discover, but you don't know where to go if you want to buy it? Or maybe it's not available anywhere. Maybe it's by a company that's gone bust, Maybe it's amateur porn and you can't buy it. Or maybe it's just nowhere to be found. Back to Tube8 you go..."

And that's the problem. As visible as porn on the Pornhub network is, MindGeek is woefully lax in providing a "here's how to support this performer!" link. Google them if you must, but there's still the chance you won't be able to buy that scene you like so much. And why would you want to, if you've just seen it?

Therein lies the problem.

And yet there are still some sites that make things right. Even without being hidden behind a paywall. Chaturbate lets you watch people getting sexy online for free, but you can show your appreciation with tokens you pay for. xHamster relies primarily on stolen porn but is starting to produce its own, for which it pays those involved (with the knowledge that it will end up on a tube site.) Softcoretube has plenty of sex scenes on offer, but never the whole film - and those things you can buy on DVD.

And then there's the plethora of individual porn sites where you can just pay per scene. You may not  find that one scene you want. But you may find something just as good. Better. I've been watching porn for almost twenty years now, and I'm still discovering.

I suppose what I'm trying to say here is that paid-for porn needs to be pushed a little more. A little more visible. Of course, it's never going to reach the heights that the Pornhub network does - you can't deny that if it's free it'll always be the go-to click for somebody (realistically, quite a lot of somebodies). But we all have a voice, and if you're bold enough to say something like, "hey, this is a great scene, it's from this film; if you want to buy it, here's the link," then you may - just may - be doing a tiny bit of good for the person who made it.

So trawl Pornhub if you will - while you still can, even. We've all done it. But it might be worth considering, once you're sitting there in the satisfying glow of on orgasm well done, what you can do for them too. After all, they've just helped you come.

Thursday, 23 November 2017

Not jut, but nearly...

At the age of 17, I had an almost relationship with a cute Danish girl (who, like pretty much all of my exes, has now grown up, gotten married and had at least one baby. Her first child was one she had with her boss' son, although she did stress that it was planned.). I say almost relationship because it wasn't really a genuine one. I was certainly attracted to her, and I think she was to me. We shared a lot too - sent letters to each other with photos, chatted on MSN for hours and compared our woes, many of which centred around the myriad of crushes we both had and how we weren't getting anywhere with them.

As you do.

It took me a few months to realise that I no longer cared that I wasn't getting anywhere with the crushes I had at home, because I had her. Realistically, on account of the fact that she was in Jutland and I was in North London, this wasn't going to go anywhere either. Neither of us entertained the fact that it would, but at the same time, there was this little spark there, something that seemed to suggest that - through some fortuitous circumstance (and the fact that I'd been saving money...) - we may end up together.

At the same time, closer to home, my token black friend had had a bit of a breakthrough, insofar as he'd asked out the girl in our year who he fancied (and who quite clearly fancied him back), and she'd said yes. It took a while to get him to do it, with various tactics involving a steady stream of encouragement from the Manics fan and Lightsinthesky repeating "ask her out, ask her out, ask her out" like a stuck record. He held off all the way through her birthday party and, finally, asked.

"We should organise a multiple date," said Lightsinthesky while we walked back from town after decamping to McDonald's to discuss recent events. I mean, you've now got [here he said the name of my token black friend's new girlfriend], and I've got [here he said the name of his new girlfriend], and you've got [here he said the name of my Danish friend.]"
"Not really," I said. "It's not a real relationship. I mean, it might be. I'm not sure what it is."
"Well, have you asked her?"
"No," I admitted slowly. "We just talk a lot. Most of the time, really. We just stay up late and talk."

At which point my token black friend walked into a wall. He'd been in a happy daze for the rest of the day; it was nice to see him in such a delighted mood.

And so the uncertainty continued. On and on and on it went, with her sending me art she'd made and me sending her photos of my face; discussing politics and religion and the Danish school system took up far too much of my time, which I should have spent doing homework. But it made me feel less lonely and a little more valued, and the fact that neither of us had said it wasn't a relationship kept the option open, if only for a short while.

