Soft Porn Sunday: Amber Newman & Stella Porter

It's not often that I enjoy a lesbian soft porn scene. There are quite a few out there, as I'd imagine they're easy to shoot and they do cater for a market of a sort... the market being people that are turned on by lesbian soft porn, I suppose. This doesn't include me. Nevertheless, there have to be some exceptions to the rule. This is one such exception.

Appearance: Dungeon of Desire (1999)
Characters: Vickie & Lady-in-Waiting

Vickie (Newman), Carrie (Susan Featherly) and Jill (Regina Russell) aren't having the best of times, really. They've... somehow... been zapped into the past, and appeared in a castle of some kind. Only the castle wizard (Burke Morgan, famous for playing non-sexual old men in soft porn) knows how to help them escape: sexual energy!

I'm going to give you a few seconds to read that paragraph through once more. Now tell me that it makes any sense at all, and I'll be amazed.

Into this mix throw an imprisoned princess played by Mia Zottoli, named Gwen, who isn't allowed to see her sweetheart, because her wicked stepmother (yes, really) is a bit of a bitch. Although she spends a lot of time ruminating on this, it doesn't seem to bother Gwen too much, as she spends nearly all her time making love to her lady in waiting (Porter), which makes up the first sex scene in the film. While Jill is off having a miserable time, Carrie and Vickie chance across the princess and her sex slave servant. Hilarity ensues.

This scene happens at a relatively early point in the narrative, such as it is. Jill, who is reduced to mucking out animals in a stable for some obscure reason, says something huffy like, "this is a very poorly-scripted scene in an incredibly unrealistic set. I hope Carrie and Vickie are having a really miserable time right now."

Joke's on you, Jill! Vickie's having sex with the handmaiden! Isn't that a laugh?

For all I said about lesbian soft porn being easy to film, it must be easy to write. Unless there's some sort of artificial penetrative device, like a strap-on or dildo, involved (and there never is; it's not hardcore), there's no actual kind of indication as to the point which sex, or what one may consider sex, has begun, so what you actually get is a kind of extended foreplay, culminating in the two ladies (or two of the ladies) doing scissors, which I suppose is the "equivalent". As I say, difficult to write. Let's attempt to describe.

Of course, the candle's the star.

The scene starts with a pan from a candle over to the two enrobed girls involved having a bit of a touch and a kiss, before disrobing, which happens relatively quickly. You can tell this scene is going to be good from this point, really, as the music contains an electric guitar (or a synthesised one) and both Vickie and the unnamed servant are pleasant on the eye. They can also both act, which I suppose helps, in some small way. And there's kissing going on, which is nice, too. Not just mouth to mouth - Vickie, who clearly knows what she's doing, concentrates for a while on the neck and cleavage too. Oh, my!

Once that bit's done with, they pause for a while to remind the viewer that they have boobs, and after some... foot-licking... and slow but sensual bump and grind, a drum beat introduces us to the second act, which focuses mostly on the lady in waiting's bottom.

And I mean it. Vickie licks it, kisses it, spanks it, presses her boobs against it, and finally, climbs on

Possibly if not actually really very good.

top in order to rub back and forth as if actually penetrating her blonde companion, which (although it sounds lame) is probably one of the hottest things I've ever seen in soft porn, which is pretty good when you realise it's two girls pretending to pretend to have sex.

There's a flip of characters immediately afterwards, and Vickie then gets to be on the receiving end, as the lady in waiting descends upon her to kiss her breasts and rub against a prostate Vickie, during which we get a few shots of, er, legs. Interesting. The girls then do scissors, which is also a good concept but doesn't really work here as it's not really too energetic considering what came beforehand, and finally Vickie gets licked to her well-deserved orgasm. Brava, ladies. Brava.

So... the big question. Why do I like this scene? Simple: it's incredibly well-done. The music isn't great, but it's enough. The setting, however, is brilliant - a plush, comfortable-looking royal bedroom, complete with drapes, deep red colours which offset the girls' skin beautifully, and candles, which kind of have to appear in softcore, really. Costumes aren't needed, but the robes look nice enough, and the camera angles show that a lot of thought really has gone into this.

