Sunday, 29 June 2008

Two

So. I am completely and utterly exhausted. I can hardly move. It took me about half an hour to get the resolve to get up off my bed and go to watch Doctor Who, then extra time to make a sandwich and sit down to write ILB. The reason for my tired state I do not know , but it's got to have roots in the two weeks I've just spent with my girlfriend staying in my house.

It's been a rollercoaster ride of emotions - thankfully more high than low - and actions. We've even had a couple of adventures, which any couple should have, really.

For a start, we've been perfecting the art of spooning while falling asleep, or even just lying there enjoying each other's presence - and I have to say we've got fucking good at it. It's a wonderful feeling, especially if the balance of body heat is just right and your arms aren't bent into any bizarre angles.
We've put it to use over and over again; when she, I, or a combination of both has/have come home from work, sure - you may be wanting something to eat, but not the second you get home. You'll be wanting rest, and lying on a large double bed with somebody holding you is a pretty good way to rest. And if you manage to drift off to sleep...
There's also the fact that when you go to bed, having somebody with you makes the experience totally different. One of the adventures we had was last weekend; we managed to make our way to a party in Bristol... via Camden... and Oxford. (Look, we got there, okay? Eventually...) It was a fun party, lots of laughs and food, and I didn't wallflower as much as usual - but clearly the long journey took its toll and eventually we retired to a small empty bedroom and sank into the soft, warm mattress. Once again, my arm found its way around her. Bliss.

We've been having sex, of course - even I'm not so gauché as to list the gory details (plus, who knows who's reading this? Well... I do, but who else?), but there's been a pretty large amount of sex when the mood strikes us. From the emergency sex when she arrived, to the intense and somewhat experimental session causing us to miss half of a movie, to the three times in a row after we got back from Bristol, we've been exploring the pleasure of the flesh that we've both been needing, and my Glod it's been good.
One thing I've always argued is that you don't actually need to have sex in order to enjoy sexual pleasure. It seems like a bit of a no-brainer, but there have been times where we either won't or can't have sex and there have still been massive orgasms, and that slightly sticky, wet, hot feeling you get in the afterglow still happens. I'll leave you all to work that one out, natch!

We've both been ill this last week. I've got some sort of cold-based thing, which has not only killed my throat, but at certain points my lungs, and my head too. She's been an absolute angel while taking care of me - sympathy and backrubs go a long way, at least... if you are me!
There was a slightly scary morning wherein we had been indulging in morning sex (*whistles innocently*), and then just as we were considering actually going to work, she doubled over in pain. What it was isn't important; the important thing is that I then embarked on a rather incredible chain of super-heroics involving calling NHS Direct, working out a route with buses and taking her to a hospital, then going back on ourselves to a clinic, and from there to the doctor's, where I had to use my influence to get her an appointment - at one point registering her as living at my address! A frantic and confusing, and also upsetting, day - yes. But a chance to prove how much I cared for her. I'm not called Loverboy for nothing, n'est-ce pas?

We've also:

* watched movies together, both in bed and in the lounge
* listened to music, and shared it too
* taken a shower together, and also shaved my stubble (that is, she has)
* gone to the local pub quiz twice. We'll win... NEXT TIME!
* eaten at at least three restaurants (although I think possibly five) because we enjoy good food
* cooked meals for each other - I often volunteered for breakfast duty
* done things with my family - good Lord, that's brave!

And we had a fantastic adventure yesterday. It involved sex, geekiness and music in London (and no, I'm not talking about Hyde Park festival... ahem.) We visited Coffee, Cake & Kink, went to Forbidden Planet and geeked out for a bit, and finished it off with Avenue Q. How's that for a final day?

As you can probably imagine, this entry only scratches the surface of what two weeks with a significant other in your room can feel like - but maybe that's a good thing. It's indescribable. You have to experience it to believe it!

And now it's going to be very strange waking up on my own... very strange indeed...

*twilight zone music*

Tuesday, 24 June 2008

People Watching

We were in a restaurant.

(If you want to be pedantic about it, the restaurant happened to be Hummus Bros. and we were sitting in the bottom left corner of the eating space. She had a chicken thingy, and I had a vegetable thingy. We were sharing pitta bread. The food was amazing, the drinks were chilled to perfection and we were both hungry. It would have been the best meal ever, but my throat is a fucking bitch and I was all sore and coughing.)

Anyway... halfway through our meal, a pair came in and sat next to us. Their conversation was... interesting, to say the least.