After a few months she kind of vanished. She still reappeared occasionally, but she spent less and less time online, and rarely texted any more. I was kind of relaxed by this point - had my first kiss with Soldiergirl, my first sexual experience with Esque, and was heading towards my first real relationship with Rebecca - when I saw her pop up online again. I said hello, asked her how she'd been, and was wondering if she was all right, as she'd been quite quiet recently.

She told me that she had a boyfriend. She even showed me a picture.

Now I think about it, I probably should have felt differently. But all I felt at that point was relief. She had moved on with her life just as I'd been thrown headlong into mine. And, to her credit, she was happy, and no longer confused as to what she wanted. She started paying attention at school, went on to college, got a different boyfriend, and what I've heard recently, all is fine. 

As much as I'd enjoyed the uncertainty while it lasted, I was relieved that it was over. Now I knew where I stood... and I was free to carry on with my own love life, which was soon to reach fever pitch. It just hadn't quite happened... not yet, anyway.

Something nobody's ever asked me about is who the girl on my "About ILB" button is. Well, that's her. It's a sketch of her I drew back in the day, when she mentioned being so confused. I sketched her, along with a few other people (realistically, I did a lot of these, including 47, TMF, Louise, Soldiergirl, and myself, but she was the first one I did), and sent these people their sketches by post. She put hers up on the wall.

No point in waiting for someone to ask, I guess. Time to tell the story. So, in fact, I have.

Monday, 20 November 2017


"Okay, if you'll just sit there," I said vaguely, indicating a desk, "I'll get to you in a second. Fill this out, please?"

I handed her the paper to fill out.

"Hey, so, yeah, I didn't know this was happening today."
"You didn't know you were coming here? You should have been notified."
"I was. Today."

"Oh, that sucks."

I vaguely wondered whether my client would call me unprofessional for using the term 'that sucks'. She didn't comment, so I took that as good sign.

"So, yeah, I totally need a pen."
"Hella," I said, passing her a pen.

I surprised even myself for using the word 'hella'. I only really picked that up from my girlfriend, and have no idea what it means. Then again, I also use 'Zounds!', and I got that from Christopher Marlowe. Again, my client didn't comment.

"I got you a present," she said. "Happy birthday."
"Thanks," I said automatically as she handed over the stack of Post-Its I'd accidentally left on the desk. "It's what I've always wanted."
"I know. I'm awesome."
"You are."

Slowly but surely, I'm beginning to engage with people.

Friday, 17 November 2017


Wow, it's been a hot minute since my last post. Whatever that means.

It has been a while, in any case. Much has happened; our house move is still an ongoing process, insofar as we have moved, but my life is now more of a concept consisting entirely of boxes and bags of miscellaneous bullshit I'd forgotten we own. I'm just a flitting idea now, rather than an entity.

My libido has been held back a bit by the fact that I've been suddenly given a lot more work to do, the room isn't as nice to touch myself in when there's still a looming pile of Things To Sort, and I'd lost the power cable for my external HD, which is where all my soft porn is. Perhaps more crucially, although my imagination and my hand are both still operational, I had an accident the other day which - as well as producing some very impressive marks on my thigh - put my right hand out of action for a day or so; specifically the index finger, which had a huge blister forming, making me have to balance a pen between thumb and middle finger when writing longhand.

I'm still typing mainly using my middle finger, since I got used to it.

Masturbation hasn't been impossible - I've had some opportunities to do so and taken advantage thereof - but it has been difficult. Fortunately, however, I have had some spectacular orgasms as a result.

One thing I haven't done yet is take a shower here. I think I have a phobia - whether the fact that it's an unfamiliar bathroom, or the fact that there are two single girls living upstairs and I don't want to appear just wearing a towel, or that I've just been too damn tired (which is probably the real reason), it hasn't happened yet. This occurred to me post-orgasm earlier in the week, when I suddenly realised that I was composed mainly of dry skin, and that I should indeed take a shower. In fact, I really needed one.