But the real points have to go to the actresses. They are magnificent. Amber Newman has always

Vickie can hear the sea!

been one of my favourite softcore ladies, but she's truly excelling herself here as the lustful Vickie. Stella Porter makes for a very pleased, receptive lady-in-waiting (I wish they'd named the character, though - let's call her "Lauren"; there you go, writers), who has an impressive array of facial expressions in her repertoire. One does even have to wonder at points how much of this is scripted: there can't be that much detail in it. Hands go everywhere, kisses are plentiful and passionate, and the length of this scene suggests that there was so much to film that they ended up putting it all in. In an ideal world, I'd like to think that something more than acting was going on between these two, but we all know that couldn't be true... 

...could it?

Vaginas

I reclined on my chair, trying to get as much comfort as possible out of the limited amount of sponge cushioning my back and bum. My boss waxed lyrical about the merits of conscientious objection (something on which our views are very similar, of course), while everyone else in the room listened - some with rapt attention, some with glazed eyes. Every now and again, someone else made a contribution. I didn't speak.

I was tired, very tired - a mixture of being a natural insomniac and the pain in the left-hand side of my mouth (I have sustained an injury there... again) resulting in me having had very little sleep recently - and I had to wrestle to keep my eyes open. My boss has a very calming voice, which didn't really help. That and the warmth of the fan heater right next to me. The fluorescent tubes seemed to dim. Words blended into a pleasant hum. Everything seemed to be conspiring to lull me to sleep... which wouldn't have been appropriate in that case. Ironic, really, since some of the time I have to prod co-workers to keep them awake. In one or two cases, clients too.

As I struggles to remain both interested and conscious, my brain suddenly whispered to me that there were vaginas in the room. (Yes, I know, shut up, okay?) Of course there are, brain, I whispered back, half the people in this room are female, and why should anyone's vagina interest you anyway? Aren't you meant to be asleep?
I'm not interested, particularly, said my brain, I just thought I'd remind you of the existence of vaginas. See you later.

And so my brain left me fighting both the urge to fall asleep in my chair and thoughts about vaginas, which was most unhelpful. At which point I started wondering what I wanted to do when I got home - the choices being crawl into bed or have at my girlfriend's vagina. (Incidentally, I went for getting sandwiches as a third option when I actually did get home.) Only after a while did I realise that I appeared to be slumping backwards a bit and people were starting to look at me. Including my boss, as she tripped over my feet a couple of times.

I pulled myself up and sat bolt upright, hoping to maintain the illusion that I was still entirely in the zone. Which, of course, I was, because I am diligent and hard-working. But not quite as chatty as usual when I'm sleepy and trying not to think about various things to do with vaginas.

And so that's where my weird thoughts took me today.

Now to sleep.

Mistaken identity

"Do you know where my cheque book is?" I asked my mother, who was kneeling at the altar that is the coffee table with the day's Guardian spread out upon it.
She remained silent.
"Ahem," I continued. "Mother?"
She acknowledged my presence for a while.
"Loath as I am to distract you from your worship, I was wondering if you'd seen my cheque book?" I pressed.
"Have you tried your blue box?"

I had a brief vision of the possibility that I may somehow have acquired a TARDIS, but this possibility was dismissed when she clarified that she meant my mini-chest of drawers. This being the one that she bought from IKEA, assembled, painted blue and then stuck a picture of my Year 2 class on the front to show it belonged to me. Many has been the hour when I take a look to marvel at four things: how ridiculous I looked, how young Robinson looked, how 80s my teacher's haircut was, and the lengths to which my mother will go to make me as embarrassed as possible.

I opened all the drawers in search of my cheque book. It was an adventure - and also one which, I had forgotten, contained a lot of evidence of my sex blogging activities. I had letters from Durex and other companies thanking me for reviewing their products, a multitude of business cards from various erotic people and services (all mixed up with other cards - expired railcards, old debit cards and the like), and two condoms in a Game Boy game case (my emergency supplies: designed to take with me if sex is on the cards, although I've never used it like that). Intriguing, I thought.

After extracting two cheque books with no cheques left inside, I opened the top left drawer to find it filled with lube. Not an actual drawer filled with liquid lube, evidently... but little sachets of lube: different flavours, sensations and colours. A veritable pick'n'mix smorgasbord of lube. It reminded me of a kaleidoscopic lucky dip that I'd once stuck my hand into to pull out a Poddington Peas shrinkle. Except with lube.

