Thursday, 30 August 2018

DoucheSpeak: we communitise engagement.

For a few years before I started writing ILB, and for a short while afterwards, I was a member of a community which many people found abhorrent. I found it - as is my way - while looking for sex blogs (how prophetic!) and following the wrong link; I was initially confused, then repelled, then intrigued. I joined the community because of the challenge involved, not expecting to get anywhere... but they accepted me, included me, and eventually made me a moderator... and, in doing so, gained my respect and trust.

The reason so many people took offense to the community (and one work colleague genuinely yelled at me) was that it had very little common ethos besides élitism. From the outside, yes, it looked bad, and back in the earlier days, it probably was. Me being the kind of person I was, though, I spent my membership sharing the love, promoting mutual appreciation among the members, and even sometimes calling them out when they went too far (there's a fine line between being particular and being rude, and I didn't want to see anyone cross it). In a lot of ways, I was the community's nice guy... and despite the nasty streak beneath the surface, I championed it until the very end.

I was the one, after years of its existence, to make the choice to close the community. It wasn't an easy decision, but the time was right. As the only active moderator remaining, it came down to me.

People didn't understand my membership, or the attraction at all, of something which, to the casual onlooker, seemed haughty and dismissive. I still don't understand, but then again, I did join, got accepted, and participated; if more people had, they may have understood too.

It's not quite the same for being part of the sex-positive community. Most people will admit to enjoying sex, or if they are stereotypically British, will say in a more general way that "people" like to have sex. Of course, it's not talked about enough, or if it is, done in private or hushed tones... but that's what the sex-positive community is there for: more discussion about, and more promotion of, healthy sex. Nobody but the most narrow-minded of right-wingers would have any platform to stand on if they were to try to argue that people shouldn't be engaged in sex talk.

And yes, sometimes it is difficult. Sometimes it is awkward, and sometimes I completely forget that I have very little filter, so I try to engage someone in sex talk when I really should know better. But nobody should take too much offence.

Nobody should.

And yet, there is the automatic assumption that - despite all the good work we do - people do. I'm not sure exactly why: all I get when I roll out the "I'm a sex blogger" tag is either polite befuddlement, abashed interest of (most commonly) laughter. Nobody's ever told me that what I write is wrong, or unethical, or sinful - I'm over 18 so it's certainly not illegal. But there is a slight undercurrent there that someone, somewhere, is reading my blog... and all the others too... and thinking to themselves that talking so brazenly about sex is, itself, abhorrent.

I, as ILB, shouldn't have to justify my sexual proclivities, and in a lot of ways, I don't. I'm relatively fortunate in being cisgender, straight, and vanilla. I'm not really a kinkster, I don't have any polyamorous relationships or fetishes that need indulging in relatively extreme ways. Even my porn is fairly routine, and mostly stuff you'd see after hours on a cable channel in the mid-'90s. Look at me from the outside and see what you may want to see; I don't have to rationalise anything, because there isn't anything you probably won't have heard.

But look a bit further and you'll realise there's more. I am in a relationship with a queer person of undefined sexuality and an unclear gender identity. My friends are people who have sex for money, or practice BD/SM as a lifestyle, or have more than one consensual partner. I've seen pictures being painted with a penis, people being flogged until they are black and blue (and enjoying it), and had discussions about how long it is healthy to keep a clit clip on. I've never once taken offence to any of this, through the simple acceptance of the fact that everyone is different and there should be no need to justify. I find sexuality facinating, and I shouldn't have to justify that, either.

Like the community I mentioned earlier, though, there does appear to be an emergent streak of élitism within this community - not an overt one, but there are some touches of it here and there. And like said community, this may be the reason people are put off participating more freely. I'm not talking about the sex offenders, mysoginists, misandrists, transphobes and the like - those are the people we challenge! - but those who read something and think, "eww, this fetish is weird." Or, "wow, this person is so self-righteous about their lifestyle, I'm not as stand-offish as they are." Perhaps even, "Innocent Loverboy? Give me a break!"

But the difference with the sex-positive community is this: it is open. Unlike my community, with its insanely attractive membership and application process, sex-positivism is for everyone. You may not be into x fetish or y lifestyle: fine, that's your prerogative. Being part of the sex-positive community isn't taking part in those activities: it's not objecting to other people doing so, and equally, not objecting to people not doing so.

And that's where the similarity rings out. Both communities are about acceptance; both have their slightly disturbing streak of élitism, which I don't like. But both communities, on the whole, were all about doing good - and, although the occasional person may find the whole idea abhorrent, there's always the idea they may change their mind, if only they were they better-informed.

And everyone's beautiful. Except me.

Thursday, 23 August 2018

Universal Declaration of ILB

I have come to the following conclusion:

Whereas it is incredibly pleasant to have your beloved girlfriend tell you that, during yesterday's afternoon nap, she had a graphic sex dream about you, in which you were balls-deep...

Whereas it is less pleasant to have a sex dream yourself the following night during which your beloved girlfriend was enjoying sexual congress with another, incredibly specific, friend in the bed next to you, to the point of using her name and calling her "an incredible fancy"...

Whereas it is increasingly pleasant to suddenly take part in the dream via entering into a passionate and wanton kiss with one of them, albeit blindfolded so you can't tell which one...

Whereas it is confusing and unsettling when your beloved girlfriend wakes you up to tell you she is going to work, thus curtailing the dream so you will never know how it ends...

Whereas it is frankly baffling to have perhaps your biggest erection of the past few months present for the next hour or so as you attempt to catch up on the sleep you are so sorely lacking, especially considering your troubled dreamscape...

It appears necessary to deal with your lustful thoughts and erect penis by channeling your morning energy into a long, protracted masturbation session, in your computer chair and in front of some of your favourite porn...

And now, therefore, I present the following conclusion: mornings off are a Good Thing.

Sunday, 19 August 2018

Soft Porn Sunday: Julia Ann & Nikki Fritz

THE YEAR IS 2030: droves of acolytes are divided into Styles, Tomlinson, Malik, Horan and Payne subsections, each worshipping a different king; Chocolate Hob Nobs have replaced traditional currency, although Euros are still valid in what was once Canterbury; Brexit negotiations are still taking place; President Dwayne Johnson stands proud, the dying planet looking to his divine leadership.

ILB, however, still hasn't written about Veronica 2030, so we should probably sort that out.

Appearance: Veronica 2030 (1999)
Characters: Veronica & Camilla


It's standard practice (or it should be - ahem...) that, if I like enough scenes from a softcore flick, Ill end up buying it. For whatever reason, Veronica 2030 has escaped that fate, for reasons that are unclear to even me. I certainly like what I've seen, and for what it is, I even like the ridiculous plot; I just keep forgetting about it. Maybe one day I'll seek out a DVD. That probably won't be today.

Anyway, the year is 2030. Scientists Felix (E.R. Wolf - although, since he's called Felix, shouldn't he be E.R. Cat?) and Maxine (Stephanee LaFleur - yes, that's two Es in "Stephanee") have done the completely ethical and not at all questionable act of creating a fully functional, sentient female pleasure android (with whom Felix duly has sex, FOR SCIENCE!) named Veronica (Julia Ann). This all goes wrong, of course, and Veronica is thrown back into corporate 1999, where she gets embroiled in the world of business and where did the sci-fi element go?

Effectively, it's "what if RealDolls, but too much - also, Alan Sugar?". You are testing my patience, Surrender.

While the scientists twat about a bit deciding what to do, Veronica spends her time having all the sex with the corporate entities who want to use her to sell their products, and one such entity is Camila Likenthrow, played by Nikki Fritz.

And you can probably make up the rest yourself.

As sex scenes go, this one is relatively long - 03:27 - but, for a lot of that, not much happens. Most of
"I'd like to talk to you about time-share..."
the ladies' clothes are off within the first fifteen, and there's certainly a lot of touch (Veronica is, lest we forget, a pleasure android, and Camilla is... well... Nikki Fritz). In fact, it starts as a by-the-numbers sex scene, really - some kisses, some disrobing, sume cursory oral sex. The only real difference is that this is a lesbian scene... except that doesn't really make a difference.


Cynical ILB would suspect that this sex scene was written somewhat genderblind, which would make sense, were this a production by Pink & White or something, but it's Surrender in 1999, so that probably isn't the case. There's a lot of fairly non-gender-specific stuff in the first half, anyway - touching, kisses, rubbing and nudity. The fact that it's two beautiful women doesn't seem to matter too much; anyone could do this (not that I mind!).

Lions in the wild.
The same is true for the messy kiss and subsequent doggy style approximations that happen. That is to say, the motions happen, but there's clearly no penetration going on, with Camilla not wearing anything with which to penetrate (granted, that would be difficult to pull off in soft porn...) or using her fingers to do so. She's just doing the thrusts, which one assumes would not really achieve wild success (at least one would if one had not brought more than one sexual partner off with penetration-free thrusts; one has, and ILB is that one). Regardless, it's filmed well, and performed with exuberance.

At 02:12, there is a curious thing that I've never seen elsewhere in any sort of porn. Nikki Fritz has long, beautiful, silky dark hair, and Camilla spends a few seconds brushing it over Veronica's body - which is both adequate use of hair and sensation play (I assume). You would think it doesn't add much, but it's unique, and clever - unlike the following oral sex up against a bedpost, which is neither unique nor clever. Not to say that it isn't hot, because it is.

Help! They've put Cousin It in soft porn!
None of this matters, however, because from 03:02 the scene mixes quickly into perhaps the best tribbing scene I've ever seen. I always think these must be difficult to film, but I'm grateful when they are - and also when they are done well. This one, it must be said, is highly unrealistic, unless doing scissors is now an Olympic sport (maybe it is in 2030...), but it's incredibly energetic, comes at the right time, and both actresses are using their bodies well. It's silly, yes, but it's all choreographed in a particular way, and at this moment you really do believe that both Veronica and Camilla are enjoying themselves... and isn't that the point?

In fact, pretty much all of this is well-thought-out. There's a big squashy bed with lovely blue sheets
Hup, two, three, four!
(sorry, that's where my brain went), the ubiquitous soft porn candle (which isn't lit since this is daytime, but fuck it, it's there anyway), actual use of the bedposts since they're not just there for decoration, and music which works, even though I'd put it in a boss fight from a Wii game by preference (it builds up nicely, but makes me want to press buttons!). OK, so it's lesbian sex and this is entirely gratuitous - I'm sure business deals can be done without sleeping with the boss - but it's a very good scene. And it's nice to see Julia Ann, as well - she's in a lot of stuff, but doesn't pop up in the soft porn I watch very much. She's always good value.


And Nikki Fritz. She's stunning.

That's one more to cross off my list. Right, I had better be quick in wrapping this post up, because I think I can hear the Larry Stylinson fanatics coming across the disputed border on which I live, and here in 2030, writing blog posts is strictly forbi #ERROR# #ERROR# #ERROR# #ERROR# #ERROR# #ERROR# #ERROR# #ERROR# #ERROR# #ERROR#

Saturday, 11 August 2018

Lick

So here's something I've never mentioned before.

Sometimes, when I'm bored during moments of nocturnal insomnia, I envision myself giving oral sex, from a first-person perspective. That is to say, every single second of it.

I take myself through the process. Taking hold of the thighs, or hips, or sides, to steady myself. I breathe in, her scent all around me, and then touch my tongue lightly against her engorged pussy lips, my breath warm against her slit. I feel how wet she is... and then I start. All of this takes me a few seconds, but it's very vivid in my mind, like I don't want to miss a moment. Yes, in my imagination I can replay it over and over again, but it still feels like something I could miss.

I like to live every single lick. Small, darting movements from side to side, all the way up, from her perineum to her clitoral hood... and then back down again. Tiny laps, upwards with the tip of my tongue, tracing the same route, but this time taking in more of her slick opening. Small circles, maybe. Tongue over, under, and around her hard clit. If she's wet enough, and keen enough, I could slide myself inside her, my tongue surrounded by her inner walls, feeling them beat in time with her heart.

I'd bring her to orgasm, of course. But then that just gives me more to lick.

All of this I imagine. In the half-sleep, I often - almost every time - find myself unconsciously doing the movements - my lips and tongue practising with the air, almost. If I'm lost in the rêverie, I can practically taste it. I can lose a lot of time doing this - if I concentrate on every single beat.

It's not the real thing, and it never will be. There are things missing - the heat of her thighs either side of my head; her quickening breath, her moans, her gasps. I can't feel her hands wending their way through my hair, holding my head in place; I miss the spreading sensation when she starts to near her climax, and the shake, the arching back, and the release when she comes. I don't get real girlcum fillling my mouth and spilling down my chin, and I don't genuinely feel my nose pressing against her clit as it throbs and pulses. I don't feel the tickle of her pubic hair. I can't roam my hands around her soft skin, or caress her tits as I lick her.

These things, yes, are missing.

But it is a wonderful thought nonetheless.

Friday, 10 August 2018

Tardy

[It's 7am, and I've just called my girlfriend's workplace to tell them she's sick today.]

"Do you remember that time when I was late for work at my old job and...?"
"Vaguely. Remind me?"
"We had good sex. Like, really good sex."
"Oh, yes..."
"And I was late because of all the sex. I said I'd overslept."

[Lightbulb. Now I remember.]

"You could have said, 'sorry I'm late; I was underneath my boyfriend'..."
"Or, 'sorry I'm late; I was busy getting pounded'..."
"Something like that..."
"Yeah..."

Simpler times.

Tuesday, 7 August 2018

Pulsar

I lay down on the bed last night and pulsed.

Throughout the day, I'd been in a number of varying states of wakefulness. I was unbelievably tired when I left for work in the morning, and during the break (it was a split shift, so I had a long break), I was so exhausted I practically passed out. I woke up stressed, got back to work feeling nervous, and by the time I got into the swing of things, my energy made a sudden and unexpected re-emergence.

I'm not sure early starts are the best thing for me.

Anyway, by the time I got home, I wasn't tired any more. Hungry, yes - but there was pizza. I certainly wasn't tired. I sat in the lounge (WE HAVE A LOUNGE!) on the sofa (WE HAVE A SOFA!) watching American Dad!, and idly wondered - ironically, considering how I felt a few hours prior - how I was going to get to sleep. Anyone would have seen that I clearly needed it.

I turned the television off, stripped, and picked my way to the bathroom. Sitting there, I felt the urge, and something told me the time was right. I put Justice League International Vol. 3 away, took a deep breath in, then ran a hand down the skin of my chest and through the hair on my belly, feeling myself beginning to stir and grow and...

*

Twenty minutes later. I stumbled my way through the pitch-black bedroom (it has a curtain: a luxury the lounge has yet to procure), lying on the bed in the sleepy haze of post-orgasmic fog.

Thud. Thud. Thud. My ear, pressed to the pillow, filled with the sound of an incredibly heavy heartbeat. As I began to pay more attention to the rhythm (I am a nervous man with an easily-distracted brain), I gradually became more aware that my entire body, not just my heart (and my penis), was pulsing. Blood was coursing through me at a rapid rate - the orgasm having increased my hearrt rate and not yet settled down - and my body, naturally quite sensitive anyway but more so now, was throbbing powerfully in time with every single heartbeat.

And I do mean powerfully. I wasn't moving a muscle, and yet I was still moving. Each beat was like a tiny jump; my body was shaking, my hands balled into fists and my forehead beaded with sweat. I felt vulnerable, but in a safe place - like a layer had been peeled back. Raw, exposed, and lying there, rhythmically pulsing. It was as if all of me had decided to be as one - and, at that moment, I realised that I wouldn't be moving any more during the night. I was just to lie there - my throb and I - until sleep managed to take me.

And finally, after a day of uncertainty and restless tiredness, I slept well last night.

Thursday, 2 August 2018

Clima

I think it's no real secret that sex dreams are odd. I mean, sometimes they're good, sometimes bad, sometimes they get you off... but that doesn't mean they aren't odd. They are, so it's said, quite a healthy thing to happen - shows that your important bits are working and are a symptom of your brain expressing sexual desire in a way unlikely to cause stress or harm.

I'm not going to be so presumptuous as to assume anyone's ever had a sex dream about me. That's not a question I'm going to ask.

Anyway, I had a dream last night in which I almost had sex, and would have done if my dad hadn't walked in.

It's not the first time my dad has interrupted my dreams. There's a memorable time when I was enjoying an incredibly long dream in which I found out I was Jesus (don't ask), and was enjoying a pint in a pub with a talking crocodile (because of course) when my dad appeared and told me it was time to wake up. As it turned out, he was in my bedroom telling me it was time to wake up. I probably shouldn't have told my RS teacher that I dreamed I was Jesus. I got sick of people bowing to me that day.

[NB. This wasn't the first time I'd dreamed about being Jesus. The first time I had such a dream, I was 8. I used my Jesus powers to transform myself into a purple dinosaur. Neither dream was particularly realistic, although now I know what God looks like.]

The problem is that this isn't the first interrupted sex dream I've had. In the past couple of weeks, I've had a few. They don't all feature my dad - thankfully - but there have been lots of dreams in which I've been almost having sex. Almost. Just not quite getting there, or even been about to do so when I'm interrupted - father or not.

Last night's dream had a huge build-up. A narrative, in fact - although something slightly nonsensical; it was at least easy to follow - and it was fairly clear from the midpoint exactly where it was going. I was returning to the same place day after day, each time getting closer and closer to the LARGE AMOUNTS OF SEX I was almost certain to be having. Lining up the dominos, shall we say... just ready for the push.

Until my dad walked in and interrupted me.

Why are you doing this to me, brain?