Yesterday afternoon I had a three-hour break between shifts at work. With nothing to do that wouldn't cost money - and safe in the knowledge that going home would have been a case of getting there, turning around and going back out again - I took a punt and headed to my parents' house to take a shower.

SH was empty when I got there, apart from Willow (who I fed), so I undressed with relative impunity, threw my pants, socks and T-shirt into the washing machine, and entered the bathroom.

My parents have a shower enclosed within a glass capsule, so it's perfectly possible for one to stand directly beneath it, turn it on and wait for the water to cascade over your naked body. So, of course, that is precisely what I did. Up went the lever, there was a faint gurgle, and then the rain burst into life, covering me in seconds.

I can't explain the sound I made - it was something between an expression of relief and ejaculatory bliss. It was so simple - warm, clean water sliding down my chest, back and stomach (and making all my fresh wounds sting) - but so relieving and satisfying. I grabbed a random shower gel (one of my sister's, I think), lathered up and let the jet wash it all away. Chest,  stomach, legs, feet, crotch, back, even my arse - it all got cleaned. I spent a lot of time on my face, used shampoo and conditioner in my hair (I suspect also my sister's products), and marvelled for far too long on the visual of everything spiralling down the drain into oblivion.

Washing away all manner of sins.

I stood there in the steam for a while, then stepped out onto the bathmat, wrapped a towel around myself, blow-dried my hair, commandeered some of my dad's clothes, and strapped my shoes back on. I said goodbye to Willow, hauled my bag over my shoulder, and set off into the autumnal dusk.

I still have my worries, and I'm still anxious about money, overworked for what I do, and with a mountain of boxes to sort out... but at that moment, scrubbed clean and properly dried, fresh as a daisy and just as powerful as the mighty oak, I felt like everything was all right. I could do anything.

Thursday, 9 November 2017


It was the middle of Freshers' Week and I was throwing shapes on the dance floor in the middle of our student union bar.

Note: "throwing shapes". Nothing I do on a dance floor could ever really be described as "dancing".

Not for the first time since I'd arrived at university a few days earlier, I found myself surrounded by beautiful women in various states of inebriation. Given the huge student body we had, I hadn't committed myself to learning many names... but I'd do so once my course had started, I told myself. None of the people in student hall with me were doing the same course. We may not even have that much in common. I learned a few names, nevertheless.

After a while, I realised that I was dancing in close proximity to someone I vaguely knew from the flat below mine and one other boy who I'd seen around with a different girl on his arm every night. I wrote a blog post about him later that term with liberal use of the C-word to describe him, which gives you a fair idea of exactly how I felt towards him. At this point, I didn't know anything but his name.

The girl from the floor below me, who I'll call Loll, was someone I also knew by sight. She was a little tipsy (as was he), but she was dancing fairly steadily, so certainly not outright drunk. I, of course, was sober. I wasn't reticent to dance with Loll - she was, from what I'd seen, a nice young lady - the main problem was him. Perhaps he saw me as a bit of a threat. He clearly had designs upon Loll, but then she seemed to be more interested in me.

"I'm having a good time," she said, leaning in to shout over the din.
"So am I!" I yelled back. "I've never really been clubbing before, this is new to me! I love to dance!"
"I'm having a good time dancing with you!" she trilled. "Because I like you!"
"I like you too!" I said obliviously. "You're fun! And you're a good dancer!"

I did a 360° turn at high speed for want of something else to do.

He muscled in to separate us a bit, but he didn't say anything, choosing instead to shoot me a look both furtive and challenging.

Loll brushed him aside and leaned across to flash me a smile. Even in the dark of the club, her teeth were dazzling.

"Have you got a girlfriend?" she whispered in my ear.

Here we present a problem. I did, in fact, have a girlfriend. Engaged, actually. This was the first week of university and I'd come secure in the knowledge that I was attached and committed. I also knew, by that point, that she was cheating on me, or at least was heading that way. I didn't say anything about it, not even to her, but I did know. I was sure that this was just a phase and that we'd end up together, me being the forgiving type (and having forgiven her three previous indiscretions), but here was an opportunity for me to do the same thing.

I hardly need to mention that Loll was, herself, very attractive. She had long, dark, shiny hair and mysterious eyes. We became friends in the coming few weeks and I used to go clubbing with her, pretending to be her boyfriend so nobody would come on to her; she liked the security, and I liked the attention. Everyone thought I fancied her at that point - I thought she fancied me. 47, TMF and all my friends who read my LiveJournal seemed to think the same way - TMF asked me if Rebecca had seemed jealous. Now I look back at it, there's probably a reason she didn't.

In any case, the very concept of doing something with somebody else was a little exciting. Despite what one heard about Freshers' Week, I wasn't really expecting to have sex. Maybe I could have snogged her, and then maybe that would have led somewhere. At this point, I didn't know. I'd have other potential leads in this club... none of which would lead anywhere, either.

The beds in our student hall were very comfortable, and I hadn't had sex for a while, and...

"Yeah," I said back. "Yeah, I've got a girlfriend. Engaged, actually."

Fucking hell, ILB.

Despite the flash of something between disappointment and relief that darted across her face, the awkward semi-flirtation continued from that point. We carried on dancing together, and there were a few moments which might have been sweet - she pointed at me, and then herself, and then smiled a bit, before doing some more dancing - but I did feel a little awkward about the whole affair. Obviously I wasn't going to cheat with Loll. Obviously. I wasn't intending to.

Maybe I could buy her a drink, though.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he said, noticing some of my discomfort and jumping in between us.
"Uhm... okay!" she replied, taken a little aback. "I'll be back, okay, ILB?"
"Sure, fine, no problem," I mumbled back. "I'll just be here, er, dancing. On my own."

Three hours passed and, as I made my way out of the club to the strains of Mad World, I noticed them in the corner - empty glasses littering the table next to them and locked together into one of the messiest kisses I've ever seen.

I went back to my room hating him, sat down on my bed and cried until morning.

Wednesday, 1 November 2017


It was 9:30pm and I was on the late bus home from work. I chanced a look at the clock as we mounted the crest of the hill with the church at the top, near where Einstein lives. I'd missed Only Connect and Have I Got News For You, again. I'd have to mainline iPlayer when I got home.

My BlackBerry was out of battery; my iPod, I'd left at home. I'd also packed all of my books for our impending house move, and had forgotten to put one in my work bag. I'd decided to entertain myself by watching the cars out of the window, and following the trails of the raindrops as they spattered against the glass.

I was freezing.

I hadn't put a jumper on when I left for work earlier that day. I'd just decided upon a cotton shirt and a thin, waterproof macintosh, reasoning that that would be enough. I even had the fan on at work, the room being full of warm bodies. But here I was, only three or so hours later, sitting on the bus and feeling colder and colder...

...and that's when my nipples, erect with the cold, made contact with the cotton of my shirt. I yawned, stretched, and felt the thin fabric dragging against my chest.

My libido sprang to life and wouldn't stop hitting me in the head until I did it some more.

I spent the rest of the journey in a sort of exquisite torture, making small movements with my body so my nipples could brush against my shirt. As time went on, the friction made them grow harder and firmer, and my penis began to stir too, with nothing but the haze in my head and the physical sensation growling through my thorax to prompt it. Though, admittedly, such a small sensation as it was, it was enough. I had no distractions - nothing else to concentrate on.

With just my heartbeat, laboured breathing and the continuous rustle of cotton on skin, I sat on that cold, dark bus, and turned myself on without so much as touching myself.

I stopped the bus near my house, disembarked along with rock-hard nipples and a pulsing, firm erection, and met with a wall of rain as I started to stomp home. Three steps, maybe four, and I certainly wasn't hard any more.