No idea who they were, but through their discourse (which was loud enough for us to hear, or my silence while trying not to die as were the whims of my respiratory system) we both figured out a clear enough picture: he was a consultant, she was a student - or possibly a recent graduate - who wanted to go into the same job; he was talking a lot about how to go into the job and she was listening; the stuff he was saying was easily stuff she could have picked up from somewhere else...

The clear thing was, this wasn't just a business venture. They were both keen on one another, and this was the most obvious thing, like, ever.

I'm not sure whether it was the way he talked with more and more enthusiasm, or the way he kept making nervous jokes about the food. Maybe it was the way she had a dazzling smile, or that she kept fidgeting with her hands... or maybe it was just the fact that they were basically having a date whereas this sort of thing could be done over the 'phone or via e-mail. But whatever it was (and whether or not they themselves picked up on it is really none of my business - but I'm pretty sure they either certainly did or certainly didn't), it was very, very sweet.

And it gave us something to talk about on the way home.

(I'm still feeling ill, by the way. I have Lemsip, and happy-happy-joy-joy pills [aka: painkillers], but they only seem to have the power of delay. Still, let's look on the bright side: I couldn't have wished for a more caring nurse.)

Sunday, 22 June 2008

hello i am ilb and i am here to say that i am great. it is true. but i broke my girlfriend. oh dear. more sex soon. yes yes. i am ilb, i am. don't deny it boy who is providing my seat at the moment. i mean, there is no boy. i am ilb.

ahem.

everything is grand. the party was great and i looked really hot in the suit. and my girlfriend is lame for not dancing to ska, for she was supposed to be a ska girl. but never mind. the main thing is that i am posting on my blog as me because i am ilb.

Wednesday, 18 June 2008

Sleepy, frisky, tentative and passionate...

...good-morning sex.

Not something I can say I have a lot of experience of, exactly - and the very special person I've been enjoying waking up next to seemed very tired this morning - so I was surprised, yet pleased, to find her not only wrapping me in her warm embrace, but touching me... yes, you know where... with a clear intent.

The alarm went and I hit 'snooze', although perhaps 'schnooze' may have been a better button to press, because by that time, I'd submitted entirely (to be honest, I wasn't really one to be persuaded to submit - I was keen) and we were not only entwined, but in a deep, long kiss, too.

The alarm went again, and I hit smooch snooze, only to be interrupted by my mother's voice calling to ask if I was up yet, and to warn me that I'd be late for work. I informed her back that I was up, and in any case I don't have to go to work until this afternoon, so don't worry about that. I conveniently missed out the part where I happened to be inside my lover, but at least I didn't lie. I was up.

The sex grew more and more passionate. Again and again we thrust up to each other, this naughty version of a morning activity really hitting all my buttons. As soon as I was sure my mother had left the house, I started upping the tempo, not to mention the volume (oh, how I have missed loud sex!) and - if you'll excuse the vulgarity - just started going for it.

We flipped over and she rode me with the sort of intensity that's mostly reserved for attacks by Japanese ninjas. I could hardly believe it at some points... here we are, first thing in the morning, and there's this stunning girl on top of me, and we're making sticky love. I'd say something like, "I thought I must have still been asleep and dreaming," but that's both cheesy and untrue.

This carried on for some time. Back on top of her, I found myself losing control and let out an almost bestial roar (which is most unlike me!) as I felt myself hitting my peak and staring down at her as I thrust and felt myself spasming, collapsing onto her and feeling our heat radiate, and the heart beating.

As I realised we had a few minutes more to spare, and after a short enquiry as to if she wanted it, I slid out of her and slowly moved my head to nestle between her legs, knowing that we had to get out of bed at some point this morning, and soon if we wanted to get her to work on time, but for now, I was pleased enough to make it as good a morning as possible... for both of us.

Monday, 16 June 2008

The Loss of Innocence

You will not believe the amount of sex I had last night.

Okay, maybe that's a little unfair; you might believe it. In fact, if I say, "we had sex twice," it doesn't sound that impressive, but believe me, it is.

We got back to my house to a rather bizarre scene, and once it was all cleared up (insofar as it could be - not something I'll go into here; none of my business, quite frankly), we put her stuff in my room and were just planning to go out for a meal when it became somewhat apparent that a meal wasn't really what happened to be on our minds. After a rather frisky conversation and a bit of rather risqué movement, we surrendered to our impulses, and ended up having wonderful, frantic, hard, desperate emergency sex on the floor, still fully clothed as far as we could be.

I've never done anything like that before.

A rather cheeky moment of silence followed before we walked merrily into town for a meal - what a meal, by the way. Jesus. I hadn't actually realised I was that hungry. A shared starter, main course with two sides and a dessert. Fuck me, that's good. A nice warm summer evening made for a pleasant, if a little tiring, walk back. We reentered the house and made for my room, mostly because we really needed to check Wikipedia for details we were debating about (she won the debate, of course, because she was right).

The movie we began to watch - it's got me in it, by the way, just not nearly enough - she found funny as hell, which is interesting 'cause mostly it causes bemusement. Halfway through the movie, however, I found myself in a position which, er, doesn't really make for much suppression of any sexual urges. I believe Blacksilk has mentioned something like doggie style, but lying down. Yeah, it was like that. Except we were watching a movie, and we also had bedclothes on.
Neither of these things lasted for long, although the movie was still playing. I'm not entirely sure either of us was paying attention, though.

The sex was amazing, although for a sizeable amount of time not much actual sex went on. A lot of it was me touching, experimenting, stroking - seeing what I could do and what worked. Dear God, I felt naughty. But it was all right, you know, here I am in a relationship and I'm in bed with my girlfriend, and I'm doing things to her which make her feel good. At that moment, everything was right with the world, and nothing could bring me down.
Nothing did, in fact. We had sex (penetrative sex, I guess, if you don't take the whole session, however Glod-damned long that was) a couple of times, during one of which I came; I worked my hardest and took her to the brink of orgasm a couple of times, using my fingers - in as many ways as I could think of - and my tongue. And twice, at least, I felt her shake with orgasm.

I've never done anything like that before. (Well, not in that way, for that period of time, with that intensity, and not with anyone I'm actually falling very fast for this much.)

I was pretty exhausted, as was she. We drifted to the standard 'sleeping' positions and held each other for a while. It was warm, and soporific. I listened to her breathing, and eventually sleep took its hold.

To save you all from being physically sick, and because I know some of the people who read this and they probably don't want to see this kind of post over and over and over again (and, let's face it, it'd make for quite a boring blog and I like variety), I won't post about how we have sex every day. But, the way things are going, and seeing as how she's supposed to be staying with me for two weeks I can see that this is going to be...

...dare I say it?...

...GREAT!

Thursday, 12 June 2008

DJ Loverboy & MC Drinker

I hadn't had sex to music until about a month and a half ago, when I met snowdrop. That doesn't really count, mind you, because I didn't have sex with her for very long, but I did lick her out to the strains of "my silent thoughts can't penetrate your iPod with my foreplay" and then penetrated her while Tim Booth sang, "I want to sleep with the whole town". And now I feel dirty because I realise I probably shouldn't have slept with snowdrop. Ouch.

Nevertheless, it was my first experience of sex to music, and after two posts on the subject (or touching on it, anyway - listen, shut up and let me justify this one) by fellow sex bloggers, I may as well throw my two Euro cents in.

Music is fucking sexy.

It's perhaps the sexiest thing on the planet (thing, not person, capice?). It has power - and not just power to make somebody laugh or cry - because we all know it does that - but it also has power of incredible turning-on. And perhaps there are four general strains of why it can be sexy:

i) You can have sex to music.
I had to admit, now I've tried it, I'm addicted. I admit, you can have sex sans music, it's just so much better with it. Not only can you time your licks to the beat if you need a brief rhythmic interlude to your necessary cunnilingus (what, just me then?), but if it's music that stirs your soul, then it can just as easily stir up your passion, too. Okay, I'm not saying you should have energetic sex to the tune of Mika's Lollipop (although if you are perverted enough to do that, it'll probably be the most frantic sex of your life), but just having a background track tends to work.
Although I'll never listen to Tim Booth or Elbow or Joni Mitchell in the same way ever again. And the list goes on. Thanks, guys. Nice voices.

ii) Music can have connotations.
This is rather an odd one, but if you've watched enough soft porn (and as we all know by now, I'm the one to ask about soft porn/erotica), you'll recognise the same 'sex scene' music cropping up more than once. There is, in fact, one specific piece - the usual type, with a drum machine using a kick drum beat and some simulated electric guitars about as real as the sex scene they accompany - which I've counted no less than four times, each in a completely separate softcore series accompanying a completely separate sex scene.
Every time I hear the early strains of that music, I get dirty thoughts. I can't help it, although now I'm sexually active, the dirty thoughts I get are almost always involving myself and you-know-perfectly-well-who-if-you've-been-paying-attention, and that music. In fact, I doubt I'll ever try it (although I might, you never know!), but I wonder what it would be like to have sex to sex music. There are a few pieces I like, and - I'm not joking here - sometimes it's been the music, and not the moving pictures, that's tipped me over the edge.
And you wonder why people close their eyes when they masturbate?

iii) Special music is special.
Who knows? Maybe it's a song that simply reminds you of someone - you sent it to them, or they sent it to you? Maybe it's a song whose lyrics really speak to you about how you feel about them? Maybe it's a song, like the one I'm listening to now, that reminds you so powerfully of someone that you detect their scent in the air? Maybe it's "your" song, or maybe it's something you've sung to someone in bed...

...or during a gig?

iv) Music is sexy.
I know I've already said it. But it's just such a sexy medium. Anyone who sees music as simply a set of vibrations in the air is wrong. Music is not just the food of love (although Bill did pretty much hit the nail on the head), it's the food of life. And if love is the meaning of life, which I've always claimed it is, then it's all linked, and if God exists, then God's given us the gift to recognise these transverse/longitudinal waves as something which transcends all the senses, all reasoning, all spiritual levels - I have never experienced soul-related euphoria coupled with carnal satisfaction and musical high all at the same time, but I have had each one in turn, and I envy anyone who has experienced that. The existence of an art form such as music isn't just sexy, it's beauty in its purest form.

So there... yeah! Get down to some sexy music right away! Let it take you and don't resist... take someone special with you... and once you can consider yourself melted into sound, DJ Loverboy salutes you.

I was in a brass band for three years. Towards the end of my stint there, our aged, bullying conductor handed out the sheet music to Old-Time Religion (which I went on to feature in an album). This is featured in a few of Russ Meyer's sexploitation comedies - and I was so tickled that we were playing this that I had to hold onto my bass drum to keep myself standing up straight while laughing my head off.

[Rambling poets.]

Monday, 9 June 2008

Addiction VIII: Dry Sex

Not so much an addiction as a curiosity which has much more value than a lot of people think, the act of dry sex can actually be rather sweet, as opposed to properly sexy, although if (as is the case) it happens when you're feeling frisky, it helps work you up something terribly - and then it tends to lead to actual sex, which is even better.

But, anyway...

Dry sex can be a bit hazardous or painful if you're not doing it properly, but it has a lot of value for a couple who don't actually want to have sex (or do, but aren't doing it yet). It's hardly an alternative to other forms of sex, such as oral sex or stimulation via the hand, yet if you feel the need for a whole body on top of / underneath you, or if the thing that excites you is to see your partner's face while making love to them, then it's something you can do. Additionally, if you're in a sexually active couple and it's not the time or place to actually have sex - or if you've just worn each other out - there has to be a certain value to dry sex.

Then there's the variable amount of clothes you can have on. Not wearing anything on your top half, for example, can be sweet as fuck if your bottom half is covered. (I myself had a lot of fun last night as I was being rode steadily while discussing how I'd been feeling in the past, while no actual penetration was happening, but there was a lot of skin against skin... but that's not what I'm going to write about... yet.) Moreover, if it's only underwear (again, last night...) or maybe even pyjamas (what? they're smooth, okay?), there can be a lot of stimulation without any real intercourse. But again, if you're stimulated that much, it can always lead to sex.

But let's be frank here... who hasn't actually been in a sex position with clothes on? Even a passionate kiss leading to a backwards tumble onto a bed (sofa, sleeping bag, bale of hay...?) could count, if you happen to land in the missionary position (+10 points for astride, +100 for doggie, unless you're kissing your partner's back, in which case, why are they still wearing clothes?).

I'm pretty much ecstatic with the situation I'm in at the moment - evening fun with kisses, movies and sex last night, and the promise of more this evening - but it wouldn't have been the same if there hadn't been those few moments of dry sex during kisses, where I murmured my desire to make love to her, and then stopped to finish making some food for us. For a start, if we'd been having actual sex, the food would have burned.

Not that it would have mattered much.

Friday, 6 June 2008

The Rain

Kiss me in the rain.

Come here, come here and kiss me. Kiss me in the rain.

Let us walk out into the park near me, and stand in the middle of a field, and we can stand there and hold each other, and fall into a passionate kiss under a dusky, warm sky.

Rain.

Kiss me.

Thursday, 5 June 2008

Celebrities Crushed

I HATE CELEBRITY CRUSHES. I've always hated them, for the following reasons:

(i) They are pointless. I don't care if you fancy the celebrity, you're not going to get them.

(ii) They hurt. If I were in a relationship with a girl who openly fancied a celebrity - even worse, a specific celebrity - the message I'd be getting from that is plain and simple: you're not good enough. And I quote, from my ex a few years ago: "...so I went for second best, and I got you." