Innocent Loverboy

X2

2012-02-15T21:54:00.002Z

There was a soft, irritating knock on the door.

I paused. "Uhm, the door's locked?" I said, adding a totally unnecessary interrogative to my sentence. I knew the door was locked. I'd locked it, after all.
Silence.
"Uhm..." I started. "Can I help you?"
I was hoping my mother wouldn't ask what I was doing. I could hardly tell her I was wanking on my back in the middle of my bed. I'd also probably have to mention that this was the second time in a matter of hours that I had indulged in self-pleasuring, and that I had been so tightly wound up during the afternoon by flirtation with my other half, browsing through sex blogs, starting a script with fellatio in it and browsing soft porn for "inspiration" that I doubted I'd actually manage to unwind myself, even if I managed to masturbate three times.
"It can wait," came my mother's voice, to my intense relief.

Of course, my mother's voice had turned me off. But it didn't take long for me to flick that switch back to the "on" position, and after a while I'd had a more intense orgasm than the one I'd had just before dinner. Interesting. I didn't think you could do that unless you were Peter North.

I was rather crooked as I managed to make my way downstairs. After all, I'd been masturbating with my legs spread. Twice. So perhaps I can be forgiven fro my somewhat ungainly gait.

"You, uh, wanted to see me, Mother?" I asked as I opened the door to the lounge.
"Yes, I did. About that £100 you owe me..."

Bieber fever

2012-02-14T20:32:00.003Z

It was with an emotion nothing short of glee that I finally sliced open the large Jiffy bag this morning to reveal an interesting selection of presents. Said bag had been on my bed for far too long, but I knew exactly what it contained, and what's more, who it was from. After extricating clhg's card from the general mulch of discount gifts (an excellent card, home made and signed from "SOMEONE MYSTERIOUS" - I only managed to get her a card with a Stegosaurus on it, ILB FAIL!), I emptied the bag onto the bed and got to sifting through the gifts. Good stuff, in fact - including a couple of breakfasts and, erm, princess chocolates - and, among other things, a set of pencils featuring none other than Justin Bieber.

I tried to find places for all these gifts when I started feeling slightly guilty. I had, after all, just received a load of presents for Valentine's, whereas I'd only bought clhg one measly card. I felt really quite mean. What I needed to do, I reasoned, was to do something wildly inventive for her. Something special. Something totally original, that nobody in their right mind would do...

My eyes fell on the pencil I held clutched in my hand.
"What do I do, Pencil?" I enquired.
"Do it, ILB," said Justin. "You know you want to. You've wanted to for a long time. What better time than now?"
"But I've got a job interview this afternoon," I pleaded.
"That's not for hours," remarked Justin. "Go on... do it. It'll make you feel good."
"But it'll take so long!"
"That's the beauty of the thing. It'll take a long time and you'll put a lot of effort into it. But we know clhg will like it. Don't we?"
"Well, she's liked it before..."
"Exactly."

And so into the studio I went, with the pencil stored safely in the pot where all my stationery seems to end up. I fired up my old laptop, and broke out the guitar tuner. Emerging two hours later, I staggered down the stairs dishevelled, and opened up GMail in order to send my Justin Bieber cover to my girlfriend for Valentine's.

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Soft Porn Sunday: Raven de la Croix & Monty Bane

2012-02-12T13:54:00.006Z

"Have you seen Up?"
"The sexploitation film made in 1976 by Russ Meyer? Yes, I've seen that."
"No, I mean the one with the cranky old man and the irritating teenager..."
"Wrong Russ Meyer film. That's Beneath the Valley of the Ultravixens, from 1979..."
"I'm not talking about Russ Meyer! There are some villainous property developers..."
"Ah! Supervixens! 1975!"
"Arrrrrrrrgh!"

Love him or hate him (and I'm referring to his films here - I get the distinct impression that I wouldn't like him as a person), Russ Meyer's films definitely made an impact and filled a niche market that I don't think any other film-maker ever has. Although some of his films - Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!comes to mind (which, apparently, they are remaking... is nothing sacred?) - have been referenced here and there, a lot of the films he made aren't recognised. They've barely been played on UK TV since Bravo stopped showing them, despite the occasional one popping up on Channel 5, but then again, they are very American. Unlike other things which are American (Tickle My Tush), though, I enjoy these.

Mostly. Your average Meyer flick tries to carry a message along with a healthy dose of skin. Some of these messages are a warning - Vixen! is something of a scaremongering tactic about Communism (and as a leftie myself, this is why I don't think I'd like him), Beneath the Valley... is a satire on small-town American industry (to the point where the film it set in "Small Town USA"), and the aforementioned Faster, Pussycat!... is about female empowerment, and pretty much coined the term "sexploitation".

Up!, my favourite of his films, I like because it parodies even itself. Aware that there's meant to be a moral carried in the film, it even starts with a character who is, down to the moustache, a very obvious pastiche of Adolf Hitler... being brutally murdered by an unidentified assailant (via a piranha in his bath). A message about Nazism? Probably not. He's dead. And thus begins a film in which none of the characters seem to care much that he's dead. Fortunately, a Greek chorus played by Kitten Navitidad keeps popping up to remind us of the plot, the suspects, and where we are in terms of how the mystery progresses.

Aside from everything else, Up! is more of a comedy than any other genre, and for that, I hold a special place in my heart for it.

Appearance: Up! (1976)
Characters: Margo Winchester & Homer Johnson

With Russ Meyer, the nature of his films means that a complete sex scene is hard to find. You'll get subliminal pictures, sure, and you'll get snaps of sex. You'll even get the same characters - some of them stock - popping up over and over again. In Up!, however, there are some clearly defined scenes which are just a minute or so of fun sex, and that's what I'm meant to be talking about in these reviews.

This one happens about a third of the way through the film. New in town, Margo Winchester (a "doe-eyed fucking machine") witnesses a murder - not the one of Adolf, another one - and is initially cornered by local lawman Homer Johnson. She explains that she is innocent, but it's very clear they are flirting. After he says the immortal line, "let's talk about that at my place," they go to his place and have sex. That, of course, isn't the only place they have sex - this is a Russ Meyer film, after all. They have sex in the fields, in the river, outside his house on the steps, in his car - we cut between locations regularly (but not too rapidly) before ending up inside Homer's house, where Margo (de la Croix - an odd name, but at least it's not got "St." in it) is merrily, and with gusto, riding Homer (Monty Bane - trips nicely off the tongue, that one). Eventually they get tired and stop, but not before everything's nice and satiated.

I assume.

Let me remind you that this takes place partway through a murder mystery film.

Why do I like this scene, you may ask? Because I do like it. I do. Is it the cinematography? Well, yes and no. It's cut well, and cleverly - quickly between scenes of Margo and Homer in varying positions and varying locations, each one beautiful in their own way (and most of them outside). Even the sex on Homer's bed is very clever, not showing much but cutting to close-ups of the tattoo on Margo's thigh, a shot of Homer's head or Margo's top half bouncing jauntily up and down. But it's not that.

Is it the sound? Well, yes and no. The music is classic - I know I recognise it from somewhere. Meyer tends to use a lot of familiar stuff in his soundtracks - Borodin's Gliding Dance of the Maidens (or Stranger in Paradise IF YOU REALLY MUST CALL IT THAT) is one. This isn't that. It's a good piece though, nice country-type banjo plucking mixed with swing. I'm sure I must have even played it in some ensemble or another at some point. It's clearly not been written for a sex scene, but it works really well.

Is it the people involved? Again, yes and no. Thematically, de la Croix is very well-endowed in the chest department, but then again, they all are - this film even contains a character called "the Chesty Young Thing". But she's very good-looking in all areas. Bane is your average man, giving hope to average men everywhere - and it's nice to see a softcore scene not focusing on somebody devastatingly handsome with a six-pack. They're giving it their all, too - something I always like to see. The sex is lusty and vigorous, and the sounds they're making are nothing short of comedic (Homer especially - if you see this scene, listen to him - he sounds like he's going to explode!). The actors work well in sync together, and it's a good set-up for the rest of their storyline ("Margo's found equal justice under Homer," as our Greek chorus points out. Er, thanks.).

But what really makes this scene good for me? Really? It's fun. That's all it is. We've already had spanking, murder and dildos in this film. This is just pure, unadulterated fun. And it is! There are some neat little touches - Homer keeps his hat on all the time, for example (apart from in one instance where it's hanging off his car's aerial for no reason other than to keep in on show). And some of the sex positions are clearly ridiculous. But that just adds to all the fun. This is cheerful, random, pointless sex - nothing too intense or serious. And that makes it a brilliant scene. It's fun to watch, it's fun to review, and I imagine it was fun to make as well.

And it makes me laugh. Which is just what you need sometimes.

Past Times

2012-02-11T13:56:00.003Z

Yesterday afternoon, for want of something to do, I decided to have a go at recording a song so I fired up my old laptop, which is currently in my attic studio along with a collection of guitars, an electric drum kit, a real drum kit, various percussion instruments, electric music aids and a double bed.

Oh, and a toothbrush.

My attempts at making music, save for incredibly lame beatboxing, a song that doesn't rhyme and the realisation that I can play The Battle Hymn of the Republic on the swannee whistle quite accurately, were all a bit fruitless and, because I had nothing else to do (well, nothing that I actually wanted to do), I decided to browse through the hidden depths of my old laptop while I was still there. Okay, so I had that laptop as my primary computer for a very long time, before I got my shiny netbook, and I already kind of knew what I'd find. But I'd forgotten the extent...

...of my collection of hentai games.

Okay, calm down. Before you ask, no, none of my hentai games involved tentacles. I was quite specific in terms of the games I dowloaded. They had to involve boy/girl sex (well, that's hentai anyway, although there was a bit of yuri in some of them... I never saw yaoi though), there had to be decent enough animation, and the sex scenes should be easy enough to get. As with all the games I've played, there had to be some semblance of a plot, but then again, with H-games the plot is often the main focus of the gameplay!

I loaded up Runaway City. Ticking the other games off in my head... True Love is the best but far too addictive, Paradise Heights 2 I just wasn't in the mood for (and I've played it enough times anyway), RSP is a bit lame and doesn't have a plot, I always got frustrated by X-Change, and I knew the other ones didn't work. So I played through the first half of Runaway City, well aware that with the linear nature of the game it's damn near impossible to actually miss any of the scenes.

My intention wasn't clear to begin with. I wasn't aiming to orgasm by clicking quickly through to the inevitable animated shags. I also wasn't trying to entertain myself, as my attempts at music earlier in the afternoon had proved that I was incapable of doing that. But, as I paused and dreamily gazed up out of the window, flashes of my life came back to me; bits of my history in which these games had been important, in which this computer had contained a large part of my life. I played my first hentai game the night before I went on a trip with my A-Level English class. The night I got back, I resumed playing it. In my second year of university, I wrote an essay on a train with this picture of Kaori Shimizu as my background. In my third year, I spent every single night for a month in a sex chat room, trying to make friends and see if I could keep it up.

I spiralled into a nostalgia trip... and it only took a few scenes of hentai to start me off.

And realise what a dirty boy I used to be. At least, I thought I was dirty. I probably actually wasn't.

Keep it simple, stupid!

2012-02-08T20:40:00.003Z

I had a dream last night that involved kisses in a big house. I think I've seen that house before. I remember the kisses not being what kisses actually feel like. But they were kisses. That's what counts.

It feels like I haven't kissed anyone for a long time. In reality, it's less than a month ago. I once went over three years without having a single kiss and I missed it - of course I did - but nevertheless, it was fine. I last kissed clhg eighteen days ago and it seems like forever. I guess you don't really know what you've got until it's gone, and other Joni Mitchell-type adages.

What made me dream of kisses? No idea. There were lots of kisses going on on Friday - some of them appropriate. I've been reading a teen romance novel this week, and that doesn't go any further than kissing. I've suddenly read a lot of poetry and fiction that involves kisses. This week's episode of Glee ended with a kiss. And yesterday I found out the game Catherine is coming out in the UK, and although I'm mostly attracted to it by its ~~box art~~ name, I'm pretty sure its plot involves kisses. (Probably won't be playing it, though, unless someone releases it for the Wii. Nintendo solidarity!) Yup, I actually am surrounded by kisses. They're everywhere. And I'm not getting any kisses. Well, not at the moment. I will, but not for another two weeks' time.

I mean, I'll be alone on Valentine's (again) this year. I have a job interview on the day itself. Fantastic.

Still, I can take comfort in one thing. When I do get to kiss, it will be very sweet indeed.

Something for everybawdy

2012-02-07T15:14:00.002Z

"How's your knowledge of British seventies sex comedies?" asked my friend.

I hadn't expected him to ask this, but then again, if I had to pick any one of my friends who would ask that question, it would be this guy. His walls are practically made out of piles of British comedy in VHS format. I think he sneezed once and they had to get a JCB to dig him out. Why he was casually asking me that question, though, I don't know - although he hadn't exactly asked the wrong person. It doesn't take a genius to work out that I do, in fact, have a rather extensive knowledge of British sex comedies. I've watched enough of them.

As the question hung in the digital ether in front of me, I allowed myself a few seconds' hesitation to craft a reply. My fingers twitched before falling to the keyboard. What, exactly, was I meant to say?
"Why, yes, of course I do. I used to wank to some of the scenes when I was 14."
"What sort of sex comedies? Do they have to be from the Seventies?"
"I've seen a few, but not many."
"What's a sex comedy?"
"What's sex?"

Feeling that I really ought to say something, I dragged my fingers across the keys, and flashed him a reply.
"What do you want to know?"

"Well, there are these available on eBay for... [Some small amount of money. I can't recall exactly, but this guy doesn't buy anything that's over 99p. He haggles in charity shops.] ...and I wanted to know if they were worth it." Dude, you watch Open All Hours. Of course these will be worth it. "Which ones?"
He reeled off a list. I started to type a remark that the Confessions films were conspicuous by their absence, but then I remembered he'd already got them. Nevertheless, I recognised most of the titles. This, then, brought up the question of exactly how much I could say without letting on that I'd liked these films a little too much.

"Well," I said carefully, "Adventures of a Taxi Driver isn't funny. The Amorous Milkman isn't funny. The Ups and Downs of a Handyman..." I paused. "...has a good theme tune, but isn't funny." Another pause. "There isn't any sex in it either."

I wondered idly if that mattered to him. It probably didn't, but then again, 21-year-old friend is different from 14-year-old ILB. He probably had a different reason for getting the films. When there wasn't any response from him, I carried on.
"Rosie Dixon: Night Nurse is worth it for the sex," I finished. This was, of course, a lie. But I needed to say something other than "...isn't funny." And I couldn't very well have said, "...made me orgasm even though it's not actually meant to do that."

And now, years on, I still wondered how much of a contribution my carefully restrained comments made to his decision. He bought them all anyway. But then again, I knew he would to begin with.

Retrospective, part 2

2012-02-06T13:11:00.002Z

Okay. I'll finish this now. Honest.

Friday's Erotic Meet was, for me, an experience. Like my first CCK Social or my first Spiritual Space, this was an unknown quantity. And like both of those events, this was (for the most part) in a public arena, so I was idly wondering exactly how far it would be able to go.

Pretty far, it turns out.

My head divides the main body of the Meet into three distinct stages... which is how it's divided anyway. Good one for picking that one up, head. The beginning, dubbed "Meet the Members", was... well, maybe "meet" isn't the word. I'd already met twelve of 'em. But as more and more people began to trickle in, I gradually felt like less of a wallflower and more like a member of a gradually increasing social clique. I'm usually left out of cliques, so this was interesting. I got chatting to Jilly, who I hadn't said too much to throughout the rest of the day, and Blacksilk, who turned back up in a different outfit. Rose, in an outfit I'd laced up for her eleven hours earlier, put her cookies on a shared table and offered them up to everyone. Annie strolled about enthusiastically greeting people as if they'd been friends in utero. It was a bit of a slow start for me, but generally picked up. And it certainly attracted attention when Molly got hit by a riding crop three times by DomSigns.

Told you it went far.

Eight-thirty rolled around, aided by a cheap(ish) bar, and the Members' Mic started. This was the bit I was really looking forward to, and as the first act started, I knew it was going to be at least entertaining. DragonKingsDaughter was the host, and she did a good job. Although they all had their merits, the acts that really stood out for me were Annie, with her exaggerated sexy movements, Sarah Berry (who read out a piece which not only titillated, but amused with such enthusiasm, and even recovered well after she was heckled) and Jill's short, sharp and punchy poem which summed up sexual desire in about thirty seconds.
My bit happened and I was very pleased with the introduction I got, in which DKD referred to me as "...our innocent loverboy." Although stage fright isn't really a thing for me, my head was still refining exactly how I'd perform what I had planned, although I had the cue-sheets and prop ready in my pockets. To my immense relief, everything went almost exactly how I'd rehearsed (a surprise, more than anything else, on account of the fact that I improvised half of it!), and at least I got the laughter, which was my overall aim. People did keep telling me that they enjoyed it afterwards, however, and DKD said I was cute, which I suppose is the best an ILB could hope for. I'm not sure if they could hear it at the back, but I gave it all I could.

The speech section finished and we moved on to the raffle, in which I didn't win anything, but some people won multiple things; we were then told to move our stuff because the corner had been double-booked. Hmmm. In retrospect, moving our stuff may have been a mistake, but we didn't have much of a choice. We relocated to a far corner of the venue as the floor cleared for the club night.
As the hours went on various things happened. Lots of people were touched, sometimes inappropriately (but seemed to enjoy it anyway). I pole-danced for about ten seconds, because there was a pole. I took a picture of John's foot. Blacksilk and Jilly kissed passionately (which Jilly described as "divine") while I discussed roleplaying and fantasy novels with Crush - who is a geek of the highest calibre. John made out with a slightly drunk Annie, who got more drunk as time went by, and at one point needed me to hold her up to John could extricate himself from the sofa and go to the toilet. Rose danced with an anonymous guy who was incredibly persistent. I texted Catharine to let her know how things were going. I cuddled Jilly. I danced for a while, mostly on my own.

I was still probably the best behaved person there, and I yet felt so naughty. Not so innocent loverboy.

So was it a good night? Yes. One of the best events I've been to. Hell, I may even go to some more... I have a habit of doing that. I probably won't write three blog posts again, but with the multitude of bloggers who go to these things, I don't imagine you'll be too short of things to read. And with that, I finish my overly long analysis. This blog will now revert to its usual brand of advanced lunacy.

Thanks, everyone.

Retrospective, part 1

2012-02-05T13:54:00.004Z

Being a recollection of all that happened before the post-party-sleeping-people-sex-people-coke-getting-rickshaw-based adventure.

Thursday was fun and frantic. I went to the station to get @sexwithrose, who turned up at the right time. I was worried I'd be late because the Victoria Line decided to stop working. I was, incidentally, accompanied by Mane's older sister, who was heading to uni at the time. After I'd said hi to Rose we had breakfast at Pret while waiting for @spacecheetos and good-boy-bad-boy to turn up. They did... eventually. But it took a while for us to find them. Or for them to find us. Whatever. We met up; it matters not.
We went up to Camden, which was freezing cold but a lot of fun. We looked in thrift shops and through stalls in the Lock, avoiding the market in case all money was spent randomly. GBBB acted like a tourist and took lots of snaps. Lots. And lots. There was a smattering of people with pink hair and big shoes on the side of buildings. I almost hit GBBB with a flogger I found in Cyberdog, but I didn't. He hit Shalla with one, however. We ended up in a pub, where we stayed until well past four, and were joined by another guy, whose name I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say or not. But that's pseudonymous blogging for you.
We then went into the City of London, which was kind of interesting, except about fifty degrees colder. We went to a pub in London Bridge with a view to a drink and games, except there was nowhere at all to sit. Eventually we split up with the promise to reconvene the next day. I went back to my house, feeling slightly weather-beaten, but more upbeat and energetic than I'd been during the first half of the day. I put Rose in my spare room and we chatted for a while about why they hadn't made an Artemis Fowl movie yet (although apparently they're writing one!) and how Twilight is shit. We played variants of Smash Bros., at which she started beating me after a while, and Mario Kart, wherein we were pretty evenly matched (both kept losing). And there were cookies.

Friday was frolicky and frisky. I travelled up to St. Pancras, again accompanied by Mane's older sister. I stood for far too long in a line to get tickets, then found Rose, Shalla, GBBB, Lusty, Lily, @lostwithoutluna, @blacksilkblog, @jillyboyd and @annieplayer. I bought some Innocent juice and we piled onto a train, for a ride which included lots of loud discussion about sex toys and some quite scared passengers. Taxis took us to the headquarters of sextoys.co.uk, where @rebeccalowrie, @mollysdailykiss and @domsigns joined us. @thecarasutra organised chairs for us while Emma made tea, and we had an impromptu discussion about sex education, perceptions of different sexualities and whether or not boys tend to use sex toys. It was the kind of discussion that it felt appropriate to have in a room with samples of toys that looked like doorstops and, in some cases, disembodied bits of what used to be people.
We were eventually taken upstairs to a corporate-looking office and then stepped into a board room with the very surreal quality that every single inch of the table in the middle was covered in sex toys. We were talked to about how the company made this range of toys, how 99% of them are from China, and how they're impossible to open. We had a long group rap session about what different toys did for different people, although we all seemed to agree that some of them should come with handles. Eventually we were shown in small groups around the warehouse, which was humongous.

That's a great word. I should use it more often.

We bundled back into taxis at the end of the tour clutching bags full of sex toys. On the train back to London there was a lot of swapping. At some point I'm pretty sure that nobody had the same ones they started off with. I also seem to recall offering some to other passengers. These passengers were grateful, as opposed to scared.

After a vague middle period in which members of our group peeled off in order to reconvene later, a few of us went to the Green Carnation. Annie went in to set up and make sure that we didn't get mixed up with the birthday party which was going on downstairs. Rose, Jilly and I went next door to have some semblance of dinner, which was actually delicious; I think I was the only person who didn't then change clothes for the Erotic Meet. Which started.

I'll continue this in a later post. Mostly because I've just realised I haven't had an orgasm for six days and should really check if I'm still working or not. I have a bag of sex toys, in fact.

Treks with Rose

2012-02-04T13:34:00.003Z

I was on a bit of a comedown from the heat and hype of the Erotic Meet as the club music came slowly to an end last night. The lights went on, illuminating the Green Carnation, and those of us who were still around (which was a sizeable number) went around collecting our things - including, but not limited to, plastic bags stuffed full of sex toys procured from our sojourn to their spiritual home earlier in the day. However, it was only at that point that Rose realised that one of her bags had gone missing; more unfortunately, it was a bag containing her bank cards, money, passport and train tickets - in short, everything she needed to get home.

We spread out, more and more people attempting to find it, and in the end, the manager took my number on the promise he'd call, whether or not they found the bag.

He didn't call.

Everyone went on to the afterparty, and by "everyone" I mean, you know, ten people. Elenya fell asleep on her boyfriend; John and Miss Player were... doing something or another, I was trying not to look; our host had gone to get some cock. Sorry... Coke (the drink). The rest of us had managed to procure a laptop and a dodgy printer which I managed to make work by holding its power lead and USB cable firmly in place. Through the grace of modern technology, Rose managed to print out a fairly good-quality copy of a form of ID, along with her tickets. I called the police to file a report of loss and/or theft ("Someone's nicked it," said the copper on the other end of the 'phone.) and we got a reference number.

Everyone was very kind. They all saw us out of the flat. I, for my part, pretty much insisted upon going with her - partially because she'd been staying at my house the previous night, but also because she's a friend, somebody needed to go with her and I'm an ILB, so I felt somewhat responsible. Oh, and we had twenty minutes to get her on a train to the airport. And I do like a good adventure.

So we got a rickshaw.

Okay, so yeah, it's not the ideal mode of transport. We were, in fact, looking for a taxi. But we didn't have a lot of time and a confident rickshaw cyclist was insistent that he'd get us there in time. So off we went. We didn't, obviously, get there in time, but at least we got to the station. I managed to procure a ticket and we discovered that there was another train in half an hour. After sitting on a seat which was far too cold, I finally saw Rose off onto a train and, still worrying that she might not be able to board a 'plane, I headed back to the station concourse.

It was, of course, at this point that I realised I hadn't even considered how I was meant to get home, effectively stuck in central London without any visible means of getting home at four in the morning. After dithering around for a while, I decided to withdraw £20 to see how far I could get in a taxi that wasn't attached to a bicycle. I got as far as a bus station from where I managed to get on a bus that took me to a place ten minutes from my house. I was home by a very respectable 5:30am. A text from Rose confirming that she would be allowed to get on the flight alleviated any worries that may have been afflicting my brain, which was shutting down anyway.

I went back to running over the positive points of the previous two days in my head. There were many, but I won't list them here because this post is too long anyway. It didn't take me long to fall asleep, but it did take me a much more sizeable amount of time to wake up this morning. And hey, at least a dash through London in the dead of night makes an interesting day a bit more interesting. Add that to the mix and I've got plenty to remember.

Unlike John and Annie. I doubt they'll remember much.

Standing on the brink

2012-02-01T19:37:00.004Z

And so this is it, the day that I was waiting for. A bit of an anticlimax really.

Okay, that's really cryptic. Well, starting tomorrow I'm giving myself four days off worky things to centre my entire existence around the Erotic Meet for a while. Yes, I am a whore. You can't berate me for being excited. I'm an excitable person. I just hide it behind a mask of laissez-faire boredom. Anyway. I'm excited.

I had big plans for today. I had a lot of stuff I wanted to get done and, to be fair to myself, I got a lot of it done. But it feels as if I've barely done anything. I actually don't know how much more I could have done. My 'phone is still being a bitch and intermittently cutting out signal, so I haven't been getting the deluge of tweets that sometimes keep me going through the day. But I don't feel like I've done much.

If that makes sense. It probably doesn't make any sense.

In any case. I made it through to today and that's what I've been sort of waiting for since last month. This had better be good, blogosphere. Don't disappoint me.

Review: "Tickle My Tush" by Dr. Sadie Allison

2012-01-30T19:22:00.003Z

I was asked to review this book and although I was probably in the minority in actually doing so - I've seen other bloggers refuse to say yes on account of the fact that this book has the word "tush" in the title - I agreed. It's called Tickle My Tush, and it's by Dr. Sadie Allison.

No, I've never heard of her either. I know an American married lesbian couple called Sadie and Allison - Allison is Robinson's older sister - but unless Dr. Sadie Allison is a pseudonym for these two writing in unison (and her picture on the book doesn't make it too likely), I've never heard of her. According to the cover, she's "America's Pleasure Coach", and that's a registered trademark, so it must be true. However, for all that yells "HEY, LOOK AT ME!" from the gaudy cover and incredibly cheesy blurb, the doctor does appear to know what she's talking about.

Tickle My Tush (yes, I know - I'd call it TMT, but that makes it sound like an explosive) is essentially a sex instruction manual focusing on the bum. There are some initial chapters about why the bum is great, but most of the chapters are things like "how to put your finger in it, " "how to lick it" and "how to put your penis into it". Those aren't the actual chapter names, but they may as well be. Now, I've never had full anal sex. I had it briefly once, but that was very, very brief and I don't talk about it. So I can't vouch for any of these techniques she describes, forcing me to discuss the language of the book, which I suppose is what I was meant to do as a reviewer.

C'est la vie.

Okay, so - the book itself. Well, as I said, it's mostly sex tips, interspersed with cartoons which I suppose are meant to be funny, and occasional pearls of wisdom with a drawn version of Dr. Sadie and the caption "Dr. Sadie Sez". I have a bit of an issue with the cartoons, as in all the illustrations of sex, the man depicted is fit and rugged, with a six-pack and well-defined contours. I looked at my thighs this morning and almost cried. But that's just me being me.

I digress. As I said, Dr. Sadie clearly knows her stuff. The chapters are brief and some of the things she says stuck in my head as a reader. I have, in fact, got a bit of a thing for licking girls' bum cheeks - giving the occasional rimjob as well, that's about as far as I go when it comes to kink - but I've never actually done any of the things described in the analingus chapter. I'm assuming this book is written for couples who want to me bore adventurous; it's laid out in that order, anyway ("mild to wild" is how it puts things, although that makes me want to gnaw my own arms off), with the more gentle stuff to begin with and MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF ANAL SEX towards the end. So, for a couple looking to work through the various areas of anal pleasure, this may well be the book for them.

However.

Having said all that, I didn't like it. Why, if it's so useful? Well, I can't say much for the way it's written. Dr. Sadie says early on that she's going to use euphemisms, but I don't see a need for such things if you're going to go into graphic detail anyway. And the euphemisms she uses are... well... grating. I can just about cope with "rimming", but "color" (note the lack of a U) to refer to "feces" (note the lack of an A) set my teeth on edge, "taint" has nothing to do with a perineum, "pleasure inch" and "pleasure tunnel" don't bear thinking about, and I particularly don't like the term "A-spot".

I mean, come on. "A-spot". Really. And it's repeated several times on every. damn. page. I thought it couldn't get any worse until she started using the phrase "He-spot" (to describe a man's G-spot, because lulz it rhymes!). I tried to get along with the language, I really did. I tried to get the puns without groaning, and I tried to see past the PG-rated language to get to the luscious anal sex bit. I even tried to read the "Dr. Sadie Sez" bits without an open and willing urge to crawl under my chair and die, but it was tough going. It just seemed so... well... American.

Okay, yes, I know Dr. Sadie is American and her audience is American and this is an American book and all, but I assume you're meant to take it seriously, and you just can't with the constant flow of terrible puns, teeth-grindingly irritating language replacing words that shouldn't be veiled in a sex book and words like "booty", "buttplay" and "switcheroo". So, uhm, I can't say I found it easy to read. At least it's short.

Would I recommend this book? Well, maybe. After all, I assume the tips are good and anal sex, which is a bit of a contentious issue sometimes, is explored pretty thoroughly. And if you happen to be in a relationship and want a guide to anal sex (rather than just trying it yourself without being an idiot and seeing what happens), this might be a helpful book for you, so by all means have a read. It's unlikely to get a UK release as well, so if you actually want to read it, I'll send you my copy. Just ask me for it. Seriously. I'll give it away at the Erotic Meet if you want.

But for me, I just found it a bit too corny to be tasteful, and a bit too tasteful to be instructive. Which is a shame, because the author comes across as quite knowledgeable at times.

Juicy Fruit

2012-01-28T22:07:00.003Z

I just had an orgasm, and one thought filled my mind. Orange juice.

Please note the syntax of that sentence, with one clause coming after the other. I did have an orgasm and I did think about orange juice. They didn't happen simultaneously. As I'm sure you can imagine, my mind was focused on other things at the point of orgasm (or just before orgasm; during the ten or so seconds of intense pleasure that ejaculation brings on, thought tends to go somewhere else). However, almost immediately afterwards, even with ejaculate still dripping from various places (where it landed, silly - I don't cum from any other orifices!), my entire brain suddenly gave itself over, quite involuntarily, to orange juice.

This isn't as bizarre as it sounds. It makes sense to replenish lost fluids following orgasm (and that, my friends, is why you keep cold water nearby!), but throughout most of my life, my main desire has been for lemonade as a drink following orgasm. Even when I was very young and having my first erections (which was an unpleasant experience, as I seem to remember), I had a craving for lemonade. But back then, it's probably because I liked the drink. Lemonade, however, seems a more sensible choice, as it's actually a very watery drink. I mean, it's mostly water, actually. If you're not going to have - well - water, then I don't see much wrong with lemonade. The downside being that a lot of it is gas, as well, so there may be less liquid as you thought. Nevertheless, it's not that much less.

But today - just now - I wanted orange juice. No, not wanted. My body dictated that I go and get orange juice. And so I did. No specific reason; it just filled my mind. My body obeyed.

I do love orange juice, but (even though my girlfriend appears to love putting the stuff on her boobs) I don't really equate fruit with sex. I mean, I can see there's a correlation and everything and blah blah blah Goblin Market gang rape, but fruit doesn't excite me. It's delicious and I love it (mostly citrus stuff, or peaches), but it's not exactly my first port of call. There was a really odd phase during sex with TD for a month or so when, just before I came, I would visualise a large red apple - again, involuntarily... and this one I can't explain; I don't even like apples. But I digress.

I had an orgasm. I thought about orange juice. As I opened the 'fridge, it just seemed like everything was perfectly okay.

Triptych

2012-01-26T16:28:00.004Z

OK, so this is my entry for the Erotic Meet competition. The theme is twisted hearts, but I went a bit further and coupled that with gender identity. And there are hearts in it, and they're a bit twisty. This is also probably the wankiest thing I've ever done. I don't like to preach about gender identity and I'm not one of those "liiiiight thoughts / daaaaark thoughts" art students. Anyway, at least I know what a triptych is. Here is mine (click to embiggen):

I should probably explain. Obviously the theme is gender identity and differentiation, mixed with the twisted hearts. Obviously it's pretty blatant how I did it... I mixed up some paint (I had to mix as grey and pink weren't in the set) and slapdashed three sheets of paper. I stencilled a slightly "explosiony" (which is a word now), slightly twisted heart shape onto each bit of paper, using red paint. Then I used a printer and some glue... and bought some card to stick it on. (I also signed it, but you can't see that in the pic.)

On the left is the "male" sheet of paper with the masculine symbol at the top and a large M (which is a sticker). It's painted pink and has traditionally girly things on it (I asked a girl for ideas): a pink mobile 'phone, a dress, lollipops, some gossiping girls, Hello Kitty and the Glee logo.
On the right is the "female" paper. It's blue and has a football, a rugby ball, a car, Batman, a skateboard and a gamepad, and the sign of Venus at the top.
And the third paper is the "X" paper. It's grey and has a question mark on it.

So what does it mean?

Well, it's meant to be some sort of comment about gender stereotypes, without being too much of a bitch about it. Obviously the idea is that anyone can like whatever they want regardless of their gender - hence, the "inverted" colours of the bits of paper, and the deliberately stereotyped images of things on their respective gender sides).

The "X" paper, however, is meant to symbol everyone, rather than "other" (that's why it overlaps both). There aren't any images, just a question mark. The intention here is that you have to make your own decisions about what you like and what you want - let your heart (twisted or not) decide, perhaps? It's essentially a blank canvas to fill with what you want, with your heart as the focal point. If you won't kill me for saying this, the different shades of grey are intentional - to indicate that everyone is a different shade of grey.

Anyway. It's really wanky, I know. I don't mean to advocate anything. But it's my competition entry, and I had a lot of fun making it. And I put a lot of effort in as well!

YYoouunngg RRaavveerr

2012-01-25T15:29:00.003Z

"I feel I need to cut down," said Robinson. "Because I never have any wet dreams."
"I've only ever had one," I said.

It hadn't taken us long to start talking about masturbation. We were in the pub and the only girl who had been with us had left to go home at some point. The young raver quickly turned the subject to wanking and freely admitted that he did it religiously twice daily, setting his alarm half an hour early so he could rub one off before his day starts, and again at the end of the day, going to bed half an hour before he usually would. He even said he'd done it at camp, which adds another to my mental tally of how many of us have relieved the strain under the influence of tents and calor gas. In fact, we're now going to refer to regular masturbation as "doing a young raver."

But this post isn't about that.

"I can remember my first sex dream," said the young raver, leaning over the table as if everyone else could hear. But since everyone else in the pub consisted of one barman, I doubt they were that interested. "It was about a girl in my primary class."
"In your primary class?" I interjected. "How old were you? I mean, I know Jenna Jameson started masturbating at the age of five, but still, you...?"
"I was in, like, yeah six," he said, "so I would have been about... ten or eleven?"
"Who's Jenna Jameson?" said Mane.

I remember my first sex dream, too. I was in year seven, and we'd done reproduction at school, so I knew kind of what sex looked like. I had, of course, found out about sex when I was two, but I'd never really tried to visualise it for the next ten years. I'd kind of imagined a man sticking his cock up a woman's bum, and that's really not an idea I wanted in my head at such a tender age. Science Now! made it sound absolutely disgusting, but at least with the jolly diagrams I kind of knew how it worked. I had realised the fact that the lady in question would open her legs, anyway - which was, again, something I hadn't considered. But I had the picture in my head.

In my dream I was a huge, hunky man with rippling muscles. I was faceless, as was the girl I ended up having sex with. It was, strangely, in greyscale. Maybe I couldn't afford colour at that point. Anyway, there was a girl, who was totally non-specific. She was a girl.
"You want me, don't you?" I said, in a low growl.
"Yes," she said. Or something to that effect.
"I'm all yours!" I said, and then I led her into a kind of house, and lay on top of her on a bed. She made the noises that I was to assume someone would make. I hadn't considered the fact that one should move at all, despite Science Now! saying something like:

During sex the man and the woman move their bodies against each other which makes them both feel good.

But then again, that could be interpreted so many different ways.

So I was lying on her. She had an orgasm. That was it.

It's not a very impressive sex dream, I'll grant you. But then again, I was about 11 - maybe 12 years old maximum. And I made up for it with the next seven years of soft porn and continuously more elaborate sexual fantasies. But I suppose that's where it all started, with that greyscale house and the rippling muscles.

Glod knows what the young raver did about it, though. Although I have a vague idea. Maybe he did it twice.

TMI Tuesday: I don't even...

2012-01-24T16:43:00.002Z

OK, seriously, who came up with these questions? I feel all dirty now. I may have to wash my eyes or something.

1. Would you rather wear the same pair of unwashed socks for 2 years or wear the same pair of unwashed underwear for 1 year? Explain.

Socks. Because I can easily go without underwear, but socks are a necessity, due to the fact that my feet get cold really easily. I may have to take them off at some point, in order to wash my feet, but I don't think the question stipulates not wearing them at all.
Couldn't I just go naked for two weeks? I can think of some people that would be OK with that.

2. Would you rather eat a baby or be eaten by a giant baby? Explain.

Well, I wouldn't eat a baby, because I'm a vegetarian.
I actually find the concept of being eaten alive quite tasteless. I can't really watch Little Shop of Horrors without shuddering and I've never liked the muppet Big Mean Carl. I'll never read Not Now, Bernard to a child and have had to leave the room while it's being read. I think it's the worst way to go, with the immense amount of pain and terror when you're in the monster's mouth, especially if you're screaming for help or forgiveness. The scene with the T. Rex in Jurassic Park made me cry, but then again, I was about 10 when I saw it. They should have thought about that before showing it to a room full of schoolchildren.
So... tough choice. I wouldn't go against my principles for anything, but I have an innate fear of being eaten alive. I guess I'll have to skip this question. It's a bit of a lame question, anyway; eating a baby is probably something you'd choose to do, whereas getting eaten by a giant baby is probably something you don't have any choice about.

3. Would you rather steal money from your grandfather in the past or steal money from a grandchild in the future? Why?

As has been said by many people, this question doesn't really specify whose grandchild it is. So I'm going to imagine that the grandchild in the future has grown up to be a powerful media mogul, who hires personal friends to be corrupt aides, hacks the 'phones of dead people, and runs a website which steals other people's work and watermarks it. After all, those people have to have grandfathers at one point. I'd totally steal from them.

4. Would you rather be trapped in a cave full of vampire bats or put a large jar full of bees (opened) in your pants?

Bees. Because it doesn't actually say that you have to be wearing your pants at the time and therefore there's no real question here. Also, I don't like being trapped.
Both bats and bees are naturally defensive, rather than offensive, so I don't think I'd be in any immediate danger.

5. Would you rather be a person with a head that is noticeably big for your body or have a head that is disproportionately small compared to the rest of your body?

Head. Because I don't like my body shape anyway, and having a small head would make me look even fatter than I already am. Having a huge head wouldn't be fun, though, 'cause then I wouldn't be able to lick anyone out. Unless she happened to be straddling my mouth, and that would be tricky with a big ol' head as well.

Bonus: Would you rather have sex, with your significant other, in a sex club with all eyes and a spotlight on you... or would you rather get gang-banged & groped in darkness by a bunch of strangers?

I've never been to a sex club so I've no idea exactly what that would be like. But, as I've said before, I'm a bit insecure about my body image so I'd probably go for the darkness. Having said that, I don't exactly want to be gang-banged either, not since I read Goblin Market anyway. I'd probably have to go for the first option and suffer the ridicule instead, rather than the years of very expensive therapy I'd have to have otherwise.

Differences of Opinion

2012-01-22T17:05:00.002Z

"Did you hear about your sister?" my mother asked me.

Oh, good. A riddle. What was I supposed to have heard about my sister? That she had been promoted at work? Yeah, of course I knew that, she hasn't shut up about it. Or that she's been watching Aquila online? Of course I knew. She had to call me to ask me what the programme was called. I needed more information before I was to respond.

"What about her?" I settled on.
"She's not going to America."

Well, that's no surprise. Lots of people aren't going to America. I mean, I'm not going to America. Unless you are, you're probably not going to America either.

"Was she going to go to America?" I asked, completely nonplussed. The vague thought that she may have been going to visit my hairy friend and his new wife popped into my head. But no, that was ridiculous. Surely I'd be going too if that happened (and, you know, if America had an NHS? Because I'd have to take out health insurance otherwise.)? So why was she going to America? Or, as the case may be, not?
"She was going to go and visit whatshisname?"
"Oh, yeah..." I fished around in my head for the long line of men that have been into my sister over the years. "...Tom?"
"Yes, that's it. Only..."
"Did they break up?"
"She didn't want to talk about it."

I smiled ruefully to myself. She'd talk to me about it. I made a mental note to ask her about it at some point. After all, it's a regular occurrence that she breaks up with boyfriends, so I wasn't surprised. I didn't even know Tom at all. I'd seen him once, over Skype.

"She said it wasn't practical," my mother said as I made to walk out of the room.
Here I paused.
"That's a difference between her and I," I said carefully, balancing on my tiptoes to retain my posture.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, with her: long-distance relationship, it's not practical, end it. But with me, it's any relationship, anywhere, any time, no matter how difficult... love will find a way. Love always does." I placed a hand on my heart, to indicate what love was.
"She's a much more practical person than you are," replied my mother.
"I know," I said, shifting to balance on one foot.
"And you're much more romantic than she is."
"Oh, I know that too," I said.

As I walked off to do something mundane, I slowly came to the realisation that I hadn't initially known that my sister was going to America.

I should pay more attention.

Jorvik

2012-01-21T20:06:00.003Z

I was getting used to a routine. It wasn't something that was constructed according to any specifics. It just fell into place. We were in York - it was a city I sort of knew. I have been there before. But I felt alien, in this kind city. I felt accepted in the contemporary hotel, where there were comfortable beds, en-suite bathrooms and hotel breakfasts. There were even complementary muffins for those who were in the right place at the right time. But in York, in this cold, friendly city, I felt slightly detached. I visited museums, I went into shops. I was a tourist. I felt... quintessentially Southern.

We had a routine. It just fell that way. My alarm would go off. We would ignore it. At some point, one of us would drag the other out of bed. There may be showers, which were the ostensible reason for going to York in the first place. Then eventually we would venture out. The weather was invariable. It was cold and unforgiving in the icy wastes of the north. We were tourists. We flashed our magical cards and were granted access to places. I saw art, I touched Roman remains I wasn't meant to touch, I failed to be scared of animatronic Vikings. I almost asked for a commentary in Japanese.

We would go back to the hotel. At some points there was lunch. Sandwiches for me and cream crackers for her. On some occasions, just biscuits for both. And then we would fall back onto the bed. We would cuddle. We would have sex. And then she would sleep. I would lie awake, reading my book or playing with my BlackBerry. I ran through scenarios in my head, usually moments from Zelda or even wondering what would happen in Glee.

I wouldn't sleep well. I can't sleep in the light, and she can't sleep in the dark. We had the lights on, for her sake. My eyes would be closed and I would hold her close. Sometimes she would hold me. Sometimes I would fidget, go back to reading my book. I always got to sleep, but it was a long, slow process.

I was still awake at 2am on the last night. Her body was warm. She was awake, too, but I didn't know that yet. I was drowsy and finally slipping away into sleep when I felt her shift and knew she was awake. She turned over. I was on my back; she crept a hand along and wrapped it around my penis. I sleepily felt myself getting more and more aroused. Not knowing what she had planned, I stayed where I was. Solid as a rock. She climbed over me, her skin letting off an electrical spark as it brushed against mine. I let out a long, slow, quiet breath. I let her know I was awake by some short, soft movements. In my semi-conscious state, I could see her shape above me. I felt her lower herself down. She was wet.

I felt myself penetrate her as she slid down onto me, sitting on my crotch. I was deep inside her and felt her inside walls contract around my shape. I looked up at her, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Her long, dark hair cascaded down towards me. I blinked. She was hardly moving, but I knew she was close. As I felt her insides pulse more and more, she started to shake. I sleepily placed my hands on her thighs to steady her as she came. Her orgasm was intense and as she slid back off me, I felt myself slipping back into my semi-trance. She came again, lying next to me, and then clung to my body as we both finally entered the land of dreams.

Makes me laugh, anyway...

2012-01-14T15:45:00.002Z

There's always a lighter side if you look for one. Take sex toys, for example. Their batteries make me laugh. Seriously. Here, I'll demonstrate.

Made you look.

Since everyone else is doing it...

2012-01-13T11:25:00.003Z

BEHOLD! IT IS MY SEX TOY COLLECTION!

Hairy Snout, Human Heart

2012-01-12T12:59:00.002Z

2 day's Thursday.
2 day's Thursday.
Thursday's wedding day.
Is everybody 'appy?

My hairy friend gets married today. He may, in fact, already be married. I'm not sure of the time difference. He's doing it in New York, which is pretty romantic, I guess.

It's not something I could see him doing, actually. Initially, after all. I have known him for a very, very long time. He went though this vague patch in his teens where he fancied basically every girl in our social clique in turn - including my sister, at several points - and appeared quite uncertain. But by the time he hit 18, he turned into a confident, self-assured young man, with radical socio-political views, an easy temperament and a wicked sense of humour to match. He had the confidence to go to his school with four and a half GCSEs and ask to do A-Levels, and even more confidence to sit and listen to them explain that they would only let him do GNVQs, and then say, "right, screw you," walk out and enrol in a sixth form college. He retook GCSE Maths and did three A2s, and then failed to get into university, whereupon he rang up his first choice and talked his way in by verbally demonstrating his knowledge of modern European history.

And that's where he met his girlfriend.

I didn't think he had it in him, to be so romantic. But I guess having a beard doesn't exactly sap that potential. I didn't actually meet her until after nearly everyone else in our group had, but eventually I did, and like everyone else in said group, I liked her. We all approve of her, same as we all approve of Robinson's lovely girlfriend, Mane's pretty girlfriend, my hairy friend's older sister's boyfriend (who is a maths teacher, but seems intelligent anyway), and nobody at all approved of any of Lightsinthesky's successive conquests. But I digress.

This has been a long time coming. I can't even remember when they got engaged. I remember writing several successive letters to Homeland Security confirming that they were in a relationship. She is an American, which makes this difficult, as her government has always seemed picky about who they let in or not - but he got in, and they are living togther now in Pennsylvania. Today they are getting married.

Robinson has yet to make the Batman joke - his fiancée does have the unfortunate tendency to have an incredibly wide smile, and a round face, so does end up looking uncannily like Jack Nicholson's Joker at points - but I'm sure he will. And I think they plan to get married, again, in a second ceremony in the UK, so they can have a much larger gathering (as opposed to the eight people in attendance today). I'm sure we'll procure a Batman costume from somewhere for that.

But enough of this slightly cruel frivolity. Perhaps the most unlikely candidate for a married life in our little group has been the first to tie the knot. He's happy, secure, and living his intelligent life as he was, writing in his own blog about thoughts on marital norms and the trading of surnames (something they aren't doing, after all). He is content.

And it certainly does warm the heart... even if we do all miss him these days.

TMI Tuesday: Isn't it awfully nice to have a penis?

2012-01-09T17:22:00.003Z

"Go on, ILB, do the TMI Tuesday about the penis that everyone's doing." Yeah, okay then.

1. What’s more important – length or width? Why?

Neither. Although I know some people that place a lot of value on one, the other, or both. But as long as it works, I think it's a perfectly acceptable penis, as long as the person it's attached to isn't a massive cock as well!

2. Ever encountered one that was too big for you to handle?

I don't indiscriminately handle other people's penes, but a friend of mine has a massive penis. It's, according to eyewitnesses, twice the length and width of your average dick, and also has two holes (one is defunct), so it's probably genetically two penes that have grown as one. I'm surprised he's actually managed to go through however many girls without splitting any of them in half, as apparently it gets bigger when aroused! It must reach up to his chin or something!
Anyway, yeah, so I've never seen it. I have shared a bed with him a few times, and at one point I allegedly rolled over in my sleep and grabbed his foot. "It could have been worse," said another friend. "It almost reaches his foot, so it's a good thing that his foot is what he grabbed." I haven't stopped washing my hands since.

3. Best place to put a penis?

For what purpose? Usually I put mine inside my underpants (although it does have a tendency to slip out at points, usually of its own volition...). For urination, well, over a toilet bowl is usually acceptable. And during sexual contact... wherever she wants you to put it! She knows where, after all, and it's her call!

4. If you had a penis for a day, what would you do with it?

I already have a penis. I do a lot of things with it, but they mostly involve going to the toilet. However, I do masturbate, which involves curling my hand around my shaft and pulling my foreskin up and down until I ejaculate, and if I'm lucky, I also have sex with it, which involves putting it into parts of a girl. Why, what else am I meant to do with it?
When I was younger, I used to be fascinated with how strong my penis could be, so I used to get horny and then try and hang towels off it and stuff. It was usually successful. I still can hang towels from it, but it's more painful now. And why would you want to do that anyway? I don't want to break it!

Penis Envy Fact: The largest penis in the Animal Kingdom is 11 feet long (Blue Whale).

No it isn't, it's that of my friend I mentioned above.

5. You’re a penis; which love canal (that’s a vagina) would you most like to visit?
a. short and shallow
b. fall into the gap, gliding smoothly along the slick walls
c. tight suction lip-lock
d. none, I prefer the back door thank you

Okay, well, officially c) is my answer, but as with all questions, it depends on who I'm putting it into to begin with, and what she can do with her vagina once the penis is inside it! I mean, all vaginas are different, but if the inside walls can mould perfectly around the shape of a hard penis inside it, and make both pulse together, then what does it matter? See if the muscles contract around its base and then tell me it matters. Honey, it really doesn't.
Also, does this question call me a cock! How rude!

Bonus: What is the perfect name for your penis or a penis you use often?

My penis was originally named Madison. Then it was called Squishy. Personally, I'm not entirely happy with calling my penis anything in particular. But then again, it wasn't me that named it, so I didn't really have much of a choice.

Rawr!

2012-01-08T15:31:00.003Z

The book next to my bed is something I didn't ever expect to be reading. It's an erotic novel. The Pet Shop, by K.D. Grace, has as its premise an overworked, overpaid but undersexed girl, the plot revolving around having discovered (or bought for her anyway) a "Pet Shop", who provide people who act like pets for the sexual pleasure of their temporary "keepers".

Catharine, who won the book (that's why I have it; I didn't buy it, and besides, it was provided by Sh!, so I wouldn't have been let in anyway), handed it to me (wrapped in pink Sh! paper) with the idea that it was about people who enjoyed dressing up as animals, and although certainly the cover seems to suggest that (depicting, as it does, a furry girl, albeit a rather classy one), halfway through the book I'm still not seeing anyone dressed up. The Pets are almost always naked, anyway. And there's a lot of sex.

As I did expect, it's not a book that turns me on massively. I'm not a big reader of erotica, preferring as I do depictions of sex where there's no actual sex happening, but I think one of the reasons for that is that it leaves more to the imagination, an obvious other being the presence of a plot. The book has both. Sex is depicted word-for-word, often as it is in a lot of sex blogs, so it's not a method of depiction I'm unfamiliar with. Your imagination comes into play if you're trying to visualise the sex via the words (again, something sex blogs help me do), and there is a plot, even if some of the characters do start out naked.

I'd have to say that the plot is quite limp. There's something of a mystery about bits of it, but (as with a lot of erotica) most of it seems like an excuse to insert a sex scene, especially since there seems to be at least one on every page at points! Some words (like "pussy") are overused (what, so there aren't any other synonyms for "vagina"?) and sometimes the sex gets tiresome.

But I have to say I'm actually enjoying it. I wouldn't usually choose to read this sort of thing, but it's a page-turner. It makes me laugh (sometimes when it means to, maybe at other points wherein it doesn't, but I laugh anyway), and I'm genuinely curious to see where the plot goes, even if it does seem a bit weak. And as for the sex... well, after last night's crash and recovery via the shower, I'll have to admit I did feel a little stirred by the writing. So maybe, just maybe, I'm enjoying The Pet Shop a little more than I'd be willing to let on.

No grey in my day

2012-01-07T19:59:00.002Z

I'm not feeling very sexy. I'm not really a very sexy person (sexual, yes; sexy? not really), but despite a multitude of opportunities to be my usual open self about sex - down to having coffee with Dave yesterday and ending up in a conversation about tentacle porn, followed by Lydia's informal social (which replaced the CCK one this month and brought up some discussions on the subject) - I've just not been really very horny recently. I can talk to horny people, sure. I can even talk about any sexual topic under the sun. I just don't want it right now.

I'm not sure I'm even in the mood for cuddles. I mean, I'd love a cuddle, who wouldn't? But if you cuddle me right now, you'd get scratched from my beard, which has grown too long, and I'd probably also fall asleep. That's one of the reasons I'm not up for sex right now - I fear I may be a bad performer, due to the state I'm in right now.
There's no reason behind this, particularly. I guess it's the day. I'm not really upset or depressed about anything. But I have had an especially dull day today. I didn't wake up until about 1 (wake up, not get up - I was still asleep) and then found that I had very little to do anyway.

And I did very little. I got yelled at by my mother for not being awake any earlier. I played some Donkey Kong Country while narrating it to myself as if it were a Let's Play. I had some soup and went to see my grandfather, who's lying in bed following the latest in a long line of eye operations. It's all very dull. And it's been an oppressive, dull day. A grey sky, heavy feeling in the air. Cold but not brisk. Dull, dull, dull. And I've got that feeling.

I don't know how to get my sexy back. But I'm assuming that shaving meticulously, and washing all this feeling off, may just do the trick. So please excuse me - I'm going to the bathroom, and I intend to shower my sexy feeling right back on.

Antici... pation

2012-01-04T21:02:00.003Z

This week: Informal meeting to replace monthly CCK Social (thanks, @almadsfeika!)
Next week: Spiritual Space, usual time, usual place
Week after: York with cutieloveheartgirl
Week after: This space has been left blank for display purposes
Week after: Erotic Meet

I don't know why I'm suddenly so impatient. I'm slowly gathering things to fill up my social timetable and genuinely aren't bothered about things like getting employment until all these things have passed. But I guess that part of my brain secretly thinks that employment may stop me from doing these things, so that's probably why. In any case, there aren't any jobs, so I don't know why I'm worrying. Go, me and laziness! (Except I haven't actually been lazy. I even did an impromptu jig in the middle of Oxford Street today. I had just stubbed my toe, but still.)

But I'm getting impatient. I want to sit in a café and eat food in a bohemian setting. I want to discuss the finer points of Christian doctrine and death metal. I want to go to the thing that people keep telling me I should go to, if only to surprise other bloggers with my unassuming blue eyes, nervous attitude and hideous facial hair. And I really, really want to go to York. I want to see clhg again, of course, but being middle-class and southern I should feel in place in York. And there are ghosts... and Vikings. Yay for York!

I'm just really impatient. I want these things to happen. Now. I don't really like making complicated plans, and even less so if they're months away and so many things could go wrong between now and then. I even want to go to Eroticon in March - screw 'want to', I'm going; as a sex blogger it's my duty and all - but I really don't want to plan anything yet. I'm just so afraid to commit to anything that far in advance! I'm happier being spontaneous; it feels like much more of an adventure!

However, I can take comfort, even while I'm being fidgety waiting for great things to happen, in the knowledge that I'll be enjoying myself while they are happening. That's a good thing to look forward to, at least - even if it sucks to wait.

Attack!

2012-01-03T16:19:00.003Z

I was walking down the long road that leads from my house to the nearest railway station. I've lived in this house since I was two, so I must have taken it countless times. Thousands. It leads into town as well. I know the road, with its phallic bush and Weeping Angel kept in stasis by the light that shines on it. Robinson, Mane and his brother, and formerly my friend-who-is-a-teacher, have all lived on this road. I know it well. Usually, I walk down this road with no event happening. It's just a road. Sometimes I hit the school run; sometimes I bump into somebody I know. There's a live music venue at one end of the road where I've done a gig. The entrance to town is about a mile away. But most days, I just walk down the road without such an exciting purpose.

It passes without incident most days. I've filmed myself walking down the road and set it to Mika's Lollipop. It is an unassuming, if long, road. The other day, I found myself walking down it again. I was on my way to a friend's house. There was pizza on offer. And Sherlock. I was minding my own business and tracing the steps I always take.

And then somebody threw a condom at me.

I've no idea who. A black car with tinted windows drove past at breakneck speed. I barely caught a glimpse of its occupants. The window rolled down as it passed me, and a used condom was thrown out of the window, directly at me. It missed by a few feet and landed with a soft plip! on the damp road.

I paused.

Okay, so it wasn't in its packet, fine. Was it used? It looked wet. But to be fair, it was also raining. And most of them are packed with lube. It could have been caught in the drizzle. Or it could have been used. To be fair, it probably was used. I wouldn't open a condom packet usually, if not to use the rubber inside to slip around my penis, or inflate as a novelty at a nu-metal concert. And it wasn't inflated.

Why would someone throw a condom at me? On this road I know so well? What were they expecting me to do, pick it up? I don't indiscriminately carry other people's semen. Or was it a comment on the bourgeois tendency to ignore safe sex advice and not tie the end, as you're meant to do after usage? Or maybe it was a test - to see if my angelic aura was still active in the light drizzle by throwing a used condom and seeing if it was deflected? But it couldn't have been genuine spite, could it? I mean, I don't have any antagonists. I'm too nice for that!

As I heard a slice of pizza calling me, I started to continue on my journey, taking one last glance at the limp piece of latex lying there in the road.

"You're a used wank-bag as well, mate!" I yelled at the car in the distance as it sped away. Only I didn't actually shout that. I'm far too mature.

Soft Porn Sunday: Crystal Dillan Atkins & Julian McMahon

2012-01-01T23:01:00.008Z

This one made me shake. Physically shake. Not for any particular reason other than the fact that I never, ever, ever thought I'd find any scenes from this film, and particularly not the specific one I was looking for. It's not exactly a film that's vanished into the ether, either. A pretty comprehensive listing is available on IMDb, and although general reviewer consensus thinks it's pretty poor as a piece of cinema, it does have its lovers. I wouldn't count myself in the latter, but I will admit that some of the issues it raises and tries to tackle are brave, and although the resolution isn't great, it tries. It's not gone so far as to attain cult status, but that's probably because it's an erotic drama.

At least, that's what it's billed as. It's not particularly erotic. It's got sex in it - really rather dirty sex. I've seen it twice on UK TV, and despite the fact that I never thought I'd see these scenes again, I found them online, after what is - I am not ashamed to say - literally years of searching.

Appearance: Magenta (1997)
Characters: Magenta & Michael

This is a complicated film with a very simple love triangle in it - or, to put it more accurately, a square. Michael Walsh (McMahon) is a married doctor whose wife Helen (Alison Storry) is cheating on him. In fact, the love scenes with Helen in are worth watching - the classic "cheating wife on the 'phone" scenario is done well enough here - as one of the themes is marital discord and the break-up of relationships. But the main focus of the film is its eponymous character, Magenta (Atkins).

Magenta is Helen's little sister. She's a teenage girl and, although she appears to be over the age of consent (in fact, by law she has to be, as she has sex in the film), she is presented as quite innocent to begin with, carrying a teddy bear with her and stuff. As it becomes more and more apparent that her sexual appetite is awakening, Michael becomes more and more attracted to her, and they begin a sexual relationship. This, of course, completes the square - Helen and some other guy, Michael and Magenta - but it also brings up the issue of desire. I think it's probably meant to be forbidden desire - as she's young. But not actually forbidden, since she's old enough. Just not very old.

Oh, and she's his wife's sister. I don't know. It's all very confusing.

Anyway, this scene is something like a reversal of the scene I linked to before, where Helen is having sex on the sofa while on the phone to Michael. In this scene, Helen is talking to the man with whom she is having an affair. She's trying to end it, as he's teasing her about Michael's new secretary. However, we intercut at various points to Michael , who has succumbed to his urges, having sex with Magenta in the kitchen. So there's a sort of double lack of knowledge here. Or something.

Wow, this is deep.

Okay. This scene isn't so much of a turn-on as it is a particularly interesting bit of cinema. Unlike a lot of the soft porn I've reviewed, there isn't any music, soft focus, clever camera angles or ridiculous plot-line. The dialogue isn't cheesy or funny and there wasn't much of a lead-in. Magenta instigates the sex herself (Michael is trying to resist, but she forces herself onto him - something that hasn't been captured in the link, but I remember it) and, although Helen is clueless, she's not an innocent victim herself, so it's quite a clever play-off.

As for the sex, both Magenta and Michael are clothed. There's not a lot of nudity in this film, really. As I said, there's no music. Both participants are indulging in almost bestial noises, and there's no fluidity to the movements - it's random, and rough, but incredibly realistic. In fact, the thing it's most comparable to is this scene, which has a similar situation - it's realistic, hard, and quick. In a scene of just over a minute, the actors have conveyed the fact that they're really enjoying the sex, as well, which (I'd imagine) is hard to do, especially in a gritty, serious American drama.

All in all, this would be arousing, were it not set up against such a backdrop. But this is me talking at the age of 26. All I remember from my teenage years is being turned on by this individual scene, because it's a pretty young girl shagging someone she shouldn't. But I also remember being gripped as to how it may all turn out in the end. It doesn't exactly end well...

...unlike this scene, which perhaps captures more than it should.

Year End Review

2011-12-31T13:29:00.004Z

Years have their ups and downs. I think everyone's in agreement that 2010 was a pretty terrible year. 2011 hasn't been much better, frankly, and my hopes aren't high for 2012 (unless someone ousts the Coalition government somehow). But on an individual level, 2011 has had its high points for me, although the first half of the year was pretty bad. Let's go through it.

New Year's Day was one of the worst days of my life, as I was dumped by my girlfriend of two-and-a-half-years without any form of recognisable reason. I still don't understand. I never will unless I get a comprehensive explanation. At least with Rebecca, she was a cheat. With TD, I was left confused as well as upset, and the gloomy train journey back from Oxford was one of the worst few hours of my entire life. I'd lost my girlfriend, and my job, which was dependent on me working with her mother. It's really the worst way to start off a year, and there was no indication that it was coming as well, which is why it was such a shock.

I was on a downward spiral throughout the first couple of months. There were a few high points, including the evening spent reviewing The Lovers' Guide 3D and dating myself on Valentine's, but I hadn't fully recovered by my birthday, despite getting a new haircut. I was still quite emotional at this point, but over the course of April, I gradually managed to get my sense of humour back, accompanied (maybe even helped somewhat) that I had a couple of weeks in April where I was trying to detox on flavoured water, and I think I got my sexy back around that time.

And then we have May.

May has always been a rollercoaster of a month to me. I don't know what it is about that month, the pre-summer buoyancy or the slightly intangible sense of expectancy that something will happen. I've always been of the opinion that if something will happen, it will in May - since I started school. It's the start of the summer term and the holidays come afterwards. And this year, many things happened.
I started May on a terrible low. I made an ATM smile, met another blogger, and broke my DVD player with hardcore porn. I reviewed said porn, was buoyed by the Beatitudes, talked to my cat in order to masturbate with my bedroom door open, and spent a couple of weeks feeling really uncharacteristically dirty, with filthy dreams and unholy urges. At the end of the month, I went to Woodcraft camp, for the first time in years. I loved it with my whole heart, and I started June on a high.

I had a good summer. June, during which I completed a NaBloPoMo mostly by accident, had jumping semen, the urge for a jacuzzi, the incredible SlutWalk (during which I resuscitated a bee), chastisted my sister for dating a married man, started eating Snickers for breakfast, realised my trousers have holes in, and for the first time ever, put a picture of my whole body on my blog. I ended the month, again on a bit of a low, but by that point I had started flirting with a virgin not named Catharine, and through the following July, this developed into a relationship. We went on a date, and then another. By the time my summer holidays started, I had a new girlfriend. I was also in a new band. Things were looking up.

I had a great summer. Don't begrudge me for it. I had a fantastic road trip to the West Country with 47 and two girls. My family holiday was average; some bits of it made me cry, but it was pretty good in parts - people laughed hilariously at me and my dad doing our comedy bits during the turns night, and a replica Princess Catherine ring did the rounds during the naff presents game. I went on my first holiday with Catharine, and although we did have sex on our third date, it wasn't fully penetrative and she remained a virgin. But I got bitten, so I guess that's... okay...? I also met a lot of blogging and tweeting people over the summer, and started September slightly refreshed.

September was pretty dull. I went to my girlfriend's house for the first time, but the rest of the month was quite droll. I did a bit of volunteer work. Not much happened. In October, however, I re-entered full-time education, taking a course which lasted a little less than a month, but for which I put in an insane amount of hard work. I consider it just below my English degree, but about three trillion miles above my other degree, in terms of enjoyment and usefulness. And, Glod help me, but I actually quite enjoyed it. The certificate, incidentally, was actually awarded by one of the Oxbridge universities (although I won't say which one) - so I actually got my Oxbridge qualification. It took me years and through a rather twisting route, but I finally achieved the academic peak that everyone assumed I'd reach.

Take THAT, year 6 teacher!

I grew a moustache in Movember, finishing off my course and feeling my sexual charge growing again, making it back onto Rori's Top 100 list (after a conspicuous absence last year) at a whole nine places above where I'd been in 2009. In December, I met up with some people I haven't seen for over a year, and had a lot of fun. I also visited Catharine, who by this point had gained the title of cutieloveheartgirl. The first half of the month, however, was overshadowed by the death of Rebecca, which put a bit of a downer on things. I saw 47 again, for the last time this year, who was coping incredibly well, and admitted that he didn't know how to grieve. I was called special and then moved on towards Christmas, which was okay.

And that's my year.

So has it been a good one? No. But it's been okay. Frankly, anything would have been better than 2010. Socially, it's actually been a pretty good year, considering how terribly it started. I didn't actually think I was particularly strong, but as it turns out, I possibly am. How strange. I've had my share of incredibly bad bits this year, but hasn't everyone?

Ask my mother and she'll tell you that my year was characterised by not having a job. But in the grand scheme of things, I don't care. Since I started school, there hasn't been a period where I haven't been either in education, employed or volunteering in some form or another. I can't claim to be a workaholic because I am, in fact, incredibly lazy. But I'm not complaining about not having a job. It's made me a little more introspective, but to be honest, I've actually quite enjoyed it. I've spent a year out of employment, not deliberately of course, but out of employment in any case, solidifying who I am and where I want to be going. This isn't where I thought I'd be when the year started, but actually, I'm okay with things as they are for the moment. There'll be some movement in 2012, of course, but again, who knows?

I guess the important thing is... I survived. And I hope to survive the next one too. I'd say "happy new year", but really, we all know that's nothing more than a wish. So. Onward to the new year, everyone, and let's try to make it at least bearable for all involved. And to everyone who's said a single word of encouragement or friendship, or shown me any love this year, thank you too.

ILB out.

Sing, the angelic host proclaim!

2011-12-30T21:50:00.003Z

Thud. Thud. Thud. My heartbeat was abundantly apparent in my chest. My world dissolved. One by one, my senses came back to me. Touch was second to last to return - the feeling of my own cum, warm across my chest. My cock, still hard but diminishing, filling my hand, pleasant against my palm. The ruffled sheets of my bed cushioning my back. And then, steadily, my hearing came back to me. I heard the hum of the bread maker from downstairs, and the gentle whisper of the white goods doing their housemaid work.

"Aaaaaaaah," sang the choir.
That's new, I thought.

And then I realised how odd that sounded in my head. Telling myself that the sound of a choir singing a held note in my head immediately following orgasm was unusual. I shouldn't have even needed to say that to myself. Still, it was new. I'm used to the temporary loss of senses following orgasm, and after a particularly large orgasm, slight deafness is certainly one of them. But while a faint buzzing in my ears is commonplace, a heavenly angelic choir singing "aaaaaah" with a gradual crescendo was certainly a new one to me.

I wondered where it was coming from for a few seconds. One of my Dad's CDs? The choir that rehearse down the road had gone for a wander? Classic FM? No, it was certainly in my own head. And it felt wonderful. So there was one thing for it...

...I made them sing Light & Day / Reach For The Sun by the Polyphonic Spree.

It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I mean, the one long note they were holding seemed like the natural lead-in to that particular medley. And while in my post-orgasmic state, I didn't even need to move. I shut down most of my brain and created an orchestra. I already had a choir, after all. They sang their way through the entire song. I heard it all. It wasn't playing anywhere. But I heard it all.

After the final chord was hit, I opened my eyes. The orchestra had gone. The singing had stopped. My choir had gone. But at least they had done their part. They'd kept me company while I recovered from my orgasm... and that means the world to me.

Puppetry

2011-12-28T12:07:00.003Z

I masturbated with my socks on yesterday. No, this is not a fetish. I got five pairs of socks for Christmas. I was grateful for this, as my socks - like my trousers - also often end up with holes in them. And, again like trousers, my logic process goes something like, "well, there may be a hole, but it works as an item of clothing, so let's wear it." I only tend to throw socks away when the hole gets bigger than the hole in which you put your foot, and starts to resemble a dangerous threat to the ozone layer.

I still don't like throwing the damn things away, though. I'd much rather darn them. But I have no idea how to darn. I can't even sew properly; I took textiles technology during secondary school and look with pride upon a little toy I have made and remade throughout the years (with the old one inside every incarnation), but when I try to sew things together they always end up coming apart. I just have no idea how to secure the end of a piece of thread.

In any case, it's not happening. I have some new socks. Aren't they pretty?

Yes, yes they are.

Okay, back to the masturbation.

This is not a fetish. A fetish for socks? I'm not even sure if that's possible. I can understand having a nerdgasm if you're looking for a SOCKS server to transfer information and actually find one, but I don't think that's what your average Joe would refer to. I don't have a fetish for socks, but I managed to achieve orgasm perfectly normally with them on, just as easily as if I had been masturbating without socks on. So why did I do it?

Well, heat of the moment, right? I took my clothes off and forgot to take my socks off. I was abundantly aware that I was still wearing the things, my nerve endings being as they are I wasn't going to not notice, but I didn't bother to take them off. I was more concerned with what was going on in my head and what was happening to my penis. And so I had an orgasm with my socks on. The result? It took marginally less time to get dressed again afterwards.

And, you know, it's winter. And winter is cold. Why shouldn't I be wearing socks?

Christmas

2011-12-25T17:18:00.001Z

I have no idea what to say. So I'll just post this and be done with it.

Flaps

2011-12-24T12:56:00.002Z

The young raver texted me yesterday evening to tell me that my friend-who-is-a-teacher was holding a Christmas dinner that evening, and if I was coming, could I bring crisps? I was rocking Zelda old-skool at the time, but I replied that of course I would, and why hadn't anyone told me earlier? Anyway, I went along and helped said friend-who-is-a-teacher, along with the young raver and another, younger, prettier friend, to set up. We ate the crisps in record time, and eventually Mane and his younger brother showed up and we could get started on the nut roast and masses of potatoes.

We didn't make it through all the potatoes.

"What does age before beauty mean?" asked the friend I have yet to name. "When someone says it, are they calling me ugly, or old?"
"Both," said the friend-who-is-a-teacher.
"I always say ladies first," quipped the young raver, "before I add, 'and men just before'!"

There was a general ripple of something close to, but not actually amounting to, a laugh.

"What's that?" asked Mane's younger brother.
"He's thinking he cleverly puts men before women," someone explained. "It's a bit like a joke, only not that funny."
"Ah!" I piped up. "What I thought was that he was talking about who orgasms during sex! Ladies always orgasm first, because men can't hold it in before they start? Or something like that?"

There was another ripple.

"It's not my usual topic of conversation," chipped in the friend-who-is-a-teacher, "orgasms around the dinner table."
"It's a pleasant subject," I pointed out.
"Haaaaark," said the young raver, as something stuck in his throat and he struggled to breathe.
"You sound just like your mum when she's giving me a blowjob," said Mane's younger brother.

Yes, he actually said that. That's the sort of conversation my friends have.

While the young raver extricated whatever it is he had inhaled, the table wobbled dangerously, both sides threatening to break through the thin wooden slats holding them up.
"Oh, my flaps are weak," said the friend-who-is-a-teacher, poker-faced, causing the unnamed friend to snort into her glass of rosé.
"What?" said all the boys.
"Just taking about my flaps, as I tend to do," she laughed.

I've always known my friends were dirty. But it took one comment from me to set the tone for the evening.

Prelude

2011-12-23T16:55:00.002Z

"I don't think we should go to Nanna's now," I said.
"What?" replied my mother indignantly, still pulling on her boots. We had, after all, bought my grandfather an eye-patch. He's had corrective surgery and one of his eyes isn't working, so we decided to make him a pirate. Although, to be honest, I think it was Cath's idea first.
"It's not the right time," I insisted.
"Why not?"
I wrenched open the front door to reveal a cataclysm of heavy rain and howling wind. A rather miserable cat let out a doleful meow. I picked her up with one hand and deposited her on our floor, and she padded off down the hall.
Both my parents paused.
"I'll make tea," said Dad, walking off towards the kitchen.

For some reason, the sounds of heavy rain slapping against the windows, the artificial warmth inside and the fact that both parents are in the house, and that Dad's making tea, simply makes it feel like Christmas. I do rather loathe the plastic tree and its lack of pine scent throughout the living room - and I also can't get over the fact that this living room is on the ground floor (for most of my childhood it was on the first floor) - but I can't find any way to excuse it feeling like Christmas.

Because it nearly is. Nearly. And it's almost beginning to feel like it, as well.

FAQ V

2011-12-20T13:32:00.016Z

It's that time of year again! This FAQ is a redesign that I've had in my head for about six months (that's how far ahead I plan), in order to compress the previous four FAQs into those six classic questions...

WHO?

I write under the pseudonym "Innocent Loverboy". Sorry to shatter any illusions that that may actually be my real name. Most people call me "ILB"; some even do in real life. I also write under other names, including my real one, but that is a rare occurrence. Most of my writing is here, although I wrote and self-published a book once, and I have submitted pieces elsewhere, except those never got anywhere.
I don't have a job at the moment, but I'm looking. I am highly qualified, with two degrees, a couple of professional qualifications, and... er... term one of intermediate Japanese. I've been to four different HE universities/colleges throughout my life. I have had some (but not many) jobs in the past. For obvious reasons, I'm not going to be explicit about any of them - the one thing I will be open about is that I have worked with children several times.
I am fascinated by love and sex, mostly from an artistic/aesthetic point of view. I don't like to try and deconstruct what I write about as much as I like to enjoy it. I've been interested in love from a very young age and continually developed crushes which never got anywhere. I developed an interest in sex at about 11, having found out about it at the age of 2, although I rarely ever mentioned it at school. I got into softcore porn during this time and still consider myself something of an expert.
At the age of 17 I had my first kiss, with Soldiergirl, a young lady who is now married with two children(!). I later got my first girlfriend, Rebecca, who I was with for almost a year and a half before she left me for another man. She recently died from breathing complications. I was single for years afterwards, during which I had sex with Louise, Alicia, Lily and snowdrop. At 23 I met and fell in love with a seamstress who eventually turned into a drinker. We were together for two and a half years, until she dumped me for reasons I still don't understand. About six months later, I found myself in a relationship with a virgin. We're still in that relationship. She's not a virgin any more.
I have never successfully asked anyone out; all three relationships so far just seemed to happen. The one time I asked someone out, she said no. I never tried again.
I am ruled by my heart as opposed to my head and I like that; I have never tried to change it at all and I never want it to change. I am a good person; I do good things for people, occasionally at the expense of myself. I am shy and awkward, but I am very good at putting on a mask of bravado and have a stage presence. In my spare time, I play music and do stand-up. I love to read. I play video games. I'm half angel. I am a vegetarian, pacifist, socialist and advocate of free speech. I am a member of The Green Party. I have been in The Woodcraft Folk for twenty years (since I was six years old). I don't like bananas.

WHAT?

This is a blog about sex. Of course, given my verbose nature you'll find more than just posts about sex here - I will also write about dating and relationships, love and romance, and the occasional humorous post. Although the overall theme of this blog is about love and sex, if I think something's funny or interesting, I'll put it here. As I was saying recently to someone, ILB gets a much bigger readership than my personal non-sexy blog, and I think my friends who read this will appreciate funny or interesting stuff a bit more than Joe Blogs who hangs around my LiveJournal. But most of the posts here are around the vague theme.
What makes this blog different from other sex blogs (other than the person writing it) is that there aren't any fancy colours, flamboyant headings, random naked pictures, copy-and-pasted monthly lists of blogs or adverts for 459387150 different sex toy companies on the sidebar. The layout is designed to be open and friendly, easy to navigate and non-oppressive. It's very simple and that, I think, makes my blog easier to read. The most extravagant thing about this blog (other than the person writing it) is the right-hand sidebar with those really simple buttons.
I don't take part in a lot of blogging memes, especially the ones that involve nudity, mostly because I think my body is physically hideous, but you will find very rare HNTs, some TMI Tuesdays, and Soft Porn Sunday, where I take a moderately satirical look at a scene from soft porn that I like, and eventually say why I like it. Yes, it's an excuse to watch soft porn. Get over it. I have also both taken part in and completed four NaBloPoMos. Some of those have yielded some of my favourite posts ever.
This blog is totally non-commercial. I have occasionally provided reviews of products and porn, but those have always been totally honest and not always positive. I don't do affiliate links, in-text adverts or anything to monetise what is essentially a hobby (although admittedly a hobby that takes up most of my life). I will review things and attend events for sex writers, but I don't want to make any money out of this. It's too much fun.
This blog has been featured in Rori's Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2009 (at the amazingly high position of #97), and of 2011 (at the astronomical #88). I also have profiles on Twitter, Formspring, Technorati, Google, and Quora, although I'm not sure how that last one happened.

HOW?

This blog is created using Blogger, as opposed to any other blogging software, although I am much more seasoned in using LiveJournal, which was a better service before they started using adverts and it suddenly became terrible. I follow people using Wordpress, Dreamwidth, Tumblr and other things too, and there's no specific reason for me using Blogger as opposed to anything else. I just used it because it was there. There's no particular reason for changing, either, so I won't.
Being pseudonymous myself, I use other names for people who turn up on my blog - most of them are other bloggers who come ready-made with their own nom de plume! The main other names you'll find here are 47, Robinson and H - they are all friends of mine. There are lots of other people, of course, but you'll discover them in due course. Or just scroll back and read my entire blog, you'll find them somewhere.
I divide my blogroll into three sections, although this doesn't actually reflect my opinion on the blogs linked to at all; heroic bloggers update regularly, or have done so within the last month, whereas villainous bloggers are people I love whose blogs are no longer active, but their back catalogue is worth a read. Blogs I like but which aren't specifically about dating, love or sex are marked as unaligned. But if I've ever blogrolled you, past or present, it's a good bet that I love you.
Most of the designs I use (including both versions of my logo and the button which may have led you to this FAQ) are my own creation. I do like to keep things as simple as possible if I can.

WHY?

Ah, now this is a question! The typical answer which I'd give if I were asked by someone I didn't know would be something along the lines of, "I didn't see many sex blogs written by boys, except for pictures of cocks or men acting like cocks, so I started one of my own." This isn't strictly true... mostly because I didn't see any sex blogs written by boys when I started. I wasn't egomaniacal enough to believe I was the only one, but definitely the famous ones, such as the ones featured on the Channel 4 documentary, were written by girls. And anyone asked to name a sex blog will probably still name either Abby Lee's blog or Belle de Jour (both of whom I've met; hey, girls!). And there's some truth in that I'm aware my views on love and sex are atypical when compared to the usual stereotype of boys in their 20s. But I don't think that's the real reason.
Another reason was, "well, I wasn't getting any sex, so I thought I'd tell the world about that." This is an answer I gave to Emily Dubberley's boyfriend at a screening of a Lovers' Guide film, and although I did it purely for the lulz, there's an inkling of truth in that as well. I did write a very explicit, very frank post in my LJ about how I'd become very sexually aware after coming back from university, and how I was having trouble expressing myself, particularly as I wasn't having sex. I got a lot of open and honest responses from it, which gratified me as my writing had encouraged a lot of people to talk freely about their sexuality online. But as it was on a blog which my parents read, I had to hide it in a locked post, and I don't agree with censorship, so I did feel a bit guilty for doing that. However, it got me thinking - if one entry could elicit responses, what about more than one? Two? Hundreds?
I don't think there's one actual reason why I write a sex blog, but if I had to some it up in one word, I'd choose something wanky like: "catharsis". I love to write. And what's more, people consistently tell me I can write. I don't know why, but allegedly I can. I just put my fingers on the keys and go. I rarely even redraft. But I love to write, and I do get people telling me I'm a good writer. It's a situation I like because I get to write more. Through employment, unemployment, education, training, whatever... I continue to write. And I'm writing about sex, which I wanted to do but never could, and what's more, people are reading it. I get over 100 hits a day on this thing, and even though most of them are me, somebody's reading this. Somebody's reading my views on sex. And if they're horny, if they're interested, if they're laughing... well, I did that. And that's a fantastic feeling. That's a wordgasm.

WHERE?

I live in a house in North London with my parents and my cat, Willow. Previous residents have included my sister, who has moved elsewhere in London, and my gran, who is now in a nursing home but comes to visit a lot. My cousin also lived here this year, but he has since moved back to the Mull of Kintyre, Scotland, which looks more and more like a penis every time I look at it. I've never had a brother, and having him living in the attic was the closest I've ever had to that experience.
I have never lived elsewhere for a significant period of time. Until I was 2, we lived in a different house, about 15 minutes from where I am now. I was in the Midlands for my first degree, but decided not to stay there and defaulted back to London. As my best friend lives in Kent and my girlfriend in Leeds, I do a lot of travelling, which I quite like. I also don't need to stay in London and this may well change in the future, but for now, I'm static where I am.
My father is originally from Scotland, but he is a thespian so, like me, speaks with an RP accent (Gran still has her Borders twang). My mother is from Battersea (although she calls it "south Chelsea"). My mother's extended family all live within a quarter-of-a-mile radius from this house. This means that every Christmas is spent with a varying number of people averaging 16 to 18. Also, everyone appears to have a key to everywhere, except me, for some reason.
You can find this blog here. There is an RSS feed at the bottom of the page if you want to sign up to it, and you can also read the posts on Sex-Press or Technorati, but the best place to go it here. I read all the blogs on my roll by opening each one individually in separate tabs. I suggest you do the same.

WHEN?

I was born on the seventeenth of March, 1985. I was a week late, probably because I hadn't finished reading Great Expectations in the womb and wanted to know the ending. I was eventually born by emergency caesarean section, because it looked like I wasn't going to make it. As the first grandchild, I was then the centre of attention for four and a half years. On the sixteenth of August, 1989, my little sister was born, and my whole family promptly forgot about me. It hasn't changed since.
My first ever blog post was made on November 29, 2001. On 21 December, 2007, I wrote my first post in ILB. This is my 734th post, with this year (2011) being the year in which I've made the most posts - almost a hundred more than in 2010.

And because this was a lot of text, you probably haven't read it all, but if you have, many thanks to you. Thanks also to you if you're one of the people I've actually met. If you're Lady P or Blacksilk, thanks again. If you're Catharine, I love you. If you're someone I started talking to this year, then thanks for keeping me company. If you're a casual observer, thanks for reading this small but important bit of text.

Here's a picture of a cat.

Soft Porn Sunday Special: The Unknown

2011-12-18T19:42:00.003Z

There's something I remember and I want to see if it makes me orgasm.

Unfortunately, I don't know what it is.

I'm not even aware which late-night cable channel I saw this on. My gut feeling says UK Living, because that was a series more likely to show this than L!VE TV (who mostly showed their own stuff... and closed down in 1999) or Bravo (who mostly showed Surrender Cinema stuff and '70s sex comedies at times - although it could have been them, but I doubt it). But that's a very fuzzy memory. I'm pretty certain, however, that it existed, because I saw two episodes of it.

What I remember is this: it was an "instructional" series starring Kira Reed (whom I know well, both from Sexcetera and a plethora of softcore flicks throughout my teenage years), with each half-hour episode featuring a different area of sex to explore (one was about undressing, one was about light bondage). It was set ostensibly in London - in fact, I can remember the opening sequence:

"Hi, I'm Kira Reed. [something something something]... but I've never been to London, England before. [something something something]."

Hmmm, maybe I don't remember it as well as I'd thought. Anyway.

Despite the opening sequence I can't actually remember any indication that it was in London at all. It featured interviews with people who were probably sexperts (although I can't remember), and short sections called "Kira's Hot Tips!" which featured Kira in a "69" baseball shirt (wildly original there) with her giving instructions in a sultry voice. What I do remember well, however, is that it featured a softcore scene at the end of each show. This was weird, because it completely and suddenly blurred the line between fact and fiction. As this was unannounced, I was quite taken aback (pleasantly) by this sudden twist. The continuity announcer said something like, "and you can see more from Kira in... [the programme name]... tomorrow at the same time, and she may well find a way to get involved herself once more!" Indicative of a recurring motif? I'd like to find out.

And that's what's bugging me... I can't remember. Not at all. It doesn't show up on her IMDB page, despite the fact that it lists practically everything that was ever made, ever. It's not one of those documentaries and there's no comprehensive list of her official site. And, of course, without knowing its title I can't find any scenes online. In fact, there's no indication that it existed at all.

But it did. I just have no idea what it was called.

Special

2011-12-15T14:35:00.002Z

"If this had been last Friday, would you have come from Leeds?"
"Yes, of course I would. I wouldn't have missed it for anything, you know that." I almost winced at my own cliché.
"Because, you know, you would have been leaving your ladyfriend to come to this."
"I'd have gone back to her at the end of the day..."
"Still, you'd be leaving your girlfriend to come to your ex-girlfriend's funeral. That's sort of like cheating." 47 grinned into his beer. "Or something."
"It's a good thing it's today then, isn't it?" I said, passing some sort of alcoholic beverage (I know nothing of these liquids) to his dad.

The funeral had gone well. I was slightly disappointed by the fact that the coffin was wheeled in, as opposed to being carried on the mourners' shoulders. The choice of music was variable - it's not every day you hear the whiny voice of James Blunt followed by the short-skirted schoolgirl tones of Britney Spears at a funeral. But I appreciated Justin Bieber's Baby. And the service itself went well enough. 47's song was heartfelt, even if I couldn't hear half the words, and the live James song was pretty, if not performed in the original key (you couldn't tell though... well, I could, but then again, I'm me).
The bit that I didn't think particularly well was her mother's closing sentence, "God lent us an angel." It's very sweet and everything, but I've never been too fond of sentences like that. When one dies, one is instantly brilliant at everything (TD said once that, in order to get a paid scholarship somewhere, she'd have to die, because then everyone would start saying she was really intelligent), but saying something like that was a little too syrupy even for a funeral - although I'm sure it looked good on paper.
What I will say for the funeral, however, aside from everything else, was that it did make me feel a little warmth for poor Rebecca, despite all that she put me through. From the large picture of her and myself projected onto a viewscreen to the constant reminder that she affected a lot of people merely through talking to them on her computer, I was reminded that, initially, she made her presence felt. Whatever she may have ended up doing.

I hugged lots of people.

"You're a very special person too," whispered her mother into my ear.
I am? I wondered. But then I reflected somewhat. Why did she say that?

I mean, she is a genuinely nice person and all, but why specifically say that I was special? It's not something you'd say when a trite "it was nice of you to come" would do. But I cast a look around anyway. None of her other boyfriends had come. Mind you, I don't actually know if she had any other boyfriends... well, ones that lasted more than a couple of weeks, anyway. I'd clocked up almost a year and a half. I hadn't even seen her for months, and even when I last did see her, I didn't say more than few words to her, and that was a question as to whether or not she was going to use the toilet. And after all that had happened, I was still reeling. I was still dealing with the effects it had had on me and I don't think, even with her death, that it will ever go away - reach a resolution.

But I went. I went with the best of intentions. I sat in the same place on the sofa that I always used to sit. I stroked the same cat. I got a cup of tea from the same dad. I shared my jokes with the same brother (although he has a different girlfriend now - but that's okay, so do I). I went, and I stayed. I stayed for as long as I could. And I didn't mention cheating. I didn't mention infidelity, excuses or confusion. I didn't agree with the bit in the funeral service where they said she was honest. I stayed, I was quiet and respectful, and I even smiled at one point.

Am I a very special person? I don't know. But I did leave thinking I went because it was the right thing to do. I have to wonder if anyone else wouldn't have done the same.

Sex with Catharine, part 4

2011-12-11T23:05:00.002Z

I'm lying on my back. My shaft is covered in girlcum. I'm sweating, neither hot nor cold, and not sure how I should be feeling, if I should be feeling anything at all. But I am content.

My right hand is wrapped around my penis, tugging my foreskin back and forth. Catharine is lying by my side. She alternates between sucking my tip and kissing me. The kisses are deep, intense and reckless, with no pattern or consideration. She consumes my face. I do the same to her. I have my free hand, which occasionally roams around her body. Sometimes I pulse in her hand or mouth. Sometimes she orgasms. It's messy, lustful and very, very intimate.

She puts her mouth to my right nipple and licks. Or sucks. Or bites. I can't tell. It makes my nerves jangle. I seize up, try to utter a warning. I orgasm, maybe for the second - third - time. I feel it hitting my stomach. Chest. My eyes are closed. I can feel it trickling slowly down my side. I hear Catharine moaning, a sultry one which indicates that she has watched me coming. She loves watching me, she says. I believe her.

She licks up some of the mess. It's difficult, apparently. I clean up as best I can. But mostly I can't move. She can't either. Neither of us want to, to be honest. I curl my arms around her and drift in the post-orgasmic haze. All I can feel is her skin on mine, and the rest of the world gently slips away.

Sex with Catharine, part 3

2011-12-10T23:05:00.000Z

From the instant I sink myself into her, she is teetering on the edge. I am aware, of course, that I should be keeping her there, but that's difficult to do when her inside walls contract around my shape, her hands grab my bum and push, and her shallow breaths increase, her mouth twisting the shape of my name...

Instead I concentrate on pushing her over that edge as many times as I can. I go slow and deep, I go fast and hard, I keep up a steady pace and remain consistent. I use my tongue, my hands, my chest. Everything. I can make her orgasm by just remaining where I am and firmly pushing my shaft forwards. Everything for that one aim: bringing her over the edge, giving her those famous orgasms. One after the other.

If I orgasm myself, or if I run out of energy, I stop. But this is not an end. Just a pause. I'll recuperate, lying there enjoying the feeling of her surrounding me. She loves it, she says. She loves being full of cock. And after a while... I start again.

To be concluded...

Sex with Catharine, part 2

2011-12-09T18:12:00.000Z

Her legs are open before she pushes the duvet aside. She strokes my brutally short hair and gently guides my head downwards, getting her body into a comfortable position. I settle myself between her legs, breathing a little over her vagina's lips, before inching my tongue forwards.

The first lick is golden. I cover her whole, tasting her on my tongue and feeling her quiver. She moans softly as I continue, moving in circles, flicking back and forth across her clit, sliding over and between her lips. Every time I feel her thighs go taut, I go slower, my licks taking her through her orgasm. Then I start again. I keep going until she is soaking wet.

My face is covered with girlcum. I go for the kiss again. She licks the mess off my chin, then kisses me madly. She's almost crazy with expectation. I am hard and ready. I want to give her something.

I give her everything.

To be continued...

Sex with Catharine, part 1

2011-12-08T18:00:00.001Z

It starts with a kiss. We are facing each other in bed, her long hair sprawled out behind her, our noses touching tip to tip. My hand is cupping her bum, the other clutched tightly to my chest. Her palm presses against my back...

We kiss. It's deep, passionate, almost feral. We keep going. Longer. Longer. My hand slides lazily, almost effortlessly, around, fingers brushing against the soft lips of her vagina. We've kissed, so she's wet. I slide my fingers in, feeling her moist walls, sensing her body tighten up as I move my hand. She vibrates; she is wet. A long, hollow breath indicates her first orgasm.

All this has happened and we are still kissing.

To be continued...

Life, transplanted.

2011-12-06T15:08:00.002Z

Last night I went to see Adam Kay (one half of these guys) with @shinystaffnurse, who I haven't seen for about two years despite consistently telling myself I should hang out with her more, and @davedawes, who seems to know stuff about more sex bloggers than I do, which I actually thought was pretty cool. Oh, and H.

The show was great - better than the last one I went to, as Adam actually had more time to get through rather than rushing an hour set. And he also managed to get through two bottles of wine. Interesting. And the awkward hanging around afterwards had varied factors, like H being commissioned to ask for a fag from random people (in Soho - I'm surprised she actually got a normal one), Adam telling me he reads my blog (even though I used to read his blog years ago, and the blogs that came after that, so I still maintain I got there first), getting his card (which is a razor blade) without cutting myself, and trading stories. And giving H my camera but failing to get any pictures. FAIL.

But the most interesting topics came when we (eventually) ended up in a place that I referred to as a "Soho bar" (but @ssn insists it was a "skanky caff"). They included:
- Fanuary (a relative of Movember)
- hardcore porn and reviews of the same
- softcore porn and... well, see above
- hentai, tentacle porn on wood carvings and as a cultural phenomenon, and Love is the Number of Keys for some reason
- how young boys can be before they start trading magazines
- people called Tim (but not me!)
- blogs, bloggers, blogging, blogged
- the mighty mighty Twitter
- eating pizza, leading to high-fives (somehow)
- responsible fatherhood
- how writing relentlessly can get you into private occasions... somehow
- 47 (I led the discussion on this one)

Good to see I still have my priorities in the right place...

Flushed with inclusion at this coolest of gangs, I headed out into the night, promising myself to try and hang out with @ssn more often. As I do every time I think of her.

And then I got my hair cut. Well, not right then. This morning. Now I have a forehead that looks like something out of This Island Earth.

Rebecca

2011-12-03T10:43:00.002Z

During the week, Rebecca, my first girlfriend, died of breathing complications. She had a heart issue which caused her to collapse at home. She was taken to ICU and put on a ventilator, but couldn't breathe without its aid. Brain stem death happened while she was in a coma, and she ended up being in a vegetative state. When the doctor turned the ventilator off, she died.

Rebecca's older brother is my best friend, 47. He was the one who told me the news and kept me updated throughout what was going on. I told my dad in confidence, who told my mother, who told Nanna, who told everyone else in my family. I'm not happy about that, but I guess they can't un-tell anyone. My lesson learned here: don't say anything to anyone. I have, of course, offered 47 a shoulder. He's actually coping with this stoically well. Some other friends, like Mini, have been asking if he is in shock, denial or disbelief. I just think he's dealing with it well. He's good at that.

My feelings, however, are incredibly complicated.

First off, I am sad Rebecca died - of course I am. She was a very important part of my life and I'm also sad for her family - not just 47, but his parents and the "other" sister, who must be devastated. Rebecca was 25 and although the death would have been painless for her, that's small comfort for the family that I once felt part of. And, of course, I feel sorry for the girl I once felt love for.

However, it's difficult to think about Rebecca without it dredging up some of the resent I still feel from our failed relationship. I don't want to rehash this again, but she hurt me - badly. She did cheat on me, repeatedly, with different people. She boasted about crushing on other people, which made me feel inadequate, and her varying excuses for ending our relationship were all shades of idiotic, the most outlandish one being, "I thought I was polyamorous." I am aware that polyamory is being open about being in more than one relationship, but leaving me to work out who she was shagging on the side is not polyamory. It's cheating. And I'm also pretty certain that this all stems from her having read The Ethical Slut.

TD often commented on the fact that I seemed to have trouble trusting girls with whom I am in a relationship. And I did - I assumed that every argument (well, what passed for an "argument", which was usually her shouting at the top of her voice and me calmly trying to resolve) would mean a break-up, every man she worked with was a potential threat, and that every celebrity crush she mentioned (I hate celebrity crushes) pushed me down to second place. And I still do have that problem. Catharine hasn't mentioned any celebrities or other men (in real life, anyway), and has not been argumentative. But I would feel the stings, I would get jealous, I would be afraid. And this all stems from Rebecca, when the signs were there and I knew I'd get hurt.

After we broke up, she started doing things deliberately calculated to hurt me. I'm absolutely certain about this. She started smoking because she knew I hated smoking, and told me about it. She started listening to whiny emo music she knew I didn't like. And, worst of all, she joined the BNP and was radically racist for a while, before even she realised that was dumb... although, now I say that, her name still appears on a leaked document listing all the paid BNP members. But I'm not sure how current that document remains.

This doesn't mean she was unimportant, of course. She was my first girlfriend (if you don't count Soldiergirl, and I wouldn't). I loved her and cherished her, and I forgave every indiscretion. She did, in fact, cheat on me even before we had met, but after we had agreed to make a go of things, but I forgave. Because, when it comes down to it, I am an ILB. I was firmly of the belief that love conquers all. But I guess I was wrong. I hope I wasn't.

I have very mixed feelings. I'm confused and upset. I'm upset that she died. I'm worried for her brother (my "brother"). And I'm sad that it had to happen so suddenly, and to her family, who must be suffering. Death has affected everyone, but everyone I know who's died (bar one person, who I shall mention another time) has had a life. This is different. This is upsetting and devastating. But there's a very small, very selfish part of me which is angry. At who? I don't know. It's angry that she left without giving me answers, without justifying anything to anyone. Did she come to regret what she'd done later? 47 says she did. I'm not sure. She did write a song a year or so ago called Is It Too Late To Say I'm Sorry?, clearly about me (although not explicitly so). I don't think she ever felt regret. Although now it's impossible to know.

And it always will be.

47 called me again yesterday. They were going through her things, and he found a notebook in her bedroom, in which she had taken the time to transcribe all the text messages I sent to her. Many of these would have been sent while she was cheating. She still wrote the down in her book. Did she still hold the love for me I held for her? Again, we'll never know. I'll never know. But it's nice to know, I suppose, that I had an effect on her - that I managed to be as good as I could be. I lit a spark somewhere in her heart, and I hope that it's a light she carries with her, wherever she may go on to be.

Binary opposition

2011-12-02T14:04:00.003Z

The way I've always seen it, you can have two types of wank: a dirty one and a clean one. Yes, I've always seen it that way. I just didn't know I had that view. I realised this the other day.

I know that masturbation is dirty by definition. It's messy. It makes a mess wherever you do it, whichever gender you are and however it happens. But then again, so do a lot of things. Eating fruit does the same and that isn't a sexual thing, unless you're reading Goblin Market or posting this sort of picture. Or eating it off someone else. Okay, bad example. But you get the idea. Things are messy. Having an orgasm is one of those things. Yes, it feels fantastic. But it's messy. It's dirty. But that's not what I mean.

It's difficult to define what I mean by dirty/clean, as it's a very simplistic dichotomy of an umbrella term encompassing various types of an act, almost forming a binary opposite of the type Claude Levi-Strauss would enjoy. And it almost stigmatises what I would classify as a "dirty" orgasm, even though that's not my intention. I find both of them enjoyable. I'm sure you would too. But for lack of a better definition (safe/unsafe? - no, also positive/negative. right/wrong? - even worse. raw/cooked? - also Levi-Strauss!), I'll go with these.

A "clean orgasm" is the type I'm used to. It's an orgasm sitting in my chair watching soft porn. To be honest it really was the only sort of orgasm I had throughout my first time at university. Three whole years. I was busy. I was a student and I was in several bands. I had reading, writing and cooking to do, and of course, I had to watch Doctor Who too. I didn't have space, time or the will to have any other sorts of orgasm. And I got addicted to soft porn. I liked it; I still do. I take the piss a bit in my reviews, but on the whole I liked it. I didn't have sex once while at university (well, I did... but only once), and the orgasms I had for three years were practically all in my chair with soft porn. If it works, why knock it, right? I didn't feel the need for anything else.

In my third year I got interested in cybersex and that's where the "dirty orgasm" comes in. I don't know why my brain made this definition, and I'm not happy with it. But I think the "dirty orgasm" comes from the involvement of other people in a remote sense... it comes from the concept of a real person typing a line of script, or posting a picture on Tumblr, or even having an explicit and/or suggestive Twitter account. The thrill of that type is rare, I'll grant you. I don't have cybersex any more (it's cheating!), and even though there are some really sexually explicit people on Twitter, I don't follow many of them. Some go far too far, and it's difficult to put up with both the grading of language used and the fact that most of them can't spell. The happy medium is hard to find and I prefer the blatant ones - "just had sex" turns me on. No idea why. It just does.

However.

I've been a bit out of order in how I separate orgasms here and I am aware of that. My body is aware of that. There's even a change in how I set my body out for these - dirty orgasms usually end with me on my back on my bed, cum more likely to hit my chest (in some cases my neck). Clean ones end with my hand full of semen. They're easier to clean up after... which is probably why they're clean. But both are pleasant, because both are orgasms after all.

I feel slightly sullied after a dirty orgasm though. I don't know why, but I get the feeling that I shouldn't have been doing it. I've no idea why. I'm masturbating over the concept of someone in real life having sex, not masturbating over that person, as such. But I do feel kind of bad about it. Maybe that's just me. Me being not so innocent after all. I've been having those for a couple of weeks and it's really made me feel pretty shameful. Again, for reasons unknown.

I had a clean orgasm a couple of days ago, though, and that's the last one I had. And that was a nice return to what I know. Again, proving the ultimate truth - I do like soft porn.

Medic!

2011-11-29T21:07:00.002Z

Catharine sent me a text this morning (well, realistically about 12, so not technically morning) which resulted in her having an orgasm or several. Okay, so that's the abridged version; the long version involves lots and lots of BBMs sent backwards and forwards, with her having more and more orgasms and me getting steadily more and more turned on until I was so tightly wound I could have snapped.

"Fuck this," I thought (although my brain translated it as "wrstfuglip"), and masturbated.

And that's where you find me this evening.

Okay, let me explain. My original aim was to read the texts over again, wank, orgasm and then have a break, and then put my clothes back on, rearrange myself and get on with whatever it was I was meant to be doing (I don't know what I was meant to be doing). But for the next six hours I just kept getting interrupted, either by various members of my family, sheer exhaustion, distractions from sexiness and all sorts of other random things like the realisation that I should have something to eat at some point (I made cake with my cousin yesterday, it was rather epic). But I failed to finish and so, however I was feeling at most points throughout the day, somewhere in my body there was a minute, unidentifiable buzzing of an orgasm waiting in potentia, but which had failed to be realised.

I talked to cutieloveheartgirl again this evening and once again the urge to orgasm was too great to ignore. (Besides, I was turned on but denied orgasm, so I just felt dizzy.) I tried again, but this time I had a whole day's sexytime thinkings to support me. I eventually ended up lying on my back with my eyes closed, breathing heavily and audibly (all my family had buggered off to various places by this point) and feeling my cum splash down on my chest, stomach and hand.

I zoned out completely, vaguely aware of bits of my body, but not really anywhere to speak of. I was brought back to consciousness by the feeling on a steady trickle of semen creeping down my side, which tickled me enough to wake me up. Unsteadily I stood up and stumbled about a bit, tapping out apologetic messages to both Blacksilk and the aforementioned clhg, before I was hit by the sudden realisation that I needed to rehydrate. So off I went. I was attacked by the munchies as well; odd, considering that I've had three meals today. I resisted and only had a biscuit with my coffee (really shouldn't have had coffee; it's the worst thing to have when you're dizzy, dehydrated and tired - but I wasn't thinking). And tried to realign myself too.

And so here I am - giddy, tired, hungry, thirsty, neither hot nor cold, tired and woozy... but very satisfied indeed.

Soft Porn Sunday: Kate Vernon & Lou Diamond Phillips

2011-11-27T13:19:00.006Z

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to watch this scene, review it, and then listen to Green Day.

Why Green Day? Well, I was struck by a wave of nostalgia last night and, for some reason, found myself transported back to my days in the sixth form, when my soundtrack was almost entirely Green Day (there was a smooth but pleasing transition to James in the upper sixth, though). I do, in fact, have practically all their albums, and their Pop Disaster tour in 2002 contained the first rock gig I ever went to (I'd been going to classical concerts since I was very young, but nevertheless...). As well as that and, you know, A-Levels, the main other thing I can remember from the sixth form is this film... the peculiarity being that it wasn't shown on Channel 5, or Bravo (which was the custom at the time), but BBC2. Very late at night, I'll grant you, but... BBC2.

Yeah, I know, right?

I overheard a fellow Green Day fan talking about it, although not mentioning it by name - and thus I knew to what he was referring. I didn't pipe up, as I wasn't at all as open about my sexual desires as I am now, but I knew what film he was talking about as I'd been watching it the previous night too. Everyone else in my clique looked bamboozled, but nevertheless...

So here's to a bit of my youth:

Appearance: Dangerous Touch (1994)
Characters: Amanda Grace & Mick Burroughs

This film had an odd review by a female viewer on IMDb, wherein she suggests you watch it in bed with a lover, which I suppose is more glamorous than watching it on my cranky old TV in my bedroom with all the lights off, but that's how I watched it. I was pretty amazed by the cinematography, but now I'm older and wiser I think that the plot has something to do with its appeal as well, and the sex scenes - few as they are - do contain this one little gem, which is what stuck in my memory like a piece of glass. I was pleased to find it for download, too.

The plot of Dangerous Touch is essentially a hustle thriller. The main character, Mick Burroughs, is a con man, essentially, and he meets at a book signing sex therapist Amanda Grace. Burroughs tries to seduce Grace, but she laughs him off. However, eventually (it involves a lot of pleading) they start a sexual relationship, and it becomes more apparent throughout that Burroughs is attempting to pull a blackmail heist and needs to be sleeping with Grace in order for it to work. Nice work if you can get it, I suppose.

It's their second sex scene that I want to share with you.

Burroughs takes grace back to a darkened house where they begin to kiss and things almost get steamy. Suddenly, there's the sound of a key turning in the lock.
"What's that?" says the sex therapist.
"It's probably the guy who owns this house," quips Burroughs. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, they've broken into a house to have sex! Isn't that Burroughs a cad? I'm surprised they didn't get him played by Terry-Thomas!
Anyway, they escape through a window and climb into Burroughs' open-topped car... assuming it's his, anyway. It's an open-topped car, in any case, and they then drive to the middle of a public wood, because that's a much more private space to have sex.

Anyway.

"I can't believe you'd do something like that!" complains Grace.
"Neither can I," replies Burroughs, casually removing her knickers. (There's quite a lot of space in this car, right?)
"Really, I mean it!"
"I know you do." Removal of shirt with a casual throw over his shoulder.
"This doesn't mean I'm not still upset." Off comes the belt.
"I understand completely." He pulls his trousers down and she begins to climb on...

... and his knee hits a huge, conveniently-placed button, which turns the radio on. Quite conveniently, the radio station happens to have been about to play Itty Bitty Pretty One, which starts just as just as penetration occurs.

And this is why the scene makes me cum.

Yes, she starts moving slowly, and more of her clothes come off as time goes on. And yes, there are the soft sighs and moans, which increase in volume (and pitch). And yes, the motion increases, and is very real. And yes, they're both nice to look at. And the scenery is very pleasant. But the real genius of this scene is the aforementioned song. If you've never heard Itty Bitty Pretty One, where the hell have you been? The song's intro builds up, and as it does, it gets louder and louder, eventually - seamlessly - segueing from background noise in the car's radio to full-on movie soundtrack overlay. And this, my lovelies, is good movie-making. I wouldn't have thought of it... but they've gone and done it. Don't hide this on BBC2 at midnight, media!

Grace, meanwhile, has spread both her arms out and is holding onto the sides of the car as she continues to ride Burroughs, still with the moans, which are getting almost desperate now. And just as our supposed orgasm happens... the scene stops. It's very sudden. But isn't it always?

This is a great scene. As I've said before, the main attraction for me is the choice of the song and the way they work it into the scene rather than just having it come out of nowhere. But it's the forest setting, the camera angles, the car, and even the whole set-up as well (gadzooks! not his house? the boundah!). Both girl and boy are attractive, there's no actual dominance of power (she's a sex therapist on top, and yet it's his car, his idea and he seduced her...), and the movements aren't even that fluid - fluidity is good but wouldn't work in this film. It's jerky, awkward and looks incredibly real. It doesn't even last that long and I doubt that spontaneous sex in a car in the middle of a forest would, really.

So, yes, if you can find it, do. I can't really remember much of the rest of the film (this was ten years ago, remember?) , but I did watch it all, so it must have been good. Check it out, I think it'll turn you on. Works for me, in any case.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to put on some music and listen to some lyrics which suggest that the singer is both happy and angry at the same time.

Work it!

2011-11-26T21:46:00.003Z

I made an important discovery during the week that I think boys should know, and it's all down to the Kegel muscles. We've probably all heard of them - this set commonly referred to as the "pelvic floor" - and there are people (mostly girls; OEN leaps to mind) who will boast about religiously doing their exercises, squeezing and releasing their pelvic floor whenever they find a spare moment. Do stronger Kegel muscles make for a tighter vagina? That's debatable... but, by all means, if you want to find the path to sexual enlightenment through tightening and then releasing your Kegels methodically twenty times per day, more power to you. Each to their own.

Which brings me on to the Kegel muscles in boys, or more specifically, me. It may not be widely known, but boys have to be in control of their pelvic floor to stop themselves from urinating when they need to. For someone like me, who appears to have the bladder of an infant, they are an invaluable bit of kit, and (blessed as we are with the ability to piss standing up) if you temporarily stop the flow of urine, whichever gender you are, and then start it again, you're using your Kegels. That's where those muscles are. And they're active in everybody. Physically squeeze them now and you'll probably feel your perineum tighten a little too.

Okay, and this brings me to my discovery, which needs to be said in the name of SCIENCE.

When I masturbate, my Kegel muscles are usually tightened. It's actually a natural reaction during masturbation - for boys, anyway - I don't know about girls (although it might be fun to find out!). It's not something that I've taken much notice of before, really - I'm more concentrated on what's going on it my head and what my hand is doing to my cock, to be honest - but there are other signs that you are heading towards orgasm that we all know about - tightened skin around the testes, a clenched perineum... and tensed pelvic floor. In fact, the fact that the pelvic floor is so tense during the stages approaching orgasm does aid the angle of the erection somewhat. Actively releasing your Kegel muscles may cause the penis to fall back a few centimetres - it won't get any smaller, of course, but it's a noticeable difference if you're actually looking.

And in my opinion the orgasms feel different. I'm not sure how to describe it, but the orgasms I've had this week with my pelvic floor released feel more... natural? It's not to say they're better, or worse, orgasms than usual; they just feel a lot less like you've worked to bring yourself off, and more like it's just... happened. It's a very easy, very pleasurable, smooth feel, and I do kind of like it. And it's not even something I'd really considered before.

I think the inner workings of the body, in some cases, are kind of left out when you're pleasuring yourself, despite the fact that that's what's important! - and it's always good to think about exactly what's going on. Not every time, of course, or the fun of external stimuli has gone, as has the spiritual side of sex! But it's these small details which can cause you, every now and again, to have a brief "oh!" moment.

Have any of you experienced anything different related to the Kegel muscles? I'd love to hear! Or is it just me?!

The Divine Tragedy

2011-11-25T14:18:00.002Z

I woke up this morning in a cold sweat, stumbled out of bed at 6am and cascaded down the stairs in order to get coffee. Or tea. Or water. Some sort of liquid. My mother, who was making porridge, looked at me quizzically.

"I had a nightmare," I said as an answer to her unasked question.
She started talking about the dream she'd had, which wasn't very interesting - it involved my cousin who lives with us and hold-ups on London trains - and then went on to criticise my diet. But I wasn't listening intently. I was too wrapped up in the dream I'd had.

It's a really upsetting thing that I was dumped by The Drinker almost a year ago and that even with a new direction, new friends and new lady, I'm still having dreams about her. She was a very important, positive part of my life and nobody can deny that, despite what Nanna might think. But the truth is that I haven't heard from her for a few months now, my assumption being that she is in a library somewhere beneath Liverpool covered in dust, and that every time I play a song by The Scaffold, I quickly think of her.

Nobody who likes The Scaffold can be all bad.

But I don't want to dream of her. I specifically don't want to have dreams where I'm in a relationship with her - that stage of my life was terminated at the beginning of 2011. I haven't had any dreams that are particularly memorable featuring cutieloveheartgirl, and that's the sort of dream that I'd like to have, especially as I miss her so much. Hell, the dream I had two nights ago with Blacksilk, Lady-P and Nimue in it was nice enough (there was no sex, ladies, don't worry!). And then, for no reason at all, last night I had a variation on the same dream I've had before, only this time, the sex is full, it's in plain view, it's with someone I know (and yet someone she's never met), and I'm just sitting there and letting it happen. The only mercy being that it's in softcore and for some reason The Divine Comedy is playing in the background. But I digress.

"I don't like island life," my dream-self says over breakfast. I can only assume "island life" is the name for this form of allowed sexual digression. It's also the title of the Divine Comedy track that comes around the same time as Assume the Perpendicular, the track that was playing.
"Okay," she grinned.
"I don't like you having sex with another man," I pressed on.
"Okay," she responded.
"Okay?" I said.
"You're allowed to touch someone, right?" she said. "And you're allowed to give medicine?"
"Yes."
"Well, he was giving medicine." She giggled.

I wake up and I'm hurting. Why am I hurting? It's just a dream. She's not my girlfriend any more. She wasn't on my mind the night before. I wasn't even thinking about him - I haven't seen him for Glod-knows-how-long. Since May, perhaps? But it still has the power to hurt, to wake me up with an aching sense of betrayal, angry at the world, all the unanswered questions, the ghosts of history stabbing at my insides, and at myself, for letting this get to me when, as far as I'm concerned, it's no longer relevant. It shouldn't even hurt that much, anyway - there are lots of other dreams I could have had which would have hurt even more.

I don't deserve this, I really don't. H said the other day that I've gone above and beyond the call of duty for those I care about. And I have. H, 47, all my friends. Rebecca, TD, clhg... the ones I love. I've coped with so much and I've even managed to keep afloat through the murkiest of waters if someone I love needs me to. I've given my heart and soul to people who have thrown it aside. So why must I endure such pain during sleep as well?

Answers on a postcard?

HNT: Grow a 'Mo, Bro!

2011-11-24T12:20:00.003Z

Earlier in the month, ShortList ran a section on how to keep your Movember 'Mo neat and tidy. A girl in my class at college had some sort of lip-hair-related orgasm when she read it, and because this amused me, I said I was considering growing a moustache - as that's what you do this month. Well, it's a pretty useless month for all other intents and purposes.

It was generally agreed that everyone in my class would grow a 'Mo; this concept lasted all of a day to everyone who could be bothered shaving. This left me out, and then on the first day of this week, I shaved everything off except the hair on my top lip. The result looks like this:

...which is actually really creepy when you consider it's a mouth hanging in mid-post with what looks like some sort of dead caterpillar on it.

But you can't blame an ILB for trying.

Condobvious

2011-11-23T15:03:00.002Z

Don't know about you, but I'd like to think that one may just be able to credit anyone who can physically walk into a male pub toilet and look at a condom machine might be able to work out exactly what a "natural sexual performance enhancer" does. But just for those who don't...

Thanks for the warning, guys.

Nice of them to credit me though, on the bottom right there. Very thoughtful.

Love your body!

2011-11-22T17:06:00.003Z

I don't particularly like my body. I've said all this before, so I'm not going to complain about the bits I don't like, although the red patch where my thighs rub together is beginning to get really rather irritating, as are the callous calluses on my feet (but I have cream for those, even though it doesn't appear to be working much). Truth is, I haven't been taking good care of my body recently, especially as I've been doing that course for the last four weeks, followed by a very confused weekend of perpetual motion. I just haven't had the time for more than a quick splash or a comb of the hair before I dash out of the door. And last night I looked in the mirror...

...wow. Something had to be done.

First in the agenda was my facial hair. I'd grown my beard so long that you couldn't tell my Movember 'mo was deliberate. I grabbed my loyal, long-suffering electric trimmer and tidied up the aforementioned 'mo - although this made it too short. So I shaved my beard off. The sole presence of moustache sans anything to hold it up was weird, but at least it looked deliberate. I did feel the urge to put on some ragtime music and tie someone to a railway track, though.

I stripped off and despaired at my flabby bits, but decided to put an end to the dry skin and turned the shower up to "you sure?". I stood there... just stood there, naked, under the hot rain. Reflecting for a moment, I smothered myself in tea tree oil from head to toe and limbered up for the grand assault, sidestepping back into the water and feeling it throb down, cleansing my skin and making my muscles scream with relief. I did the same with my head, covering the brutally short stubble, corners of my neck, nose, forehead, backs of ears and the incongruous three spots which have appeared in the same generic area (I know not why) in the same Myrtacean substance. And on went the shampoo and conditioner, so much so that I could coat my pubic hair in it as well.

I'd trimmed my pubic hair too, by the way. Not with the electric shaver, though. That's just a bit too wrong. I just tidied it up with nail scissors... mostly for my own amusement.

I dripped onto the bath mat as I finally stepped back into the dry world, the steam of the bathroom billowing around me, obscuring my vision, kickstarting my other senses. I felt the smooth sensation of the water droplets running down my skin, heard the trickle of water running down the marble, could sense the tea tree hanging in the air. I ran through what was left to do in my head. Cleaning my teeth... drying my hair... towelling off. Yes, I could do all that. That was achievable. After the rest of yesterday, wherein everything I tried seemed nigh on insurmountable, this was good. This was something I could do.

Skip forward an hour.

I lay myself down. I was clean and dry. I'd looked in the mirror and grinned at myself, even if I did still look like a silent movie villain. I'd had a bit of toast and even some hot chocolate. I'd even given myself an orgasm, just to take the edge off things. And as I wrapped my arms around Oxford, pulled the duvet over my newly soft skin and felt the blood pulse repeatedly through my limbs, I let out a breath of contentment at last. After all the strain, for a while, at least, I'd managed to love my body.

Weakending

2011-11-21T16:02:00.003Z

I finished my course (and by "finished" I mean "completed" [and by "completed" I mean "passed" {and by "passed" I actually mean, "everyone passed", so it's not exactly that special, but I still finished!}]), and I was all up for a weekend of resting - "resting" in this case probably being defined as turning the radiators from "off" to "bastard", lying on my back and masturbating myself to sleep, thus staying prone for two days in a decadent haze of slumber, soft porn and Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest. That didn't exactly go to plan as my mother decided that she'd wake me up at 9am on Saturday morning to tell me that I should be looking for jobs.

On a Saturday.
In the run-up to Christmas.
With a qualification that I only got told I'd be getting within the next two months the day beforehand.

As you can imagine, I wasn't best pleased, and so I went downstairs to ~~complain~~ negotiate with Dad, while the cat looked on disdainfully. In order to clarify what happened during this conversation, I'll transcribe it using language that felicitous youth might understand.

ILB: "Yo dawg, what'up?"
Dad: "What'up, G-money?"
ILB: "Yo woman is well up in my case, innit? She like getawp an'stuff."
Dad: "You gotta get a job, innit, blud?"
ILB: "Standard. It's just, I'm hella tired, djagetme?"
Dad: "D'ya for real, gee?"
ILB: "Totes."
Dad: "Okay, coolcat, ya go rest ya' heed, yo."
ILB: "Pizzahut!"
Willow: "I'm a cat."

However, before I could actually do much, I was unexpectedly on a train to Kent. 47 had organised a house party and I was there for some reason. People set fire to things and I sat there unable to eat most of the food. We ended up playing the new Kirby game on the Wii, which is incredible, watching Super Mario Bros. cartoons and getting to sleep at about 3am. 47 also talked about his cock for some reason. I can't even begin to fathom what the reason was.

I was dangerously close to getting the rest that I so desired when I was awoken by 47 with a desire to go to church, which I did (his church, not mine). I then leaned back on the passenger chair in his car as he drove to London... picking up a drum kit on the way to my house.

Yes, really.

By this time I was somewhere between delirious and the beginning stages of a coma, and I just about managed to put the drums in my lounge (they're still in my lounge), mumble something to my mother about food and head to the nearest café for the first food of the day. 3:30 pm appears to be an acceptable time for breakfast now. I stumbled into my bedroom and collapsed onto the squashy duvet, telling @notCatharine (who I'd been texting all afternoon) that I was just having a quick rest.

Evidently I fell asleep, and was awoken about an hour later by my mother telling me we were going to my uncle's birthday gathering...

I got very little sleep this weekend.

Sorry for the random nature of this post. I needed to say something at some point, and in the absence of sexiness (with the exception of 47's cock and sexting Catharine), sleep (or lack of the same) was my natural fallback. If only it were my natural state too...

Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2011

2011-11-16T20:00:00.003Z

Oh, hey. Rori's Top 100 Sex Bloggers list is out. And not before time, too! So... after last year's result of not being on the list at all (despite there being a fake person at #1), did I make it in this year?

Guy New York (@quickiesnewyork) and The Dirty Gentleman from Quickies in New York
Charlotte Times (@charlotte_times) from The Life and Charlotte Times
Kendra Holliday (@TBK365 and @beautifulkind) from The Beautiful Kind
Amie Wee (@crevicecanyon) from Crevice Canyon
Riff Dog from Ashley and Me
Catherine Toyooka (@Catcoaches) from Sex Spoken Here: Secrets of a Sexuality Educator
Vineyard Road (@vineyardroad) from Vineyard Road
David (@DavidinVegas) from A View from the Top
Quizzical Pussy (@quizzicalpussy) from Quizzical Pussy
Athol Kay from Married Man Sex Life
Dick and Jane from Dick-n-Jane
EA (@easilyaroused) from Easily Aroused
Axe (@unspeakableaxe) from Unspeakable Axe
Joan Price (@JoanPrice) from Naked at Our Age – Better Than I Ever Expected
Oatmeal Girl (@oatmeal_girl) from Submission & Metaphor
Dark Gracie (@darkgracie) from Dark Gracie
Mistress Lilyana (@MistressLilyana) from Mistress Lilyana
Kyle Jones (@butchtastickyle) from Butchtastic
Cheeky Minx (@LoveHateSexCake) from Love Hate Sex Cake
Adam from The Mind of a Married Man
Dr. Marty Klein (@drmartyklein) from Sexual Intelligence
Lady Pandorah (@ladypandorah) from Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary
Holly (@pervocracy) from The Pervocracy
Brooke from Puppy Tales
Lady Dragonfly (@miladydragonfly) from Lady Dragonfly
nilla (@swirlednilla) from Vanillamom’s Blog
Wilhelmina Wang (@wilhelminawang) from Heartbreak Nymphomania
Holden (@packingvocals) from Packing Vocals
25 Things from 25 Things About My Sexuality
Thumper (@thumperMN) from Denying Thumber
Kake (@poeticerotica) from Poetic Erotica
Lucas (@top2bottom) from Top to Bottom
Ms. Diane D from Bi and Large – Cuckolding with a Twist
Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross (@dodsonandross) from Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross – Sex Information Online
Kat from Prowling with Kat
The Gentle Nibbles Writing Team (@gentlenibbles) from Gentle Nibbles
Pandora (@pandorablake) from Spanked, Not Silenced
Molly (@mollysdailykiss) from Molly’s Daily Kiss
Vixen from Secrets of a Blue-Eyed Vixen
DDD from Dick Dyke Dick
Jade (@piecesofjade) from Pieces of Jade
Jiz Lee (@jizlee) from Jiz Lee
Sin from Finding My Submission
Kris from The Phone Courtesan
SapioSlut from SapioSlut
Rockin’ (@RockinwithaCock) from Light Switch
Rachael (@rabbitwhite) from Rachel Rabbit White
Neo Dom Tom from A Bedroom Dom
Daisy Danger (@daisydanger) from The True Life Sex Adventures of Daisy Danger
Violet & Rye (@UCAppetites) from Uncommon Appetites
Kaya from Under His Hand
Lilith (@lilith9465) from Lilith Land
Lady Grinning Soul (@LadyGrinSoul) from Lady Grinning Soul
Septimus from Dirty Art by Septimus
Roxy (@sroxy) from Uncommon Curiosity
Anakin (@AnakinDarth) and Padme (@padmeamidala) from Journey to the Darkside
Dr. Charlie Glickman (@charlieglickman) from Adult Sexuality Education
Lily from theblackleatherbelt
Arabella (@askarabella) from Bombshells & Rockstars
SN from Peel It Off!
Bre from Owned, Collared, Loved
Adriana Ravenlust from Of Sex and Love
Delilah (@definingdelilah) from Defining Delilah
Arthur and Annabelle (@lustandconfused) from Lust and Confused
Lorelei (@suggestive) from Suggestive Tongue
Kitty Stryker from PurrVersatility
Mollena (@Mollena) from The Perverted Negress
Naughty Lexi from Exploits of Lexi
Karen Blue (@kissinbluekaren) from Kissing Blue Karen
Arti (@ArtiAbsinthium) from Absinthe Cocktail
Figleaf (@talkingfigleaf) from Real Adult Sex
Miranda and Aarron from The Swingers Attic
Blacksilk (@BlacksilkBlog) from Blacksilk’s Boudoir
Violet (@violetscreaming) from Screaming Violet
Ferns (@Ferns__) from Domme Chronicles
SlipperyWhnWhet (@SlipperyWhnWhet) from A Slut’s Memoir
Fruit Taster (@fruittaster) from Fruits of Libido
Mrs. Discontented (@DiscontentedMrs) from Mrs. Discontented
Aisha from Being Aisha
Ruby Ryder from Pegging Paradise
Chrystal Bougon from Better Sex Radio
Lipstick Lori (@lipsticklori) from Rarely Wears Lipstick
CarrieAnn (@CarrieAnn_) from A View from the Floor
Dangerous Lilly (@dangerouslilly) from This Could Be Dangerous
Electronic Doll (@electronic_doll) from Post Modern Sleaze
Jerome from Let’s Talk About Sex
Dusk (@dusk_in_chains) from Dusk (in chains)
Innocent Loverboy (@innocentlb) from Innocent Loverboy
RHS from The Redheaded Slut
Violet Blue (@violetblue) from Tiny Nibbles
Amy (@AnalAmy) from Anal Amy
Curvaceous Dee (@curvaceousdee) from Curvaceous Dee
Jason Stotts (@Jstotts) from Erosophia
Mistress Kay (@mistress_kay) from Kinky World
Viemoira from Cavern of the Beast
Lucid (@lucidobsession) from Lucid Obsession
♀ & sss (@sweatshopsissy) from Sweat Shop Sissy
Kat (@shackledkat) from She Makes the Rules
Yummy from Sexual Adventures of a Married Woman
Anyone else

Thank Glod! I made it back on! And at #88, I'm in at 9 places above where I was in 2009, where I clocked in at #97. So, yes. In the top 90. Not too bad, I guess. And I'm glad I was at least nominated, and deemed worthy enough to make it back on. After four years of tapping away at this blog, it's good to get some sort of ego boost.

Congratulations also to my friends Lady P and Blacksilk, who both made it back onto the list. In much higher positions than me. I guess they're more exciting, or something. Nice one, ladies.

Right, now to edit the buttons on my sidebar...

Sleep with us?

2011-11-15T19:37:00.003Z

Okay, so you know how I usually have my sex dreams in soft porn? This one takes some beating.

I went to bed at about 10 last night, which is early for me. I was being good and really needing some concentrated rest, and presumed that going to bed at 10 would mean I got more sleep. It worked... sort of. I was dozing by about half past, and by some point around eleven I was properly asleep, during which I had the following dream:

I was wanking while watching a soft porn scene starring two hardcore actors (at least, I assume I was watching - this was all I could see). This scene doesn't actually exist, and I've forgotten who the hardcore stars were. I don't watch enough hardcore to have an in-depth knowledge of their identities, so let's say Peter North and Laura Angel. I found it unusual that they were appearing in softcore... and strangely enough, so did they. North was in fact narrating how unusual he found it, and kept putting his cock in different places to find which one was most comfortable (apart from inside Laura Angel; this was, after all, softcore). At one point, I said out loud, "of course, both he and she usually do hardcore," at which they nodded sagely, as they could, of course, hear me.

I felt like I as about to orgasm, so I scrolled back (I know, right?!) to the beginning of the film, and got ready to let loose, when I... woke up.

It was 11:30. I hadn't even been asleep for an hour, and since I'd woken up in the middle of it, the dream was fresh in my mind. I was horny too, with an almost apoplectic rage storming through my crotch. I wrapped my hand around my own cock - feeling possibly one of the biggest erections I've ever experienced. I considered dealing with it myself - finishing the job the dream had so graphically started. But I couldn't. I just couldn't finish. I was so hard it was starting to hurt, but I just knew I wouldn't be able to finish the job. What's more, I wasn't even able to go back to sleep, either - half of me wanted to get back into that dream, while the other half wanted a blowjob, but the persistent voice in my ear came from the shoulder angel telling me that I really should just try and get to sleep.

I went and made myself a hot chocolate, and sat up in bed for a while, thinking of the dream that was still buzzing through my mind, the faces and bodies of the two having pretend sex, and exactly how I had felt when I was nearing the climax that never came.

I didn't get much sleep for the rest of the night.

I'm bringing sexy back...

2011-11-13T21:05:00.002Z

Last night @JillyBoyd linked me to rainymood.com, a site which makes you feel warm and cosy by playing the sounds of rain indefinitely from your computer's speakers. I left it on in the background and continued doing whatever the hell it was I was doing on the Internet. I can't remember what it was. It probably wasn't important. But listening to ther fake rain did help me feel a bit better. I gradually re-aligned, found my centre again. And I was browsing things I used to browse a year or so ago, wondering idly what happened to @drowningnight and @Nabokov_Junkie. I even found some of Naive London Girl's blog via the Web Archive. It took me back to easier times, as the rain went pitter-patter on my screen and I read back through things I'd already seen.

@notCatharine came online and we chatted for a while. The conversation peaked and troughed, but it ended up in laughter and thoughts of shared cuddles and sex, and when it was about ten past midnight, I decided I'd stayed up far too late. I bade my adieus, turned the rain off and undressed for bed.

I lay back, a faint buzzing in my ears, feeling calm, feeling attuned to the world around me. I felt peaceful and serene on my soft bedsheets. My naked skin prickled and then lay still. I closed my eyes and wrapped my hand around my penis, which - to my amazement - was engorged. I'd obviously been ready for some time. I didn't need to do much else that required effort; my imagination worked by itself. Before too long I let my orgasm go. My stomach, chest and crotch ended up wet with cum...

I grabbed a tissue and cleaned up, crawled under my bedcovers and clutched Oxford to my chest. I let my thoughts go, closed my eyes and let myself drift. I fell off the world pretty soon afterwards, and when I awoke this morning, I felt nothing but thankful that it had been a dreamless slumber.

Deflate

2011-11-12T22:19:00.002Z

My mother has spent a large amount of today coming in and out of my room. She is floating, allegedly interested in what I've been doing, which is - of course - college work. I've been doing a lot of college work and still have a lot left to do, natch. I've also been playing Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest on my SNES and practising guitar. But mostly college work. My mother also insisted that I go out for a walk this evening. On my own, not with her. Or anyone. So I took my iPod and went for a walk with Tim Booth.

I haven't been doing anything else. Certainly nothing sexy. I don't feel sexy. I'm fairly sure that I don't look sexy, but then again, I'm not sure I ever have. But I don't feel sexy either. I'm not sure I'm up to it.

I haven't a clue what's wrong, if anything actually is wrong. Maybe I'm tired. I spent the last few days getting to college in the morning still not awake properly and swearing to myself that I'd be going to bed at 9pm, and yet still staying up until 11 or 12 for no reason whatsoever. Not much productive either. Maybe a bit of work for assignments or whatever, but no shower, shave or change of clothes. Barely even making lunch for myself for the following day. No change of bedsheets, no laundry done. I've been doing that today. There's still a load left.

Am I tired? Or is there something else? Am I developing CFS? Am I just lethargic, like my cat? Am I in a room which rapidly changes temperature too much, making me too hot or too cold? Or am I, as I have often suggested to myself, bored... bored with this house, with this room, with this situation, this mother who keeps coming in to check I'm in the same spot I always am? White middle-class boy problems.

But why don't I feel sexy? I just don't. I really don't feel sexy. Why not today? Why not today, Saturday, the day when sex is abound and there's no pressure to do anything else? I went for a walk. I should feel refreshed and energised from strolling through the cold air. I do not.

An explanation I lack... and that is what worries me most of all.

Lurker Love

2011-11-10T20:58:00.002Z

This blog gets an average of a hundred views a day and, even though most people are being referred here via Twitter, searching for reviews of Durex products, and, for some reason, The Edge of Vanilla, it's still heartening to look at Blogger's stats function and see that you can type "innocent lover boy" into Google and it will come up with one of those results with six further options underneath it... followed by results for me on Twitter, Formspring, and Quora.

I didn't even know I was on Quora.

This brings me to the subject of lurkers. Due to the fact that only about three people comment on my blog with alarming regularity, and also on account of the fact that most pageviews are me, I have to conclude that a lot of people who read my blog - those who don't just rock up and sift through all the lack of smut there is until they find that Durex review they've been looking for, or a picture of Danny Masterson naked - are lurkers. I may even (and, given the trend in sex blogs, probably do) have regular readers who have never commented.

But I'm OK with that. I mean, when I started this blog, I thought it would be successful if one person who wasn't me started to read it. But other bloggers started networking, and at some point I got linked to on Todger Talk, which probably boosted my lurker count by about 425613298756138576. Some lurkers even went so far as to e-mail me and start actual conversations - yes, Jess, Green Eyes, Tiffany, Lisa... I am talking to you - and one even started a blog - Glamour Girl, I mean you. Some stuck around for a while - yes, you, Prufrock, and Beau from Seattle, wherever it is you've gone. And, of course, a few ended up talking to me via MSN or Twitter, although most of those are other bloggers (do they count as lurkers? Probably not. Bloggers are a higher power. And they hit the comment button).

But I wasn't expecting to get any comment or any kind of communication at all. So, all in all, thank you, if you are a lurker. You genuinely don't need to comment on this post at all. You probably haven't commented on any of my other posts either. But you're reading this blog, and I wasn't expecting that.

So, thanks.

But lurk moar.

Kong Kollege

2011-11-08T20:09:00.002Z

Colleague 1: "[Our college] is putting us under so much pressure."
Colleague 2: "It's hardly their fault. [The external organisation] demands that we do this course to the letter."
Colleague 1: "[TEO] needs to calm down."
Colleague 3: "[TEO] needs to get laid!"
[General laughter from all. ILB, curious, looks over from the world map on the corner.]
Colleague 4: "Is it possible to lay a university?"
Colleague 5: "Oh, okay, I'll do it, you talked me into it."
[More laughter.]
Colleague 5: "I'm taking one for the team!"
Colleague 6: "You could do it in the form of one of the lessons we've been having. I wonder what the warmer would be like?"
Colleague 3: "Never mind that, what about the lead-in?"
[ILB starts writing this down...]

Alone

2011-11-06T17:04:00.002Z

My mother, cousin and cat are in the house and yet I still feel alone.

I have spent the last two weeks in almost constant contact with people. At college, at the James gig and last night wherein my friends and I walked up to town to see the fireworks (although I got bored after fifteen minutes as they were essentially just pretty lights and got repetitive), then went back and had jacket potatoes and played Cranium and Articulate! (which I won). I've been surrounded by people. Yes, I feel really ill (still), but I've had lots of people around me, and suddenly I feel all alone.

For no reason whatsoever. I thought I'd be glad of a Sunday free of any distractions. I even started some college work. It's nowhere near enough, but it's something... and something is a good thing. Downtime, I thought, is my aim for this Sunday. I just want to rest. And yet I'm finding it difficult to rest. I don't even feel as if I can. What I need is someone to take my hand and lead me to a restful place. Someone to hold me and feel my heart beat and tell me that everything's okay. Someone to give me a cuddle and send me to sleep... getting me exactly what I need.

And so I reach out my arms to the big, cold world outside and proclaim that I, despite what anyone may think, feel... alone.

Wheezy

2011-11-05T15:40:00.002Z

Am I capable of doing any work for college? I don't know. Probably not in this state, anyway. I may have the same thing that Lady P has and I'm suffering quite heavily from it. I made it through college on Thursday, and even yesterday, by some miraculous circumstance (although I burned myself out completely in the afternoon), and I also made my way through a James gig yesterday evening - seated, of course, as it was at the RAH!, but a marvellous spectacle, so I'm glad I went.

I woke up this morning a physical mess however. My voice has shifted from tenor to baritone to alto (at least it would if I could sing) and when I do try and say anything it comes out as a cross between a squeak or a quiver or a moan. I could play Yoshi's Island in bed, but that was about it. Getting out of bed was an uphill struggle when the hill is particularly grumpy, and going downstairs to make myself lunch was akin to throwing myself against a wall of rusty spikes. I don't do well when I'm ill.

"Thanks for doing me that favour. I'd kiss you," I said to one of my fellow students the other day, "but I'm not sure if you swing that way."
"I do, actually," he replied, "...but I don't want your cold."
I don't blame him.

So what's a boy to do? I got my college work out this afternoon, and just stared... blankly. What do I do with this, again? How do I execute such a bold move? I've already done two assignments, what do you mean by two more? Where? How? Why? What? Help! I stared at my blank computer screen, the cursor flashing back and forth, mocking me. And, what's worse, I found myself inexplicably aroused. Damn you, overactive libido. Why do you make yourself awkward at the worst of times?

I figured, eventually, that if I took matters into my own hands, I'd end up feeling better, and maybe even able to tackle this work. So, my head in a fog, I put on some softcore and masturbated to orgasm.

And an incredible thing happened. I felt comfortable. I felt peaceful. I knew what was coming - every note of music, every movement of bodies, every contortion of limbs. I knew it would turn me on, and it did. I just lost my addled brain in the moment and let my feelings take me over. And suddenly, every unpleasant sensation dulled itself. This was before orgasm. Yes, after orgasm, it returned, slowly but surely... but in those minutes before orgasm, flicking through the soft porn and occasionally delving into my imagination, all I felt was peace. So, all things considered, indulging myself wasn't such a bad idea actually.

Even when I'm ill.

And now to check whether I can do any of that college work. It seems the answer is still no. Humph!

TMI Tuesday: OMGZ SEX!

2011-11-01T21:10:00.002Z

I was going to write about how we ended up talking about how to mention blowjobs in sign language at college today... but then I saw that TMI Tuesday's actually about sex this time around. About time too. So let's crack on with this...

1. What sexual act arouses you the most? For that matter, what nonsexual act arouses you the most?

Delivering orgasm via oral sex is definitely a turn-on for me. I love the sight, sound and feel of the female orgasm - and the knowledge that I've delivered it with only my tongue and patience makes me feel ready any time, anywhere.
Non-sexually, it's being tired. And also the act of stretching after sitting down for a long period almost always makes me hard. It may not be a turn-on, but it's an interesting curio. And the aroma of patchouli, for an olfactory stimulus. Dancing sometimes turns me on too... seriously, more people are turned on by dancing than you think. It's often apparent on Tim Booth and he dances a lot.

2. What is your signature or “go to” move that is sure to get a lover in the mood for sex?

A kiss on the neck. It almost always leads to something even if it's not sex.

I used to kiss girls on the hand, or the shoulder, when I was at university. They were always friendly kisses, of course. But for a lover it's almost always the neck that I go for if I would like some sex.

3. Do you queef?

What? Me? I've got a penis. I don't think it's physically possible.

4. What’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to YOU as a result of your sex writings (e.g., blog, erotica, sex toy reviews)?

Loads of things. Being invited to review a sex documentary and ending up drinking with a group of people in a private club will always be an enduring memory. Being asked to review hardcore porn and breaking my DVD drive as a result. And, of course, getting two girlfriends out of it... that's odd too.
Needless to say, without writing ILB, my life would be in a very different place by now.

5. Have you ever had sex while someone watched?
…someone else was in the room?
…someone else in the bed, next to you and the person you’re having sex with?

No. No. And no. Sorry, I'm boring!

6. When it comes to sex, and discussing it with your teen have you or would you:
a. Let school sex education handle it
b. Hand the teen a book or point them to a website
c. Talk frankly and openly
d. Avoid it altogether–society, friends, and the internet will give all the info needed

I don't have a teen and I've never been asked by a teen about sex so I can't answer this question. But hypothetically, I'll go for C - I'd try not to let on that I know too much about the subject, though...!

Bonus: Remember the song "I’m Too Sexy?" What are you too sexy for?

I actually own the album with this song on it - Up, by Right Said Fred. It's an incredible album and if you can seek it out, listen to it. Seriously, it's got some great stuff on it.
In any case, I've performed "I'm Too Sexy" live before - during a pantomime I wrote for my family, in which I played both Father Christmas and a twisted version of him, Evil Santa. My original plan was to wear a skintight catsuit, but I couldn't find one in the dressing-up box. So I just played the part in my normal clothes. But I sang it anyway. Maybe I'm actually too sexy for clothes at all. Yeah, I'll go with that.

Ten Things I Hate About You

2011-10-31T21:08:00.002Z

I don't have much to say about Hallowe'en, except:

1. There's an apostrophe in it. It's an abbreviation of "All Hallow's Eve."
2. It falls around the same time (occasionally the same day) as the Gaelic harvest festival Samhain, and therefore should be celebrated as religious observance by neo-pagans.
3. It precedes the important Christian festival of All Souls' Day, in which the faithful dead and canonised are remembered and (in Catholic tradition) prayed for and to (in the case of the saints). I may say a prayer at midnight, if I am awake then.
4. Conversely, anti-theists who proclaim that any belief in a religion is wrong should have no part in Hallowe'en, and should not acknowledge its existence!
5. The month of October is not Hallowe'en. October 31 is Hallowe'en. If you must celebrate, at least do it as close to the date as you can get. I'm specifically talking to you, children playing trick-or-treat three weeks ago in the town centre.
6. Trick-or-treat is not an acceptable way to celebrate this festival. It's a commercial custom mostly stemming from the USA, and is in fact disrespectful to all to have a right to celebrate this day.
7. There's nothing in the original doctrine that refers to ghosts, spirits or especially devils, demons or witches. The faithful departed are in Heaven and therefore wouldn't be ghosts. Modern witches who celebrate Samhain should not be depicted as having green skin, long black hair and flying on Nimbus Two Thousands.
8. Something to do with sex should go here, but I can't think of anything offhand.

And two bonus geek facts...

9. Cliff Barry, who played the villain Lissard in Knightmare, married his wife Juliet on Hallowe'en. His best man was Mark Knight, who also played a villain - Lissard's master, Lord Fear!
10. The final Knightmare book, Lord Fear's Domain, is set on Hallowe'en.

TL;DR? Short version: Have fun on this day, as you would on any other day. Just don't be an idiot.

Soft Porn Sunday: Shannan Leigh & Mike Roman

2011-10-30T15:27:00.009Z

This one is an absolute classic. The scene, that is, not the film. Although the film's good too.

Okay, it is dumb. It's really, really dumb. The premise is as follows: Andromina, "the Pleasure Planet", has fallen on hard times, so they send three men to a planet (whose name escapes me, but that doesn't matter since it's all filmed on Earth anyway) which is entirely populated by women - their aim? To recruit new ladies to work as dancers/strippers. Hmmm, yes. Sexist much?
And besides, a planet entirely populated by women? How do they breed? One of the women (Alexa, played by Flower Edwards) vaguely mentions something about sperm packets being delivered... but then how did they do this in their primitive days? And what do they do with boy children? Leave them to die or something? Explain, movie! Explain!

Not that that matters, either. They're three rather sleazy men in any case. And naturally, they get captured by three separate groups of women and subsequently have LOTS OF SEX.

So here's the run-down... Jeeter (John Matrix, who has far too many muscles for a man of his build - should actually be playing the Hulk or something) is found by Roxie (Shyra Deland), who promptly makes him king of her tribe, which is a clear riff on the idea of "savage peoples" (racist much?). Cody (Eric Stratton) is zapped repeatedly by Alexa, who takes him to her ULTRA HIGH-TECH TOP-SECURITY IMPRISONMENT SYSTEM where - get this - she binds him to the wall (BDSM much?) for no reason whatsoever. And as for the third man? This happens.

Appearance: Andromina - The Pleasure Planet (1999)
Characters: Becca & Omar

Shannan Leigh is back, and her boobs are bigger than ever. Or maybe it's the fact that she's wearing basically nothing. Whatever the reason, she is a thinly-veiled reference to all Amazon women, and her particular subsection of the planet (must be a small planet) has captured possibly the sleaziest of the men on the landing party. Since he is a man, they are NOT BEST PLEASED. So they do the only rational and humane thing... tie him to a stake and leave him there for a while before they burn him. What nice people they are.

And so we have Omar languishing against the stake with his horny, busty guard Becca (Leigh, once more doing the evil-but-dominant-but-actually-not thing that they typecast her to do) walking about wearing precious little. Omar (who I've just realised is wearing far too much hair gel to make his predicament at all convincing) is clearly a bit slow, because hours after being tied to a pyre, he suddenly decides to ask Becca if she might consider letting him go free? Perhaps, maybe? I don't know about you, but I'd probably ask immediately. He got the words out eventually, I guess.

"Take off your shirt," is her characteristic reply. He does so, without any amount of hesitation. I think you can see where this is going.

So, after an almost indecent amount of kissing with incredible enthusiasm and throwing each other's bodies around a bit, Becca starts taking her clothes off (although that really doesn't make a lot of difference), accompanied by music which can't decide whether it's Australian, Egyptian or 80s synthpop. It taken her a while to disrobe, and then she... whips Omar with her clothes incredibly gently? What's the point of that - tickle torture?!

However, finally (over three minutes in!) they end up getting down to it... by which I mean, of course, using the stake as a prop. I think most of the budget must have gone on this, as it manages to hold most of Becca's weight as she stands on one leg and lets Omar eat her out. Once again, it's the expressions Shannan Leigh manages to work on her face which makes this bit work... otherwise I'd be wondering exactly how she's running her fingers through his hair without wanting to reach for the alcohol gel. Mind you, it does work, and then they change positions, her administering oral sex and him... looking as if he's in an incredible amount of pain. Acting the male orgasm never works.

They 'accidentally' tumble to the floor, anyway, and by the time five minutes and two seconds of the scene has passed, they're finally having sex, both apparently having gained the ability to have incredibly energetic sexual intercourse almost immediately following orgasm for both parties. Well, if it works, I guess...

The sex comes in two stages. First, it's doggie style on the floor, with her on all fours and him behind grinding away, mostly shot from the same angle. This doesn't last for very long before it mixes to what really makes the scene for me - doggie style again, only this time standing up, with her holding onto the stake for support. Much better! The orchestra seem to agree, as somebody starts playing an electric guitar - because that really fits in with an Amazonian tribal village theme - while some male voices offscreen make their opinion heard by shouting something that sounds like, "choom cha ta ka ta ka choom cha ta ka ta ka choom cha ta ka cha ka ta cha ka ta cha ka." Insightful.

It's this last bit that's the bit I watch, really. It's not a bad scene at all, but the rest is a bit uninspiring. There's a bit of slapping and that's not my thing, but it's quite minimal and the main focus is on the movement of the bodies, which they've managed to sync up with the music quite well. Omar's holding onto Becca's sides a lot, which gives a good impression of both support and skin-to-skin contact, and he's clearly making a go of things - it's meant to be energetic, lustful sex, and that's what it is. It's maybe a little too energetic and lustful for the length of the scene, as it's a long scene and this kind of sex loses its impact over time, but if you just took this last couple of minutes, it'd make for a really good scene.

And they're trying hard, actually. I mean, the music is a bit incongruous, but it's not a bad piece of music, and it works. The set is actually pretty fantastic for the limited resources they must have had (actual burning torches, rocks, twigs, fence, huts), and it's only really used for this scene, but a bit of thought must have gone into it. And it makes me horny, which is the main thing, really. The final few seconds, where the male orgasm is actually done well enough (it's less "didn't get picked for the football team face", more "thrust the pelvis forwards, can I get a hell yeah?") before Becca spinning around to kiss him, are perhaps among the best ways to end a sex scene I've seen. So, all in all, this is a good one.

It's still a spectacularly illogical premise for a film, but with sex scenes of this quality... who cares?

Weak load

2011-10-29T17:15:00.002+01:00

No, wait, come back! It's really interesting, honestly! Even if you're not in the least interested about what happens to be coming out of my penis, you should at least read this post! It's the first one I've written for days! Thanks.

I've been cumming less recently. I mean, yes, there have been some days wherein I haven't really tried. My second day at college was characterised mostly by a desire to sleep, ergo: going to bed at the ungodly early hour of 9pm. And the amount of work that's been foisted upon us is unreal - I swear to Glod that last time I was in full-time education, we didn't get anything to do for weeks. And suddenly, this happens. Yeah, it's even kind of fun. Keeps my hands busy, anyway, and that means they're often too busy to close around my engorged cock and deliver me some sweet release. But then again, I'm not really thinking about doing so when I'm focused on the finer points of whatever the fuck it is I'm meant to be doing.

I'm still not even sure what that is. I'm just doing it... somehow.

I've not been horny any less either. I mean, sometimes I've been positively craving it, even when sitting in an observation at college, visualising - apropos of nothing - the idea of a penis sliding into a warm, wet vagina ad feeling its inner walls mould themselves around its shape. Remembering the feeling of that too, and revelling in it. Yeah, I've been doing that. I haven't, of course, been nipping off to the toilets for a quick one; I just don't have the time. If anything, the combination of lack of days in which to relieve myself of this burden of lust, the amount of work that I'm doing in which I haven't mentioned sex even once, the realisation that I won't be seeing any pretty ladies for a while and the fact that I'm still reading short bursts of Fanny Hill before bed... it all adds up to something between frustration and amusement.

And yet when I do masturbate, I cum less.

It's only the cum. My orgasms are the same in terms of intensity and length. They're not dry orgasms either - because there is semen. Of course there is. It's just that I used to produce... well... quite a lot. And now there isn't that much. There's a bit, but not as much. It's no less pleasurable, but it is weird. I wonder if that's meant to happen.

I'm saving on tissues in any case.

TMI Tuesday: Random... truly random

2011-10-25T20:18:00.002+01:00

This will have to do. I'm tired and a bit grumpy and college is wearing me out after a mere two days. So this takes the place of a real post for now.

1. Name 5 things you did more of before social networking (Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, etc.).

- Internet fora
- IRC
- ICQ
- E-mail
- MSN

Social networking came in when I was just leaving secondary school. Faceparty appeared for a while when I was in the Upper Sixth, and for a moment, everyone started using it, replacing personal homepages with social networking. Friendster came along a bit later, but I don't think that really took off too much. It basically killed all other forms of Internet communication, though; some fora and chatrooms still run, while IM programs still operate, but they are rarely used in comparison to something like Twitter, the most valuable communication tool I know.

I genuinely do miss the days wherein you could send an actual physical e-mail to a computer games company and it would be answered by a genuine interesting person. But that was also back in the days wherein they came in those beautiful large boxes. Ahhhh.

2. Your house is on fire, what do you grab as you run out?

Probably my computer. No, actually, definitely my computer. With Oxford riding on it. I'd also probably grab a dressing gown too as I'd probably be naked or something.

3. Are you a morning person or a night owl?

I am a night owl, when it comes to most things, although that's most probably due to debilitating insomnia forcing me to be a night owl. I'm a morning person when it comes to writing essays though, as with warm pyjamas, hot chocolate and a croissant with apricot jam, essay writing really doesn't seem too bad at all.

a. What time did you go to bed last night?
11pm. It was too late for me to go to bed, but it was in fact my usual bedtime. I shouldn't do that tonight, though.

b. What time did you wake up today?
I'm not sure. I didn't get much sleep and the amount of sleep I did get kept being interrupted by things. I was awake when my alarm went off at 7, but I'm assuming I was awake from about 5ish. I was absolutely shattered when I went into college this morning and wasn't even sure if I'd make it through the day. Fortunately, I did.

4. A kid comes up to you and kicks you in the shin, what do you do?

Curl up on the floor and cry, probably. I don't do well with pain.

5. What three things do you never leave the house without?

I can't think of three. If I'm taking my bag with me, it's my keys (as they're in my bag and they never leave) and my bag. And whatever's in it. It I'm not taking my bag, then there's no guarantee it will be anything. I usually travel light and take with me what I need, so often it's just my wallet, or my 'phone, or my iPod. It's been all three on occasion and on those occasions my trousers have the knack for falling down due to the weight in my pockets.

Back when I was 17 and 18, I used to travel to Birmingham pretty much every weekend or so. I took with me a little black box you used to put 7" singles in. This carried wallet, phone, keys, one change of clothes, CD player, earphones, coach tickets and a selection of a few CDs, and was perfectly adequate. 7"² is a lot of space when you think about it.

I take my bag to college. Apart from books and folders and stuff, it's got my wallet, BlackBerry, keys, iPod and red headphones, student ID card and season Travelcard in it. I think that's all I need, really. Oh, and lunch.

Bonus: Name a place that you visited last week that you’ve never visited before. Briefly tell us about the visit.

Coco de Mer. I'm really not that much of an expert in sex shops, but a week and a day ago I visited Coco de Mer nevertheless, for the purposes of review! I was struck by actually how high-class it appeared in comparison to most of the seedy ones under Soho. I've still never bought anything from a sex shop though, and never intend to. Not even if it looks as nice as this one.

First Day

2011-10-24T19:32:00.003+01:00

"I love the rainforest!" beamed the most alternative of my fellow students today. "I can't wait to go back there!" She shivered in the chilly London afternoon air, but kept beaming.
"I've never been," I responded, "but I've got a friend who went..." [Out of interest, I believe said friend has read this blog. Only this post, but nevertheless.] "...and she loved it. Sleeping in tents, poisonous snakes, using a machete to..."
"Bushwhacking!" cried my fellow student, getting more and more animated as she went along. "When there's no beaten track! Yes, I love that too!"
"She also told me she'd had sexual relations with a medical student up against a tree," I pointed out. "But I wanted to know more about the wonders of the rainforest, not the size of the medical student's..."
"Well, there are plenty of trees to have sex up against in the rainforest," optioned my fellow student.
"True, but there are plenty in Britain too," I said without thinking. "You'd just be in public view."
"And get arrested," she said.
"Indeed."

There was a pause, during which she shivered again.

"It's still cold."
"It is."

And Thus, It Begins...

2011-10-23T20:35:00.002+01:00

As some of you may be aware, I am re-entering full-time education from tomorrow morning. It's not exactly for a long time (unless you count four weeks as long), but yes, I am becoming a student for the third time.

Third. Time.

Anyway, last time I went back into full-time education, I wrote less posts. Not much less, I'll grant you, but 146 in 2010 compared to 177 in 2008... is shocking. There are worse things, like the war in Iraq, the Conservative Party, the young raver's hair colour and the state of disarray the idiots who organised my second course left it in... but still, shocking. By my mediocre standards, anyway.

Don't panic. Dry your tears. I still plan to post, and I plan to post with as much regularity as I can afford myself. The only problem is, I don't know exactly how regular that will be. My tutor's rhetoric at my interview sounded like the bastard child of Dante and Nostradamus predicting the Aztec apocalypse of 2012. On crack. His inference, and although this is unverified but I'll take it as gospel for now, is that I won't have time for anything over the next month. Although I think he means I won't have time to go to a wedding in Dublin or something - I'm not sure sex blogging counts. (I am, of course, going to see James. But that's another matter.)

So what I'm trying to say, effectively, is: if I don't blog for a while, don't panic. I've just been overwhelmed. (Because that's the sort of thing I could totally cope with right now. Sigh.) If I don't blog within the next four weeks, however, you have every right to assume I have died during the course of the course. But don't worry - if I cross over to the other side I'll get Jake to resurrect me.

Catch you on the flip side, Earth.

ILB's Place

2011-10-21T15:58:00.002+01:00

I've had a few requests to recount the dream I reportedly had the other night, that I've mentioned a few times on Twitter. Unlike my other dreams I've talked about on here, this one doesn't really contain any sex, but it does contain some sex bloggers (in fact, all of them). Sorry if I was misleading! Anyway, here's the basic plot.

The dream took place in two parts. In the first, I was digging my own underground home or tunnel system, which looked and sounded very much like Spencer's Place from Final Fantasy: Mystic Quest (if you haven't played this, and like RPGs, do. It's easy, short and a lot more fun than many other RPGs). I think the music was playing in the background, although in my dream (yeah, I know, my dreams have soundtracks) it sounded like a cross between the actual music from FFMQ and the track "In a Snow-Bound Land" from Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's Kong Quest. But I digress.

Spencer's Place (if you'll look at the map) has a lot of bridges, which (if you'll look at the map) are safe passages over waterfalls. They also don't appear (if you'll look at the map) to have any sides. In my dream, the bridges didn't have sides, and therefore the first blogger to appear in my dream, perhaps unsurprisingly being Catharine, was rather reluctant to walk across a rickety rope bridge with no visual means of support above a cascading waterfall.

Yeah, makes sense.

At which point, EVERYONE I KNOW suddenly appeared at the entrance, and each person stood in a long line on the first rope bridge, causing the planks to turn all sorts of rainbow colours, and make tinkly noises - as if they were all keys on my beloved toy glockenspiel. (Yes, really.) This... somehow... made the bridges more solid, and allowed everyone to cross.

I dug a little deeper into my tunnel and broke through onto a disused platform on the London Underground. We crowded out and someone (Robinson, I think) flicked a switch which reactivated the station. A tube train stopped there and we got on. Upon getting off at King's Cross, I noticed that our station (I can't remember its name, regretfully) had been somehow added to the list of Tube stations that the line (Piccadilly, I think) was serving. It had clearly been stuck on my LU staff during the short amount of time that we'd been travelling from it. They don't miss a trick, those guys.

We then realised that we didn't have Beau with us, and that John (bless him) was missing her, so we went to get her - from a rather scummy block of apartments somewhere in London where, apparently, she was (even though she didn't live there). I was head of the pack. This was the second part of the dream - we stood around waiting for her to emerge, although none of us wanted to go in. We all said, "Mia!" loudly, and she emerged. She was hoisted onto some shoulders, and everyone crowd-surfed her away. I followed... and that was the end of the dream.

No, it doesn't mean anything, as far as I'm aware. But it's quite fun to have a dream that mixes IRL friends, sex bloggers and geekery all together into one big sequence of events. I hope to meet some of you lot in a dreamscape again very soon.

HNT: notSpanker

2011-10-20T21:55:00.003+01:00

This is the side of my body.

That's a genuine spank, honest. Some nefarious people will tell you that it was an unexpected handprint - that it was actually the result of several hours of cuddling under the covers of @notCatharine's bed, her hand pressed against my thigh, and that this was the resulting mark that faded after a few minutes.

But that's not cool in the sex blogger world. What is cool is being hurt. So this is the mark of a genuine spank. Honest, guv! Can I be popular now, please?

Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

2011-10-15T17:25:00.001+01:00

I've made a list of things to do! I'm turning into a middle-aged woman!

In my defense, to be honest I've suddenly been burdened with a hell of a lot of stuff to do at the same time - some pleasant, some not so much - and (although most of this comes as a result of things I have genuinely decided I have to do) the upshot of being unavailable during the week (again due to a combination of pleasant and unpleasant things) has revealed itself to be stressful enough to keep me up at night. I lie awake plagued by the memory of the worst times in my life, like when the mouse pointer moved left instead of right, and that day I realised there was a small tear in the protective screen of my new mobile.

And the only way to combat this is to actually get all the things done. For those of you who were actually sensitive enough to read all the entries here that don't mention sex and are actually wondering in which direction my life is going, I am about to re-enter education. It's for, like, a month, so I'm not going to be attempting to add a third university degree to my belt (honest!), but this starts in a week and two days, and therefore I have five working days to get all this stuff finished.

So. Make a list.

Incredible that it is that a list of things to do seems to get longer and longer as you cross bits off - especially as you end up adding more things - there is a definite amount of catharsis in scrubbing bits out ("Great! I actually managed to send that two-sentence e-mail to that Chinese boy I tutor! Back to Super Mario World!"). It's just difficult to actually get enthusiastic about any of it. Specifically when I'm stopped doing stuff because the place I'm heading for is closed and nobody bothered to tell me. I hate leaving stuff unchecked!

The main problem I have, however, is that my netbook - which is to all intents and purposes my primary computer - is currently being held by the people at the local PC shop. Why? Because some of the keys don't work, or - as I'd be saying if I were typing this on my netbook, because sme f the keys dn't wrk. My old laptop - originally called "Jim" but now "old faithful" - has been a temporary saving grace, but he doesn't have a working I key, forcing me to use creative copy-and-paste or find-and-replace to type that important vowel. (You may have noticed me on Twitter or MSN using lower-case Is. I'm not lazy, just disadvantaged as the result of a hoover being in the wrong place.) I've managed to get him back onto the Internet without too much trouble, but nevertheless, I would feel much more comfortable about working towards both a social and academic end if I had a fully functioning machine.

Yes, I don't have any money and I'm seriously gaining weight right now, but both computers are slightly broken and that's what's important right now. Geek love.

However... having said all that, there's always a saving grace. And my "thing to do" for Tuesday - weight, money, computer and outstanding work to do all irrelevant as soon as it starts - is "go to Leeds and see cutieloveheartgirl". Now that's a task I can seriously cope with.

Best interests at heart

2011-10-11T22:50:00.002+01:00

When it comes to things to do, I am sometimes easily swayed, and yet sometimes not. My mother, as an example, is one of the people that takes it upon themselves to make all my decisions for me. As of today, my sister no longer lives in our house, and therefore I can foresee more upcoming decision-making on my behalf by her. She does, of course, run it past me first, but only in a perfunctory manner; the assumption being that when she makes a suggestion, I will follow it to the very letter. This does not bode well for me, the fact of the matter remaining that all I've done which could be (loosely) termed as successful throughout time has been as a result of ideas I've had myself.

It doesn't stop her trying though - and although I'm grateful for her support, she made a suggestion the other day, based on an advert she saw, which almost genuinely hurt.

It's not interesting, despite what you may have been reading on Twitter, where I am workwise. Needless to say, I am still unemployed, but I'm re-entering full-time education in a week or so for, like, a month. This is purely vocational, and hopefully I won't fuck this one up. Until then, I am doing voluntary work - of course, I won't say where, but it has its interesting points and I don't hate it. I don't know much about applying for post-course-qualification-specific-jobs, but it's a safe assumption that there will be a lull (or, as I will term it in a more positive light, grace period) between the course and, say, the New Year. I mean, that is a complete guess, but it's what I'm working on. My plan was to spend that time looking and preparing for jobs and all that may come with them, such as finding a place to live, and possibly even relocation. My mother's plan is for me to do Christmas temp work in shops.

Which is, of course, perfectly valid, only she had to mention a shop that I have a bit of an aversion to, due to something that happened there involving my ex. I don't even like going past that shop if I can avoid it, ergo: sod's law dictates that it's the one my mother shoves in my face continuously until I actually apply for the damn job. I probably won't eve have the time to be a Christmas temp anyway, but that's irrelevant when compared to the fact that I don't. want. to. go. there.