"Two cheque books without any cheques in," I announced to my mother. "Never mind, I shall have to order one from my bank, and as it turns out you can't do that online."
She grunted, by way of responding. It only then occurred to my mother that she must have re-packed said blue box of wonders, considering the fact that neither cheque book nor stack of various cards had been there the last time I saw it. She much have used it as a dumping ground. I thanked my good fortune, therefore, that I'd chosen to carefully take with me my soft porn DVDs, Lunchboxxx, vibrators, cock rings and REV 1000.
And then it hit me. My mother had said, at some point in the past, that she'd put a load of condoms into the box. In the top left drawer. Where I assumed they'd be. In fact, she said this just after we moved out, when my parents tidied up under my bed.

Condoms.

I left my parents' house with three things: a couple of empty chequebooks, a handful of requisitioned DVDs, and the knowledge that my mother has no idea what a packet of lube is.

TMI Tuesday: Wanker!

Here's this week's TMI Tuesday questions. I've been thinking a lot about masturbation recently - no, seriously, I have - and so here's a dip into that world, courtesy of these questions...

1. My favourite place to masturbate is ________ ?

...in my computer chair. In front of my computer. Why? Well, because it's familiar to me. I don't need an audiovisual stimulus to get me off if my imagination's working, but I think masturbation is a lot more fun with one. Both soft porn and reading sexy words work fine for starting me off, even if I do end up completely in my own head.
Other favourite is in my bed for and/or on my girlfriend. Not that this isn't amazing. It's my "second" favourite because I haven't done it as much (so far). But I guess the first is different, because it's alone time. It's still fun with two.


2. Have you ever masturbated in public? What were the circumstances?

Does masturbating in a toilet tent at Woodcraft Camp count? In which case, I definitely have,
More to the point, not in any place where anyone could see. But I definitely have at various points had a sneaky wank in an unusual place. I've always made it secret, though, because I don't want to be caught! So... toilet tents.


3. Do you like mutual masturbation? Why?

Yes, of course I do, although I prefer masturbating for each other. Because then you can watch each other... although there's a huge amount of pleasure in making your partner come using your own hands, too.


4. When was the last time you masturbated?

Within the last 24 hours.
I once saw a comedian ask this on stage, although I'm pretty sure not everyone's answer was truthful. It was a great set, although according to the compère the comedian himself was rather unsure as he came off. "Oh my god," he said, "I just spent half an hour talking about wanking." Works for me, dude.


5. Have you ever masturbated on camera?

Sort of... see the bonus answer.


6. Do you like to watch people masturbate?

It depends who. There are a lot of videos of people masturbating on the internet, although most of the people on Chatroulette masturbating live are boys, so if you want to see girls, you'd have to go to a site like RedTube and do a bit of searching.
I like seeing people's faces while they orgasm; I'm not overly a fan of a closeup of naughty bits... and there do exist videos of such a thing, which I have both viewed and enjoyed. And I do love the sound of the female orgasm, so although watching is fun, listening is just as good too!


Bonus: Have you filmed yourself masturbating? Care to share that film via a link?

Yes - on my BlackBerry. Why? Because I was bored and I wanted to test my BlackBerry camera. And... no, you can't. Why not? Because there's no link to it. I may be open to expressing myself sexually, but putting a video of my ejaculating penis online for all and sundry isn't exactly my modus operandi.

Kneel

I was on my knees. Not subservient to anything but my own desires... but, still, on my knees. My left hand steadied itself against one of my hips; my right was clasped firmly around the shaft of my penis. My eyes were shut tight. I knew she was there, straight ahead of me, her legs open wide, her fingers busy and the lips of her vagina glistening.

I don't know where she was. Maybe she was wholly aware of me - maybe not. I wasn't quite there. My mind was drifting; my body was, too. Every now and again I snapped my eyes open to bring myself back to earth - taking in her hair, her boobs, her mouth, skin, legs, pussy... and looking at her beautiful closed eyes. (I've got a thing about closed eyes. Trust me, it's sexy.) But I couldn't do this forever. Bringing myself to the edge was all well and good, but I wanted to orgasm. She wanted me to orgasm. There really was only one option.

It was her orgasm that did it. I didn't know it was coming until she was. She moaned, gasped and sighed as she came right in front of me. Practically in the same second, my cock pulsed and throbbed as I silently came, for the second time that night, not inside her, but over her stomach and thighs.

I was still on my knees. Praise the Lord.

Startup

As you may well know if you have been following me religiously (and why shouldn't you have been?), I've been through higher education, at various levels, three times - racking up a number of pretty useless qualifications - except perhaps the most recent one. Although it does have to be said that one may be more impressed (perhaps mistakenly so) with the certificates sporting logos of both an Oxbridge university and one of the constituent colleges of the University of London, the first time I went to university I look back at with fond memories.

Okay, maybe the final year. I didn't like the first year or the second year.

You know, in small doses.

My problem was that I didn't have that sort of "coming alive" experience that lots of people say either does or will happen at university. H had it, 47 certainly had it (a three-year degree took him eight, but he sweated enough for it), and my sister went to university and came back a changed person, although not necessarily for the better - but at least I now know what ketamine does to a young lady. I started university, however, at the wrong time - when I entered, I had a girlfriend, who promptly dumped me after a couple of months - leaving me without a lifeline. I was in a city that was unfamiliar to me; I had no friends; I didn't like the course... and, most of all, everyone who lived in the same part of hall as me didn't really make much effort to include me in anything, seeing me as rather self-sufficient, perhaps, content with my books, games, music and girlfriend.

I didn't experience a "new life" at university. I didn't even like it. It was a terrible disappointment to me - with the possible exception of the third year, which was different for reasons I can't quite fathom, although it may have had something to do with Japanese.

However, while at university I most definitely did discover a few things about my body and how it works, and my mind, and how that works.

I remember the first club night held in the union bar. It was my first day. I was wandering around aimlessly without anything to do, constantly wondering if I'd done the right thing. I knew the union bar held a weekly night of excessive drinking and dancing to stuff that wasn't really music, but I went because everyone else did, and if I'd done something on my own, one of the fresher reps would have descended upon me like a demented vulture sensing feed and demand that I do everything with the people from my corridor (yes, that actually did happen). I supped my lemonades with quiet dignity and danced like Tim Booth, gaining a reputation at the little oddball without any friends who didn't drink and couldn't dance.

My life is amazing.

Why this convoluted history of my life? Well, I am recalling that first club night, because I used it as a chance to masturbate. Not on the dancefloor, of course. I locked myself in a toilet cubicle, and brought myself to orgasm in there.

Although why this? Why, on my first day at university, did I use a club night as a chance for a sneaky wank in a union bar toilet cubicle, when I could have just gone back to my room and done so there? Or even just not done so? I mean, I didn't need to orgasm. I could have stayed at the bar, drinking soft drinks and feeling out of place, for a while longer. To be honest, I don't know why I did it. I think I just wanted to experience something different - despite the whole being in a different city with different people and different priorities, that is. I was testing the water a little, and although it seems weird, something in me told me that an effective way to test the water would be to go to the club night and wank in the toilets.

It's a university toilet; I'm sure worse things have happened in there.

I did feel naughty, but also wonderfully disconnected. I didn't really gel with anyone I'd met so far, and as long as I found ways to assert my independence, I would keep them to myself. With things ranging from an impromptu trip to Africa, to going on Woodcraft camp without telling anyone, to declaring myself king (yes, really), to buying a DVD of Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy because I wanted to be able to recall the plot, I continually found ways to make myself different... even if I was the only one to realise this (although everyone knew I was king).

Maybe masturbating, hidden, in a union bar toilet cubicle was the start of that. Although maybe not... but if I was going to start three years of almost daily wanking, where better to start it than surrounded by people... even if they had no idea?

Why am I telling you all this? Well, it is Masturbation Month after all. I may as well get into the spirit while I can...

Q&A

It's not easy to ask this sort of thing. Although I'll admit it's probably much easier to do in the sex blogging world, it seems like something of an intrusion, to just ask the question in such a blasé manner. How is your sex life? Share the intimate details with me. Tell me everything; I want to know. Depending on how much you share on your blog, I may well know already.

Personally, I think it's good to talk about your sex life. If it's a good one, you should be able to share with the world, as long as you're not boasting or shoving it in anyone else's face. If it's not so good, maybe sharing that fact will inspire likeminded people to either beef up your confidence or share their views on how to improve it. And, of course, it depends on how you yourself view your sex life. If asked a question, outright, at one point in time, how do you answer? And why?

I posed this question on Twitter recently. "How's your sex life?" I requested a one-word answer, as well... just to see how much can be conveyed through a single word. And the responses I got were as follows:

Happening. This is a fantastic answer, as it leaves a lot to the reader's imagination, and with my fertile imagination, that can be a very useful thing indeed! I think it's always good to have confirmation that a sex life is "happening", as anyone writing that clearly has their idea of how they define a "sex life" and is confident enough to say that one is occurring, even though there aren't any more details.

Brilliant. This just brings a smile to my face. Pulling no punches here, an admission (or proclamation?) that your sex life is, in fact, brilliant... well, it could be seen as boastful, but I think both thankful and contented elicit such a response. Not everyone would say this every time. But if, at one moment in time, you are able to say that your sex life is brilliant,then that's a moment to hold onto!

Infrequent. Bolstered by hashtags revealing the existence of a long-distance relationship. Having been through three of these myself - four if you count the beginning of the most recent one, although I don't - I share this pain. But, although LDRs have their down points, I think there's something to be said for waiting to see that someone special, as well as the anticipation to be experienced while travelling to see them, as well. But that's for more than "just sex". Travelling a long way for sex may be a bit excessive. But it happens. I've done it. And it's a great feeling. (TL;DR? Infrequency isn't as negative as it sounds.)

Non-existent. This is a tough one to analyse, as I'm not sure (unless you happen to be asexual) that a non-existent sex life, er, exists. One may not be having sex per se, but do you masturbate? Do you think about sex? Do you enjoy sexual imagery, have sexy thoughts, notice sexually attractive people? In my opinion, although it's not exactly the sex life you may like to be having, if you factor sex into your life in at least some way, that's a sex life. Sex is very subjective in many ways; accepting it and using what you can, when you can... and that's a pretty good one, if you ask me.

How would I define my own sex life? That's a difficult question, but I'd go for... Healthy. Why? For the reasons described above. I don't have sex much, but I have it enough times (and with increasing frequency as the summer months approach) - each time is absolutely mind-blowing. I'm sexually aware of both myself and other people, I feel free to discuss sex and engage in sexual discourse with a variety of people at little notice, and I have a huge cock with a strong knowledge of history. (Except that last one. My knowledge of history's only medium.)

So I pose the question again, gentle readers. How's your sex life? One-word answers... and explain what you mean this time!

A post-sex business proposal

Bottle me this:

A slight, almost intangible tickle hovering around the bum; not unpleasant or irritating, but a little spark that's both there and not quite there at the same time.

The feeling of pressure against the still-hard penis pressed against a warm, comfortable thigh.

The size, weight and texture of her right breast cupped in the left hand during the embrace, topped with the feeling of her nipple underneath the tip of the thumb.

The heat - the comforting heat - of her back on top of the right hand, conferring (among other things) a feeling of security, a closeness, a connection and a sense of place.

The intimacy obtained by laying the chest against her chest, feeling both bodies touch, the hearts beating together and the breathing heavy, but gentle.

Bottle me all that, and I swear to you, this time tomorrow, we'll be millionaires.

Pipe dream

When I grow up, I will have treats every day
And I'll play with things that Mum pretends
That Mums don't think are fun
When I grow up...

I've discovered something. I think it might be called "being a grown-up". This is a new and interesting concept to me, and I most definitely don't like it. Although it has its advantages: among them, the ability to stay out past your bedtime, attend "adult" meetings of organisations you've been in since childhood and listen to everyone else making dirty innuendo without having to initiate it myself.

Take last night, for instance. I'd just been sitting in said meeting. The window was open, the cool night air circulating the small, warm room full of grown-ups doing grown-up things. Robinson's dad was eating cake, Robinson's mum was drinking water, my friend-who-is-a-teacher was taking notes, and I was pretending to fly on a dragon.

"Right," said one of our number: a single mother of two. Balding, greying, vegetarian and, like most of the people there, a teacher. "I've got to get home," she announced, standing up and pulling on a regulation coat of lurid purple and blue lining. "I've got the plumber coming in the morning to check my pipes..."

All plumbers look like this.

"Is that a euphemism?" said everyone except me.
"I wish it was..." she started, before trailing off, breaking into a slight grin, blushing and practically zooming out of the door.

Immediately this image came to mind, along with the music you'll hear by clicking here, in a kind of glorious synchronicity. Along, of course, with the urge to laugh, masturbate and cry deeply to my shattered soul all at the same time.

Because that is what being a grown-up's all about: the realism of everyday life.

Ed Balls?

Year 8 geography teacher: "How many children do your parents have, then?"
Evangelical Christian friend: "Five. I'm the eldest. They were thinking of trying for six, I believe."
Y8GT: "Five?"
ECF: "Yeah..."
Y8GT: "Do your parents watch a lot of tennis?" *wicked smile*
ECF: "Eww! That's gross, sir!"
Y8GT: "Love-fifteen, your serve!" *wicked smile*

Someone's going to need to explain this one to me. As you can probably tell, it's been bugging me since Year 8, but I still don't really get it...