I can't tell her that, though, because I'd have to explain, and that wouldn't go well. I wouldn't be able to anyway. And she'd think that I was trying to make some excuse, and/or accuse me of laziness. Some of those nice things that mums say. I did initially consider lying and saying that I'd applied, but halfway through trying that I kind of stopped and changed my story. I'm not a good liar, really. And in the end I applied, full well in the knowledge that a) my prior experience is an advantage since I've done the job before and b) extra money over Christmas is always useful, but with a burning hope in my heart that I won't get it - my course will end too late for me to start or something - because I am fully aware that going to this shop - even as staff - would make me uncomfortable, sad, and distracted.

And to be honest, I really don't need that. Not now. Not ever.

As far as I can see, we were carved from the same tree...

2011-10-10T19:03:00.003+01:00

Why won't this work? AAAAAARRRRGH!!! Oh, there we go.

Don't worry, that wasn't what I said over the last week, spending time with @notCatharine; it's just my immediate reaction to some of the keys on my netbook's keyboard deciding to intermittently shut down. Twitter isn't working on my BlackBerry either. I'd uninstall and reinstall it, but BlackBerry App World also refuses to work, so I'm kind of stuck on that too. Good times.

Anyway, last week...

Well, the first thing that you need to know is that Catharine is a liar.

She'll say something like, "I spent the first two days asleep, because I'm lazy and grumpy." But what she really means to say is, "I slept a lot during the first two days, but that was because ILB had a calming influence on me and very warm cuddles."

She'll say something like, "I woke up at random points in the middle of the night." But what she really means to say is, "we spent large parts of the small hours eating biscuits in the lounge, cuddling and grinning at each other on the sofa and making each other laugh."

She'll say something like, "we didn't say anything that made much sense to each other." But what she really means to say is, "we talked to each other in secret sex blogger language, which made us feel like international super-spies since we knew people that the rest of her family don't."

She'll say something like, "on the last day we tried to do some modelling, but neither of us could do it." But what she really means to say is, "the modelling kit of the demonic elephant was terrible, but the bouncy balls we made were incredibly pretty and very well-patterned, and ILB has been playing with his ever since he took it home."

She may even say something like, "the sex got better and better the more times we did it." But this one I agree with.

Soft Porn Sunday: Shannon Tweed & Andrew Stevens

2011-10-09T16:30:00.006+01:00

Shannon Tweed got married this time last week. Took her long enough. I was surprised, initially, to find out that she married Gene Simmons, before remembering that I'd already read that somewhere, and then having an "oh yeah..." moment. Well done, rock god and erotic thriller actress. Hope you're happy together.

I saw a lot of Shannon Tweed around the age of 15. Channel 5 bought a lot of mainstream erotica to show on Friday nights and, although some of it was cheesy pap, there were quite a lot of American erotic thrillers scattered through the schedules, and I quickly managed to learn that anything billed as "erotic thriller" had some semblance of a plot, whereas "erotic drama" mostly had sex in it. Since the plots were awful, I preferred the latter. Tweed starred in both types, and was prevalent in any film that had a bit of skin in it. To be honest, I always preferred "the other Shannon" - Whirry - but some of these films were good too. I remember taping a few.

I don't have a lot of clips with Shannon Tweed in my collection - which goes to show exactly how non-obsessive I am - so I had to scour the internet for some. And I found this:

Appearance: Illicit Dreams (1994)
Characters: Moira Davis & Nick Richardson

I vaguely - very vaguely - remember this one from my past. The fact that it's both directed by and starring Andrew Stevens raises a few eyebrows - an effort to get to have it off with Shannon Tweed? - but the plot is certainly unique. It's daft, but at least a little bit creative. Moira (Tweed) - who is married to Daniel (Joseph Cortese) - discovers over time that she has a telekinetic link to Nick (Stevens). They meet, fall in love, and screw. This movie, oddly enough, also stars Rochelle Swanson, in a minor role. I know that name, even if you may not... but I'll save her for later.

This is your standard sex scene between Moira and Nick. But I'm choosing it because it's a little different from her other sex scenes. A lot of them - like this one - mostly involve odd contortions, unlikely face pulling, and music from strangled saxophones that makes me want to tear my eyeballs out and stuff my ears with them. This one's actually quite romantic, insofar as soft porn scenes go.

Okay, to start off with, aesthetically neither character is much to look at. Shannon Tweed has an OK body, but it's not really made much of in this scene. Nick has a ridiculous beard though - even worse than mine. I mean, really. Shave, Stevens! In fact, even though I'm aware of how unattractive my beard may be, his knocks him down the Glist several thousand places. It's really off-putting, and it makes me wonder if Moira would even go near him without that psychic link. Gah!

Movement-wise, though, it's okay. Pleasantly, it starts off with a nice kiss, which is always good to see, as it emphasises the "OMGZ love" bit. It mixes to them lying on the bed, looking at each other with lustful eyes for a while, and then there's a few seconds of Nick delicately running his hands over Moira's thighs. (Awww, cute!) There's a bit with him kissing up her neck and then licking her ear - which is surprisingly arousing, considering all you can see is her face and his back (but then again, I spent the last four days making a girl orgasm by doing that, so maybe I'm biased), and after that we get OH GOD GET THAT BEARD OFF THE SCREEN Moira riding Nick; implied more than seen, perhaps, as what we get is some head shots of Nick, and no more than head and shoulders of Moira (what, no boobs?). Tweed's making the motions though...

...and then it's over, suddenly. Quite a nice shot of them spooning, while the camera zooms out.

Okay, well, the bad points first. It's not likely to get me off. Hell, I doubt it could get anyone off. It's not very explicit, and there really isn't much movement (and although Tweed can do movement, it looks a bit forced). It's a romantic sex scene... without much romance. There's effort, but it just doesn't look like they're that into each other. They're making the noises (or she is, anyway) and some of the faces are okay (except for Nick's, with that awful beard!), but they don't really fit with the music, either. Which is bland. Unobtrusive, sure, but bland.

However, having seen numerous other sex scenes from this period with this actress, bland unobtrusive music is a bit of a blessing, considering I have great respect for saxophonists and don't like to hear them sounding as if they're being kicked repetitively. And yes, it's not the best of scenes by any standard, but at least the cinematography is good. It's shot well enough and the camera work is neither annoying nor non-existent. In fact, the worst thing about this scene is that it's a bit out of place. It shouldn't really be in soft porn; it's more suited to mainstream cinema drama - since it's short and inoffensive enough to be so.

So I suppose it's a good enough effort to convey romantic sex via film. It falls short of actually doing so, of course, but for what it is, it clearly tries hard, and it does manage to avoid some of the softcore clichés that these films fall into. You can watch it here, if you're interested, if the beard doesn't offend you that much. Just remember that Shannon Tweed's done some better things than this. They're just not that easy to find.

On

2011-10-04T16:19:00.002+01:00

I slept in the same bed at 47 on Sunday night... but this entry isn't about that. I'm going to see cutieloveheartgirl tomorrow and will probably end up in bed with her in a very short period of time... but this entry isn't about that either. This entry is about feeling horny.

Yesterday.

I was horny basically all the way through yesterday. I don't remember when it started, but it certainly happened on the Tube on my way into London. I'm doing voluntary work at the moment and my working day was interspersed by short bursts in the office when I blanked out in my chair, losing all concentration, my erection raging to almost the point of unbearability, with very little stimulus (other than my own mind, which is usually more than sufficient, I will admit), and my infrequent trips to the toilet were characterised by noticing exactly how hard I was, and considering taking matters into my hand - then desisting because I was in a scummy toilet in a public building.

I was still turned on when 5pm came rolling around and I was washing crockery. On the way home, I was positively filthy over BBM, tapping out graphic messages to titillate the aforementioned cutieloveheartgirl, while angling my BlackBerry towards me to avoid any prying eyes from inquisitive commuters. Although the idea that they might see what I was writing was also part of the thrill.

Today, that urge is gone. It's been replaced by a desire, just as strong, for cuddles. Although I imagine I'll be getting both tomorrow.

And possibly a hug tonight from 47 as we attend The Distraction Club. But no more than that. Even if he did share my bed.

Family Business

2011-10-03T21:39:00.002+01:00

So, it turns out my sister is... wait for it... writing an anonymous blog. Well, in a sense. It's not quite anonymous because she's already told a few people about it, and that - in my experience - is a bit of a mistake. I mean, TD found me through my blog and after a while my girlfriend's mother knew I wrote about sex online. And my sister is using LiveJournal, as well.

I've got nothing against LiveJournal. I keep one myself (since 2002) and it's a blogging service with good enough functionality to keep me amused as long as I actually write in the damn thing (in addition to ILB, which takes priority, of course). The main problem I have with LJ for anonymous writing is that its alternative to a blogroll - the friends function - does create a sort of network that you are part of (people tend to follow the same people, creating multitudes of mutual friends, and webs), and therefore if you are to friend someone that you genuinely know, staying anonymous on LJ seems a difficult task. Unless, of course, you don't friend anyone, and then what's the point in using LJ? Why not just use WordPress or something?

Then again, a lot of people on LJ are migrating to Dreamwidth these days (for a reason I can't quite fathom), so maybe she won't find staying anonymous that difficult at all. How she'll get traffic, however, I don't know.

In any case, I've read her blog. I can relax, it's not about sex. We're not all that similar.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiing!

2011-10-01T16:57:00.002+01:00

I'm doing open mike tomorrow. This band I'm in, the one that 47 started... well, we are rehearsing, and then our blonde lesbian drummer suggested that we do this open mike. We've done it before and it's always gone relatively well - including one memorable session where we collaboratively wrote a song together and then two of us (not me) got up on stage and performed it without actually knowing what it was meant to sound like, going on scribbled lyrics by one of our number, approved by me, and chords by everyone else. I've still got a recording of that somewhere. I should find it.

While I much prefer to do full-length gigs (and I've done these one-and-a-half-hour things all by myself because I am an egomaniac), I'm not really above doing open mike - the problem with such a venture being that one only gets two songs when that happens... and it's difficult to develop much between two songs (I tend to use banter to pad it out, which seems to work well enough). The other problem, which mostly applies to me, is the fact that I can't resist mentioning sex.

It's not really part of my act. Very few of my songs are bawdy, and while there are some really explicit ones, they are masked well by lyrics which are open to interpretation (or deliberately don't make any sense). But there are a few which have no other way of going. At open mike I've performed a song I wrote for Scarlet on Valentine's this year, which is entirely about having sex with a multitude of girls, including the postwoman, taxi driver, French maid, receptionist, waitress, porn stars, and the sister of the girl to whom the song is addressed. I've also performed a song about spending the afternoon making love in various rooms of the house (notably the bathroom floor), one about staying up late playing hentai games until you fall for one of the characters, and one about trying to seduce a girl in French by alluding to croissants and coffee. Oh, and one about trying to convince a visiting American girl to have sex with the narrator via Craigslist.

I can be very deviant sometimes.

There isn't anything wrong with me singing dirty songs. Not really. And I rarely swear, hardly ever in my banter and very rarely indeed in my songs. And now that I'm not single any more, the songs don't really have the same sort of gravitas. Love songs that refer to a certain person have lost their significance in many ways, and those alluding to people who have lost their innocence, turned bitchy, submitted entirely to their partner's whims or been gay in the Scouts also don't hold their weight very much. Yes, I do have songs which are neither about sex nor have any taboo words or allusions to the same (and they're often my best), but when you're steadily doing those over and over again until you want something different to play...

...the sexual songs are going to be all you have left after a while.

Time for a dig through my archives.

It sucks to be me

2011-09-27T16:09:00.003+01:00

I'm not a fan of blowjobs. I've always been open about that. I don't dislike them - I mean, who would? - but out of preference, I'd give oral sex rather than receive. Although, of course, both is the best option, after all. In porn, they are everywhere, and from my experience, with very limited amounts of cunnilingus, while fellatio takes preference in terms of screentime and prominence. This annoys me (and is the reason, essentially, why I don't watch a lot of hardcore - although there are other reasons too). But normally, I don't hanker for a blowjob. Not usually. I like getting them, but they're not something I crave. I'd rather be inside other parts of a girl's anatomy than her mouth.

However, this morning I was suddenly overcome with a desire to receive oral sex that was more potent than that desire has ever been before. To further complicate this situation, I was sitting in the Job Centre at the time, and there was no rhyme or reason - no trigger, even - as to why I would suddenly want to be sucked off. I just, you know, did.

Out of the girls who have given me blowjobs - seven, if I recall correctly - cutieloveheartgirl's are the best, thanks to her enthusiasm for the task at hand, bordering on obsession, and the sensitivity of the parts of my cock she likes to suck. And therefore I've been experiencing the best oral sex of my life recently, and that's warmed me to it all the more over the past few weeks (although I've still never reached orgasm through oral stimulation, but that doesn't have to be the aim!), and I think the random fish through my memories, plus the fact that there was a delay at the Job Centre and I was sitting there for an interminably long time...

...plus, the fact that I've been incredibly tired all day and needed some form of relief...

...arose the want to receive oral gratification in me. It's subsided now (although I wouldn't say no, ever, anywhere), but it would have been the best way to pass the waiting time that I could think of, right there and then. And so... I thought.

Let me know...

2011-09-26T19:46:00.003+01:00

It's nice to feel wanted, to feel cared for, to feel loved. But it's also nice to feel needed. Evidently, I don't want people to feel like they can't cope all the time. But it's nice, in an admittedly ego-maniacal way, to think - or rather, to be told, that someone, somewhere - someone who you feel you need - needs you too. Those little phrases you pick up from people that they may say casually, or directly, to you, that make you feel good about yourself.

I began to feel that with Rebecca pretty much immediately after we started going out - as she had a mad crush on me. This had never, ever happened before, and I was liking it with an almost indecent enthusiasm. Her phrases, hints, and suggestions to me - that she'd miss college to be with me, or that she could never live without me - were in almost direct opposition to her repeated indiscretions, but I quite liked it when she said that stuff. And I sacrificed a lot for her, as well, to prove that I reciprocated. Although in fairness, when she dumped me, I'd known it was coming for a while - as I'd worked out she was cheating; a few contributing factors led to this, but none as much as the fact that she stopped saying that stuff.

TD's philosophy on life was different - she didn't like the whole idea that someone would have to make your life better for you, you have to do it yourself - but she did have the momentary blip when she slipped and admitted she wanted me - in order to cope, perhaps? I was a terrible repeat offender, missing her over and over and over again and telling her so. And there were times when I absolutely needed her. Of course there were. And there are times when she needed me. But in this case, it was her actions, rather than her words, that let me know this. Certainly she said things - influenced in part by people telling her not to get tied down to one man, and so on and so forth - but she did other things, like coming to see me a mere one hour after I got back from a week-long Woodcraft Camp, which let me know she wanted me.

I haven't felt that way for a while. And then yesterday, I got this text:

I imagined I was grabbing it and you were fucking me as I masturbated this morning.

And a little spark ignited in my stomach, and felt good about itself once again.

Soft Porn Sunday: Malù & Giancarlo Teodori

2011-09-25T15:54:00.005+01:00

Let it never be said that I don't like classy erotic films. I do. I just prefer the cheesy, low-budget ones as they generall have a lot more sex in them. However, I actually own this one on DVD. I bought it merely due to the strength of this one sex scene. There are more in the film... but not that many.

Anyway, Scent of Passion is Italian. It stars Malù as a wannabe dancer named Violette, who is "found" by lecherous chorepgrapher... Jeff. Really original name there for someone played by a man named "Giancarlo Teodori". They could have kept that name in; it would have been much more interesting than calling him "Jeff". But anyway, yeah, Jeff has this lover, Celeste, played by Ángeles López Barea, who is openly sexual. You can basically see where this is going, can't you?

So anyway, as this triangle continues, we present here the inevitable sex scene almost exactly halfway through the movie...

Appearance: Scent of Passion (1991)
Characters: Violette & Jeff

This scene takes place in Jeff's forest hideaway (because he can afford somewhere like that, allegedly) and would be your classic teacher/student sex scene, if it weren't so damn weird. First of all we get Violette allegedly dancing for Jeff, although it's actually just Malù turning around in circles wearing something resembling half a sari, before Jeff picks her up, lays her down on a white shagpile carpet and proceeds to... do something we can't quite see, because some twazzock filmed the next through seconds through a fire, so everything's consumed by flame. Oh, is that artistic? I see.

Anyway, with unashamed nudity, Jeff lies down on top of Violette and they writhe around for a bit. It's not really that sexy, in my opinion, but they are going through the motions, and there is a fair bit of passionate kissing at points, so at least it's filmed well enough. However, then they roll over and what we get here is the bit that I remember vivdly - Violette riding Jeff. In this case, everything's better. The staccato movement of her body, the moans (which mostly come from Jeff, but there are a few of hers too), and the sense that things are gradually beginning to get out of control, all hint at the passion that the title of the film refers to. Here it is, guys! Enjoy! The angle's better here, as well - you get to see more body movement, and more of Violette too, which is good, because although Malù's not the prettiest girl around, Teodori's not much to look at.

This goes on for a while before it's an immediate cut to doggie style. This bit - mostly filmed from behind a fire (Again? Seriously!) - is largely unremarkable (apart from the clear addition of sweat - not something a lot of producers would think about, I suspect, so kudos for that), until the end, where they clearly are overtaken by said passion, and suddenly the sex is a lot harder, more frantic, until it all ends quite suddenly. Although I suppose the sudden release of orgasm is like that in real life too, so maybe that's a good thing. I don't know.

Okay, so do I like actually like this scene? I bought the DVD specifically for it (sorry, anyone who assumed I have an inbuilt love for Italian cinema - I prefer Japanese), so is it worth it? Well, no it isn't. As I may have mentioned before, the second part of the scene does stick out in my mind. But I think that, since what actually formed the largest memory is the setting - with the fire, the bed and the white shagpile carpet (which just looks like it would be a fantastic thing to have sex on, congratulations for not acquiescing and using the bed) - the fact that I didn't exactly remember what the characters did should have probably been a good indication.

I don't like the music (it's all arty and floaty, but not in a good way), and I'm finding it difficult to connect with the characters in any meaningful way... and, tragically, I don't really find myself turned on by this. I know I used to, but I think that in many ways I've sort of matured since then. If that makes any sense. I've outgrown erotic Italian cinema. Tragic.

It's probably just not my cup of tea though. It might work for you. Who knows?

Fanny Hill

2011-09-24T18:19:00.002+01:00

After about fifteen years' knowledge of its existence, and having seen the film with Lisa Foster in it twice (although I have yet to see the Russ Meyer version or any of the other 4 or 5 interpretations of the story), even enduring a year of working in a bookshop wherein I got over 20% discount, I've finally gotten around to reading Fanny Hill. Took me long enough. And since I downloaded it from Project Gutenberg and thereby depleted my mother's ink and paper supply, it's not really something I can read on public transport, as it's on a stack of sheets of A4 that I'm keeping in a plastic folder. Effectively, it's my bedtime book.

Something I've noticed about this infamous volume is that the language used by John Cleland is explicit, but in a deliberately flowery manner. I didn't know much about this book (other than the basics of the plot...), and although what struck me first is the fact that it is an epistolary novel - although not exactly overtly so, like The Color Purple or We Need To Talk About Kevin - what struck me second (because after a few pages you're thrown straight into the action) is how similar Cleland's descriptions of sex are to mine. I mean, look at this:

We had now reached the closest point of union; but when he beckened to come on the fiercer, as if I had been actuated by a fear of losing him, in the height of my fury, I twist my legs round his naked loins, the flesh of which, so firm, so springy to the touch, quivered again under the pressure; and now I had him every way encircled and begirt; and having drawn him home to me.

And it often doesn't let up. And yes, it is quite explicit. There's no question as to exactly what our Frances Hill is talking about in these passages. But there aren't any swear-words in it (they weren't as prevalent in printed media during 1748, I assume), and although nothing is veiled, nothing is on display either.

I like it.

So much so that, at bedtime (and often I go to bed quite tired, so having to read this ten pages at a time, whereas were it a paperback I'd have finished it by now), within catching a few paragraphs of this stuff, I am captivated, I've often found my instrument of mischief (again, that's a Cleland line - and I quite like that one) ready for - well - mischief. Not that I've ever done anything about it - I'm not one to start masturbating over a masterpiece of English literature - but I have felt the urge, even if I've been up to mischief myself during the day which precedes the sneaky bed-based consumption of words.

But nevertheless, it turns me on. And that's always a sign of well-written prose.

Arsenal

2011-09-22T23:03:00.003+01:00

Back in the day, when I was a young ILB, my regular source of erections was my Gran's TV. Gran, who lived in the same house as us until quite recently, is a keen sports fan - which is unlikely for an 88-year-old Scottish lady in a wheelchair, but she is - and for one of her birthdays, although I can't remember which, we decided to get her cable TV for her lounge (our lounge was upstairs; hers, down), so she could watch even more sports. This was good in theory, except we could only do so when we'd surgically detached my sister from the Cartoon Network. I even hogged Sky One myself when there were new episodes of Pokémon up for grabs.

But when I hit about 12, Gran's cable TV became a resource for soft porn, and soft porn only. Back then, I was kind of aware that watching soft porn was wrong. I was, I reasoned, under 18, and shouldn't have been watching this stuff. Because I was also a Spice Girls fan at the time, I had this routine that I would flick back and forth between the soft porn channels and The Box, and Viva Forever would "release me", allowing me to stop seeking sexual arousal and go to bed. Hey, it's a sad song, shut up.

I kept flicking between softcore and music channels, even when I wasn't looking to be released from my thrall, but this time because my mother had told me once that it might be possible to tell which channels you were watching the most (it wasn't), so I used the "last" button creatively to flick between things, assuming that this would fool the channels into thinking I was watching something else.

And therefore, any mention of Arsenal Football Club makes me think of soft porn.

You're confused, I can tell. Well, having grown up in a Tottenham-supporting family (both Dad and Gran are supporters of Spurs, and I suppose so am I, in a passive way... ergo: I'd like them to win, but I don't give a fuck if they don't), Arsenal wasn't often mentioned. My cousin, who's living here now, actually works for Arsenal, so it's got more prominence in the house... well, I think it does. I don't care about football in any way so I don't know. But what I do know about Arsenal is that before a cup final match against... someone else, I don't know what either... is that they released a version of Hot Stuff with genuinely inspired lyrics, such as this wonder:

I want to see the Arsenal playing some hot stuff... Come on, the Arsenal.

Marvellous.

But because of my massive amount of reliance on the "last" button, any occurrences of the track (only labelled "Arsenal FC - Hot Stuff", no album or producer or artist or anything) would be interspersed with channels which, I knew, played soft porn after 10pm, and therefore Arsenal's "cover" was sometimes punctuated with sex scenes, to that effect - appropriate, perhaps, for Hot Stuff... just not so much for a football team.

I still know which one I prefer, too.

Oral hygiene

2011-09-21T22:09:00.002+01:00

When I am sexually aroused, I usually run my tongue around my mouth. I don't let it hang out or lick my lips, because that's just a bit creepy - and clichéd, and I try to avoid clichés like the plague. But I do run my tongue around the inside of my mouth. Maybe this is an automatic thing. I'd like to think it's a precursor to oral sex. And I do love oral sex.

However, when I am sexually aroused this week, the usual end result is me in quite a lot of pain around my lower jaw. There is a mouth ulcer directly in the middle of the flap of skin that joins the inside of my lower lip to my lower gum and it hurts like buggery to do anything that involves moving it - including talking, singing, shaving, or - tragically - eating, which meant that dinner tonight was a nightmare, especially when the stalk of a lettuce leaf hit it directly, like a finger pressing a button, and I would have screamed, but for a combination of good table manners and the common sense to know that screaming would have hurt even more.

Yes, I am a wimp. I'm hypersensitive. Shut up and pity me.

It's a good thing nobody's trying to kiss me or I may end up crying during the kiss, and not in the whole romantic way.

The top lip - or what I'm going to refer to now as the safe bit of my mouth - is actually incredibly sensitive, and to lick the bit in the middle directly under the philtrum (on a girl, at least) produces a sensation of being licked over a lot of nerve endings, similar to being stimulated in that way via the clitoris (apparently). It doesn't work for everyone (on me, licking my top lip just tickles, but then again I'm ticklish practically everywhere), but I like to think of it as a good indication that what you want to be doing after the kiss is to lick said clitoris. This has never been an idea that hasn't gone down well. "Philtrum," after all, is Greek for "love potion", so there.

However, I think it highly unlikely that I'm going to subsist on top lip kisses forever, and that if I don't want to project a scream of mortal agony into cutieloveheartgirl's mouth next time we kiss I need to get rid of this ulcer - if, indeed, it is an ulcer. It may just be benign and what is hurting is actually my lower gum itself, which would be the sort of ironic thing that happens to me. But in any case, I am becoming a slave to oral hygiene.

I've never really slacked off oral hygiene. I know you're meant to brush your teeth at least twice a day and yes, I rarely ever manage this, but I do manage at least once a day, and when I feel I need it, I do get that chewing gum with the teeth-cleaning granules in it. I have and use a tongue scraper almost religiously, I love swilling mouthwash (although mostly because it looks like I am expectorating some sort of corrosive acid afterwards and can therefore I can pretend I'm a supervillain who has that as his power), I steal my sister's plaque disclosing tablets from time to time, and all in all, I love my mouth (even when it hurts). Why some of my teeth still appear slightly yellow is a mystery which plagues me. It's one of the things about my body I hate, like my stomach bulge, the fact that my thighs rub together as I walk and my moobs. But I digress.

Oral hygiene is important to me and thus I have bought a tube of gel. I've never used gel before, preferring instead to suck Rinstead pastilles. But this is desperate. Okay, so I don't have a fixed date for seeing cutieloveheartgirl again, and I'm sure I could still kiss without being in too much distress. I could probably deliver perfectly adequate oral sex too. But I wouldn't be at my best... and considering the fact that I don't have much else going for me, this is not acceptable!

So... gel it is, then. Brushing, disclosure, brushing, tongue scrape, mouthwash and gel. It sounds like a kink.

Cleaning my teeth is going to be interesting tonight.

TMI Tuesday: Decisions

2011-09-20T20:19:00.003+01:00

These questions are quite ominous. Don't make me choose in complicated decisions! I'm just too opinionated for this sort of thing...

1. You encounter a good-looking, lost, and frantic tourist looking for the airport. You:
A) Shrug your shoulders, feigning ignorance.
B) Find the shortest route on your smartphone and get him/her a cab.
C) Direct him/her to the nearest bus stop.
D) Get your car, pick up his/her luggage and speed to the airport.

(This one isn't strictly true, as I don't have a car. But it's the sort of thing I would do. I found a lost old lady once and took her to the bus stop, got on the bus with her, and guided her all the way to her destination.)

2. You’re taking a vacation alone. Your destination:
A) Beach resort — I just want to relax and de-stress.
B) A group tour — I don’t want to worry about the details.
C) Wherever the dart lands on the map.
D) Every country with a hostel — my backpack is my home.

(This is a tie between A, C and D because I like to de-stress, although I'm not too keen on beaches, I like to be interesting and unusual with my holidays, and I like to travel! So yes, a tie!)

3. Blackout! You can’t watch TV, so you light some candles and:
A) Dig up some batteries and listen to the radio.
B) Invite the neighbours, light a fire and sing camping songs all night.
C) Find a friend and play games that don’t require electricity. . . Like chess.
D) Drive to the next town — oh sweet Wi-Fi, I’ve found you!

(Except not my neighbours. My friends. We are The Woodcraft Folk... Plus, I don't watch much TV anyway. It'd be my computer that's the problem.)

4. The man/woman of your dreams has finally proposed. The relationship is perfect, they are everything you’ve ever dreamed of and ever wanted. They are also a multi-millionaire and want you to sign a prenuptial agreement. Which would you do?
A) Sign it
B) Just not get married

(I'm adding my own option C to this - depends what the pre-nuptial agreement stipulates!)

5. If you were going to marry an inanimate object, what would you marry?
Probably a bass guitar. It's the sexiest musical instrument I can think of. And yes, my brain immediately listed musical instruments when it saw "inanimate objects". At least I didn't say a sex toy.

Bonus: You’ve just inherited a manufacturing plant that specializes in plastics. What are you going to make?
Action figures based on things from my youth that I think should have had action figures, but didn't. If anyone can give me a valid reason why there weren't Knightmare action figures I'll be very surprised.

Captain's Blog

2011-09-19T18:16:00.002+01:00

Avast behind, all ye saucy wenches and stallion beasts o' the sea! Hop upon me Cap'n's Log an' see why me roger is so jolly! Prepare yerselves to be boarded!

How be ye celebratin' this magical day of true cultural expression? Be ye singin' lustfully o' fish and booty while ye raise a glass o' grog? Be ye flyin' through the air as pirates do, droppin' swords on yer enemies? Or be ye playin' yer way through Donkey Kong Country 2, or even better, Monkey Island, revelling in the piratical glory o' it all? Or be ye merely watchin' that televisual feast, Pirates, shiverin' yer own timbers? Variety be the spice o' piratical life, after all, arrr!

Fer yers truly, today has been a day o' voluntarrrrry work - but there be a promise o' a trip ter the local waterin' hole this autumnal evenin', with many in tow, like Jolly Jack Robinson, the bounding Mane, an' the young sailor, maybe wi' man-lovin' lubber costumes intact! Who knows? It be an evenin' o' high adventure and good spirits, ter be sure! An' although me schemin' sister has me treasure, I be sure to keep an eye (patched or not) on her! I know fer sure she be owin' me £2! Ha-har!

Me lady has been tellin' me this evenin' that I be the best pirate she has ever known! Warms the barnacles of me heart, that does, an' deserves a fine comment to go wi' it. So here it be:

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!

Rah!

2011-09-17T18:21:00.002+01:00

I woke up this morning; everybody was a dinosaur
Every motherfucker in the world is a dinosaur
Dinosaur! Everybody give a roar!
Every motherfucker is a dinosaur

Today is, according to Blacksilk, "Pretend To Be A Dinosaur Day" - although why they put it two days before International Talk Like A Pirate Day I'm not sure, but nevertheless, it's still a pretty cool idea for a day. And, as you may have surmised from the fact that I haven't been posting for a while, I was elsewhere until today. I was, in fact, spending a few days with my girlfriend who, coincidentally, likes dinosaurs. They're even making a BBC documentary series SPECIFICALLY IN HER HONOUR. And although consisted mostly of my leaving, we did celebrate the day pre-emptively. How? We painted some ceramic Stegosaurus moneyboxes, that's how.

You know, obviously.

That is, however, pretty much all we did that didn't involve being in bed. I mean, we got out of bed, sure, but that generally centred around having meals or showers, or maybe procuring orange juice (but keep that a secret). The days have been pretty miserable, and in order to not get buffeted around by wind to an extreme degree, rained on torrentially, or frozen in the cruel North temperatures (it's very cold in the North!), all we could do was stay inside, and since we've only been a couple for a while, exploring each other's tendencies was perhaps the best idea. Well, second best. Stegosaurus moneyboxes were hard to beat.

I'm not sure how much I'm able to say. I mean, we've been together for a while and we've even had plenty of non-penetrative sex too, on holiday in Buckinghamshire. How much more do I say? Her blowjobs are fantastic; she is very keen and very good. Her hair is long and can be annoying, but it's very attractive and nice to stroke. I can bring her to orgasm by playing with her clit, sliding a finger inside her, or licking her briskly for a few seconds. I can also do that by licking her ear or kissing (although not biting) her shoulder. We had full sex this time as well, and although the shared orgasms were incredible, I think the main thing is that without even moving my hips, once I pressed my cock into her she was over the peak once, and would be so again if I just stayed where I was.

But for all the good that was, I think the main point of discovery with this girl is something I have experienced with her before, but failed to register exactly. She is very intimate. Even the smallest hug is very close - her bed is small, so whether we were trying to sleep, indulging in pre- or post-coital cuddling time or laughing our heads off at 2am about nothing in particular, there was a lot of shared warmth, body heat, skin on skin. She could wrap her whole body around me and think nothing of it. I could lie on her back - or she could lie on mine, pressing her boobs into the expanse of skin around my spine. And even in our least intimate moments - when waking up from sleep or merely discussing what to do - we were entwined within each other, a tangle of limbs, hair and hands holding whatever they could reach.

So that's what I've been doing this week. She is, after all, a lovely dinosaur.

TMI Tuesday: Dating

2011-09-13T15:35:00.004+01:00

TMI Tuesday is about dating this week. This is difficult for me to do as, although I've been in three relationships, I haven't had many "dates" in the traditional sense characterised in the Point Romance books. I'm not even sure that's how it works. I don't quite get the concept of going on one date with someone. It seems a bit weird. But then again, how am I to know how it works? I'm rarely that successful. Anyway, here goes.

1. You’re on a speed date. You’ve got 7 minutes with the potential partner. You already know the person’s name. What are the first three questions you would ask?

- Do you like chikity china, the chinese chicken?
- Have you a drumstick and your brain stops ticking?
- It's all about value, isn't it really?

2. Have you ever participated in speed dating? Did you get a regular date/second date out of it?

No, I haven't done speed dating. My mother suggested I do so once, but I don't think she'd get a work in edgeways (the date, not my mother); I can talk for 7 minutes without realising I'm doing so.

3. Do you participate in online dating? How many dates have you had as a result of online dating sites/matches?

I've tried, but not through conventional means. I mean, I've tried conventional means too, but they don't actually make much of a difference, even though my sister is still convinced I meet people off match.com. I've never actually had a romantic date from any sort of dating website. I don't really think they work.

But in answer to your question, yes, I met all three on the internet.

4. You are attracted to:
a. Who people are?
b. What people have?
c. What they can do?

Why don't you phrase this in the form of a question? Anyway, all three.

5. What “little red flag” will cause you to end a date or immediately decide this person isn’t for you?

I'm not the sort of person who would do something like that.

6. What do you feel you need to sacrifice or have sacrificed to be a part of a relationship?

Oh, Lord. I've sacrificed all I can before. I don't plan to do so, of course, but I've ended up doing so because of the relationships I've been in. The worst thing was that I had to sacrifice some of my most deeply-held values because they didn't gel with the person I was with, particularly. I got less tolerant after a while and all I got for protesting was a telling-off. See, I can't win.

7. If you cooked for your date, what would you cook?

Depends what they like. I've cooked for girlfriends before, and it's been a range of things, but then again, I rarely get to, so when I do, it's usually something planned. Generally with pasta in it. I like pasta.

8. At the end of a first date, how would you kiss your date?
a. Press your lips against theirs
b. Gentle kiss on the cheek
c. Lots o’ tongue, like you’re on a tonsil exploration
d. I don’t kiss on the first date

It depends how well the date went, surely?

This is, of course, a guess, as - I've said before - I've never done the traditional date thing, really. Not really. I suppose on the only occasions I've had what you could term a date, they've ended with a full-on snog, but we'd probably have been doing that already anyway. I don't know. These questions... were they written for 14-year-old American girls? Because they "date", allegedly.

Bonus: You just put up a profile on a dating site. You must describe yourself in 10 words or less. What are your 10 words?

I've done this before. They are usually, "I am not interested in viewing girls on webcam sites," in huge bold capital letters. And yet they still try to scam me! What the fuck?

Anyway, if you need me, I'll be in the North for the next few days. Ta-rah!

Soft Porn Sunday: Pegg Landon & Paul Michael Robinson

2011-09-11T16:46:00.003+01:00

The first in the Emmanuelle in Space sequence is a bit of an incongruous beast, when you consider what comes after it. For a start, although Emmanuelle is in the title, she doesn't actually have a lot of sex in this episode, and for two instances of such (it seems a lot, but consider the amount of sex scenes in these films... 9 in this one alone), she is in disguise, so Krista Allen only appears in two. And for another, it sets up the plot nicely, but doesn't appear to have much relevance to the remaining six storylines. It's not a total non-sequitur, because it's a set-up... but it does mostly consist of Haffron having sex. Not that I complain, of course.

Appearance: Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy, aka First Contact (1994)
Characters: Louise & Haffron

First of all, I don't like the title First Contact. It's too cheesy even for soft porn, and when I first watched this (how old was I? 14ish?), it was introduced as Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy. The DVD's even labelled as such. I don't know how First Contact came into being. Not that I care much, either.

This scene is the last of three sex scenes to happen on a riverboat presumably going down the Nile. There's a very limp explanation for this: Emmanuelle has been abducted by aliens at a very inconvenient point: she is about to take a totally unexplained cruise in Egypt. Haffron decides to come with her, although how he can do this without having any form of ticket is unexplained (the Doctor would have used some psychic paper), and during the boat ride - you can tell it's a boat ride because there are occasional shots, from afar, of a boat - he sleeps with three women, one of whom is Emmanuelle in disguise. This is not Emmanuelle.

Say hi to Louise. She introduces herself briefly and jumps into bed with Haffron after an incredibly quick conversation (causing the barman, played by John Huey, to throw his list of pick-up lines away in a wonderful piece of bit part acting), thus begins the scene.

Whoever Haffron's having sex with in these scenes, they are all quite formulaic. There are brief cuts to bits of a boat (you do expect to hear this song after a while), more brief cuts to shots of Haffron's crew on their motherfucking spaceship (with the inane computer voice saying things like, "intuitive reasoning down thirteen per cent... mathematical reasoning down twenty-five per cent..."), often looking confused, music that sounds vaguely Egyptian in places and entirely naked Haffron. But strangely enough, in spite of this (or maybe even because you know what's coming), these scenes are all pretty good. I'll say this last one with Louise is the best, though.

The reason I quite like this scene has to be the position. Haffron spends most of this time standing up, while Louise is lying on her back with her legs open. In real life, of course, this results in deep, intense sex. I know this is soft porn, so it's not happening, but as we all know by now, Paul Michael Robinson is very adept at making you think it is, and Pegg Landon, as well as being a very attractive lady, does quite a lot with her face (which quite compensates for her not having that much to do otherwise). Haffron's movement is quite mechanic - hip thrusts - but Louise is moving quite fluidly in response to him, which actually makes for a good motion that complements the scene well.

As I've mentioned before, the music really isn't great. It's not well-thought-out and it could be presented better. But if it's not an integral part of the scene, at the very least it's unobtrusive, which helps a lot. And the soft moans here (which mostly come from Louise, it seems) are nicely timed with the thrusts. So it all fits together nicely.

The problem I have with this scene is its second half. They switch to the reverse cowgirl position after a while and, although the switch is somewhat seamless, the scene is a lot less "involved" this way. The position was working fine initially; why change it, especially when some of the best scenes only use one position? Maybe it's an easier position to do the fall back which seems to have to happen during every damn scene in this film.

Still, that's a minor gripe. It's a good scene. Not the best in this series - not even the best in this film, perhaps - but definitely the best of the "Egypt Boat Collection", and worth watching if you happen to own or be seeing a copy of this film. It should just be longer, more intense, and have more of that great first position in it.

Oh, and Haffron... grow a love trail. I know you're an alien, but at least try to look a bit human, will you?

Sharing a word...

2011-09-09T22:36:00.002+01:00

"What would you to do me?"

That one question - a statement not exactly made in innocence, but open to interpretation any way you want - started me off. It sounds almost like an invitation, a dangerous substance to play with - what would I do to her? Where do I start? With a lyric - do with me what you want, but don't tell a soul? With a question of my own? Or with an action? I fell back on words, spurned on by my own imagination.

I spun words. I talked of sucking nipples, kissing the stomach, titillating the clitoris and licking the labia. I spoke of the ecstasy of penetration, the feeling of the penis entering her, and of her hands placing themselves on my back. I left a question hanging in the air in the knowledge that she was enjoying the words I was tapping out. She orgasmed, in my absence. She slid downstairs for food. I sat and waited.

My erection was present. I had turned myself on. A mark of good prose? Perhaps. Maybe it was my own words, maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was a combination of the two.Whatever the reason, I had turned myself on. MSN blinked at me to remind me that she was not there. I had nobody to concentrate my affections on but myself. And so I did. I took myself back into my imagination. I read and re-read the words with which I had indulged the girl from 200 miles away. And by the time she returned I was ready to finish. A few lines of conversation followed - we talked of shared orgasms, licking, and how turned on I was. And I brought myself to my own orgasm through that.

A shower followed. I got myself wet, scrubbed, clean and then dry. I needed it, that moment of refreshment during which I reflect. I always reflect. Another lyric came to me, from the same song. One that didn't need an answer - how was it for you? A rhetorical lyric, perhaps. I returned to the computer. She was there... waiting for me. I dried my hair (yes, I use a hairdryer!), and re-entered the conversation. We talked of Wikipedia, Coronation Street, chocolate biscuits and Aldi. I said, "your life has me in it." She said:

"I want you in me!"

My stomach flipped. My penis began to harden up once more. I began to confirm my suspicions... that there would be more orgasms shared between us tonight.

VILF

2011-09-08T23:50:00.003+01:00

Struggling to think of anything sexy to write about, I was just about to make some tea to activate my brain, when three sharp knocks on the front door piqued my curiosity. I hurried to open it, to see framed in the door four people I'd forgotten about temporarily: Robinson, Mane, his gay sailor brother, and looking casual and hanging back a bit, the young raver. They practically dragged me out of the door.

"Give me something sexy to write about," I commanded Mane as we entered the pub. "And don't say sex. Just think of something sexy."
"How about a Japanese girl drummer who looks down?" proffered Mane, leaving me to marvel at how he had recalled a list of things I found sexy from about five years ago. He didn't give me any other ideas, but he did question me about a picture of a towel which appeared to be covered in a red liquid, which I had, of course, casually deposited on Facebook. They all seemed to think it was virgin blood, but I reassured them that I wasn't taking part in any Satanic ritual. And despite having been bitten on the neck, I'm still not a vampire. I did, of course, spin a story involving washing strawberries, but they didn't buy that one. I don't blame them. We all know deep down that it's the blood of my mortal enemy, who I have, eventually, defeated.

"So are you now no longer a MILF virgin?" Robinson asked casually over a pint. I barely had time to ready an answer before I realised he wasn't actually talking to me. I am neither a MILF nor a virgin, so I shouldn't have been so on edge. Maybe it was all this talk of strawberry juice on towels.

"I wasn't one anyway," said the young raver, "but if I was, I would be now."

I, of course, hadn't heard about this. But it didn't take me long to find out that our young raver had been sleeping with a girl of 21, who has a daughter of five years. Were it anyone but him, I'd be slightly worried.

"Besides," said Robinson, "you were only half a MILF virgin beforehand anyway."
"I wasn't in any way a MILF virgin!" protested the young raver.
"It doesn't count if it's your own child," interjected Mane.
"Yes yes, very funny," said the young raver.
"It doesn't count if you pay for it either!"

There was a very pregnant pause.

"€30 for 45 minutes," said the young raver, finally. "That's not such a bad deal, when you think about it."

Everyone went a bit silent.

"It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience," he pressed on earnestly.
"Not for her, it isn't!" burst out Mane, at which everyone dissolved into welcome laughter, any tension having dissipated.

And it got the conversation away from whatever may have been on the towel, at least.

Totally pure, right?

2011-09-06T23:58:00.006+01:00

It's been a while since I took TheFerrett's purity test. Out of curiosity (and through trying to distract myself creatively from the very real possibility that I may be going to stay in cutieloveheartgirl's actual house next week), I idly Googled it, and found that not only is it still extant, there's a version two. So, er, here it is.

Oh, and for clarification, because I too was confused by this - the lower your percentage, the more along the scale you are. A low result means you have ticked more boxes.

Your Ultimate Purity Test 2.0 Score Is...
	Your Score:	Average For All:
Dating	26.92%	34.58%	Dated seriously
Self-Lovin'	63.64%	60.67%	Master of your domain
Shamelessness	80.65%	77.3%	Has yet to see self in mirror
Sex Drive	78.57%	75.04%	Monks are envious
Straightness	9.26%	39.44%	Knows the other body type like a map
Gayness	94.44%	77.52%	Repressed, are we?
Dominant	85%	86.45%	Afraid to cross at "Don't Walk" signs
Submissive	92.06%	86.7%	Submits to no one... almost
Fucking Sick	91.84%	89.69%	Refreshingly normal
Total Score	73.76%	73.58%

Can't argue with that, I suppose.

Glad to be straight?

2011-09-02T10:35:00.003+01:00

If I say "I'm comfortable with my sexuality," will people think I'm gay?

Okay, that's a really odd question to ask. Sexual orientation is always a thorny issue as everyone throws up the arguments of how to define and whether definition is even necessary - with the generally accepted convention that everyone is on some sort of spectrum somewhere, or that you fancy who you fancy irrelevant of gender or whatever, but a lot of people still make the broad distinctions, gay, straight, bi or asexual. While this can cause problems, if you have to label, you have to label.

A friend of mine who suddenly decided he was bisexual (although I don't think it's something you decide; maybe he was trying to be interesting) introduced himself to Knightmare Winner with the phrase, "hello, I'm Drew, I'm bisexual." He kept repeating the phrase throughout the following week. I eventually said to him, "hello yourself, I'm ILB, I'm straight." It has just as much value as a phrase, in my book.

I am straight. That's no surprise. I am attracted to people of the opposite gender. I've never been attracted to anyone of the same gender - I'm sure the potential is there, but it's never happened and I don't suppose it will, not when I have a particular weakness for pretty ladies. And I can say with certainly that I am very comfortable with my sexuality.

But some people don't think I have a right to say that. Some people think it's a gay phrase. I was once discussing a friend with Rebecca, and I said of this friend that she was in touch with her sexuality. "What, is she gay?" quipped Rebecca. Why make that assumption, girl?! (She wasn't gay, by the way. Turns out that Rebecca, in fact, was struggling with her own sexuality - still, it's a worrying sign that that's the conclusion she leapt to). It's sad, really. To think that being anything other than straight is something you have to deal with - something you have to achieve comfort with through time and/or effort.

Well, gosh. I'm glad I'm so normal. I'm so glad that I'm one of the few people from the CCK crowd who aren't in the least interested in BiCon. I'm really pleased that the majority of the Knightmare community is bi, and that I'm a curiosity because I'm not. I'm totally happy with the fact that Woodcraft used to have a rainbow support network for people who aren't like me. I'm totally happy with the fact that because I'm the least threatening boy in existence, people naturally assume I'm gay and then it's funny when they find out I'm straight! What fun it is to be me.

But I'm comfortable with my sexuality. I am perfectly within my rights to use that phrase... because, frankly, it's the truth. I am a straight boy. I hope you can all accept me for that, and acknowledge that I am what I am.

I hope this doesn't change anything between us.

TMI Wednesday: Music!

2011-08-31T23:06:00.005+01:00

Hooray, I'm almost two days late for doing this TMI Tuesday! I'm sorry, but it's about music. I couldn't resist for much longer!

The lesson learned, I think, is that you should never ask the following questions to a wannabe musician. They don't hold up well under the onslaught of walls of text.

1. What’s the most annoying song in the world?

Oh, there are loads. I think the Crazy Frog version of Popcorn is a good contender. I thought it wouldn't get any worse after he did that version of Axel F, but he managed to do it somehow. Because I Got High by Afroman is also somewhat shit.

But the absolute winner is the proposed theme tune for the revised series 9 of Knightmare, which never got made. For the uninitiated, Knightmare is a dark fantasy set in a gloomy dungeon world. The theme tune was some comedy MIDI organ music which sounded like someone had made love to a carousel with a vocoder screaming "Knightmare, it's a Knightmare" over it. I wonder if they put that in as a joke.

2. What’s the saddest song in the world?

Pure Shores by All Saints. It always makes me cry and it's not even all that sad. Nor is it at all memorable. But then again, I cry at most things.

3. What’s the sexiest song in the world?

It depends what you class as sexy. There are certainly a lot of songs about sex. Take My Neck, My Back by Khia. That's about sex, but it's nauseating, rather than sexy.

I'm tempted to name one of my songs here, but all the songs about sex I write are funny ones, and hardly really meant to be provocative. I think the thing about a sexy song is the way it's performed, rather than the way it's done. So I name here Hips Don't Lie... for obvious reasons.

5. Have you met any famous musicians?

All of James! And one ex-member of... er... James! I'm sure there must be others, but I can't remember them.

6. What song best describes your life?

Sing! from A Chorus Line, because I can't sing...
I Like by The Divine Comedy, because it describes the way I love...
Holiday In My Head by Smash Mouth, because I retreat into my head a lot...
Blue Pastures by James, because I get depressed sometimes...

...and any of the songs I've written about various aspects of my life, like the one about parking in St Ives, being bored on Sunday nights, playing hentai games or making love on the bathroom floor.

7. How important is your partner’s taste in music to you?

My "partner" (how quaint!) would have to have a good taste in music. It doesn't have to be the same as mine, but it has to be good. Fortunately, all three girlfriends have had good tastes in music, with the possible exception of Rebecca, who liked Sum41.

8. Do you sing in the shower?

What else is a shower for?!

9. What was the last live music show you attended? Did you buy a t-shirt?

Goldie Lookin' Chain in Camden in March. It was really funny but quite painful from all the moshing. They are a great band though, one of the most hilarious and clever with their lyrics. There weren't any T-shirts for sale, though.

10. What’s the sweetest song in the world?

Upside, by... James. Find it, give it a listen and then tell me you've heard anything sweeter. (My version of Friday doesn't count. It's me that's sweet, not the song!)

11. Can you play a musical instrument? Which one?

Vocal. Guitar. Violin. Drums. Bass. Xylophone. Ocarina.Timpani. I can also play all types of percussion untuned and I wrote a song on the glockenspiel the other day, even though I haven't touched a glockenspiel for years. I also once played a song on the ukulele, although I can't actually play the ukulele. But I managed to play Sit Down, by... er... James!

12. Are you in a band or are you a performing solo music artist? If yes, what kind of music do you play?

Both.

I used to be in a band that I started because I wanted to be in a band. We played basically offbeat indie rock, which was quite fun. This band never actually officially ended, but we went on hiatus earlier this year because basically we all had other things to work on. I missed being in a band for a while until 47 asked me to play guitar in his band. I've been in his band before, as backing vocalist/dancer/percussionist, but he's reanimated it and I'm now the guitarist. Odd how these things happen. This is more indie rock, but with more of a prog influence to it. It's also harder, in terms of the sound and the difficulty to play!

My solo stuff has changed radically. I used to be doing things that I didn't do in the band, like funk, experimental synthpop, electronica and classical composition! But over time, I basically realised that my strength lay in writing lyrics, and I eventually went back to writing more traditional songs. People started laughing during gigs and eventually 47 told me I should be a comedian. So I said something like, "yeah, okay." And now my songs are played for humour. Strange, but cool.

13. Have you ever dated a musician?

Nope. Rebecca wanted to be a singer, but to be honest she wasn't all that good. TD could sing beautifully, but she lacked confidence. She also allegedly had grade 8 piano and violin, but I never saw her play anything. Again I think she lacked confidence. You can hear her singing in one of my songs, though. cutieloveheartgirl, however, has won prizes for her singing, so I think she's the closest to a successful musician! Brava!

14. Are you a groupie?

Depends what you class as a groupie. I don't travel with a specific band, so no, I'm not a groupie. I know snowdrop is a James groupie, kind of. They know who she is, at least, although they know me only by sight. And she goes to their after-show parties and stuff. I don't, bah!

Closest I've ever been is official photographer/videographer for a touring Glaswegian band, because I know their drummer. I turned up to their one and only London gig so far and he asked me to film them, so I did. And I got in for free because of that! Amazing!

Bonus: Describe your worst, best, strangest, funniest or saddest concert moment.

James, Hoxton, May 2007.

ILB: "When's the album out?"
Tim: "What?"
ILB: "When's the album out?"
Tim: "Oh, we're going to go into the studio in September, and the album'll be out sometime next year."
47: "That's too long!"
Saul: "Yeah, of course it's too long. It'll be about sixty-five minutes! And you'll all be, like, why didn't they make nine tracks? There are nine great tracks there, why'd they have to do fourteen?"
Tim: "Brian Eno used to have this saying, like, MAKE LESS MUSIC. He used to go around with a badge on saying MAKE LESS MUSIC."
Saul: "And you're all thinking the same thing tonight... make less music."
[He starts playing "Getting Away With It (All Messed Up)". Dave joins in, followed by Andy. The audience clap along.]
Larry: "Oh, don't clap, you'll only make him worse!"
Tim: "You've confused him how, he's fuckin' completely lost his time!"

The amazing thing is the fact that this wasn't a false start - they built up and went straight into the song. If you want the MP3, ask me. 47 bootlegged it.

Bonus, Bonus: If you listen to the radio, what station and type of music are you tuned to the most?

BBC 6 Music. It's good background music to anything.

On transferable media devices

2011-08-29T17:29:00.003+01:00

Or: "The Epic Battle of CD and DVD Drives, Part 3: Return Of The King"

I tried out my new drive today. Okay, fair enough, I got it in the post somewhere between holidays two and three, but apart from a really quick test of whatever DVD I had lying to hand (Wallace and Gromit, I think?), I hadn't really had either the chance of inclination to test the drive for what I would usually use it for - although I managed to have a full conversation with @JillyBoyd about soft porn without thinking of watching any, I was determined to not masturbate for three days before my holiday OMGZ SCANDAL - before today, whereupon I decided to try it out.

Quick history of this debacle: I broke my external CD/DVD drive with hard porn. My new netbook doesn't have an internal drive, and my old laptop doesn't appear to be able to ingest discs any more without leaving a sticky goop on them. I scavenged an old DVD player from the attic, watched soft porn on it once, used my mother's laptop illicitly for other reviews, and ordered a new drive from Amazon. This turned up, it didn't work. I sent it back and waited all of holiday one for any form of confirmation, which I didn't get. Eventually I got a refund, ordered another one, and now it is plugged in. Ta-dah! Easy.

The good news is that it plays DVDs. Hey, it also plays audio CDs as well. The bad news, however, is that - unlike the drive I had that is exactly the same model and make, it doesn't appear to be recognising anything home-made. This doesn't bother me insofar as how it relates to the DVD of the little film my cousins and I made last Christmas. It does, however, bother me that it still managed to render 20 CDRs of soft porn absolutely useless, still. Little square bastard.

So.

I got home from my long walk today to find the house vacant. I knew it was vacant this time without having to ask the cat. (It's irrelevant, really, but I tried a new tactic: shouting "IS ANYBODY THERE?" at the top of my voice. It works just as effectively.) I texted my mother to find out where she was and when she'd be back, by I had already put one of my soft porn CDRs into her laptop, which she had foolishly left turned on, and on the kitchen table. A 4GB Transcend USB stick was in the port, and the MPEGs were merrily transferring across. I was casually sipping tea, and life was good.

Screw you, drive. I'll have my soft porn.

Only I had to think of someone sexy to actually orgasm, as the few files I managed to transfer over didn't work too well. Nevertheless, it's a matter of pride, right?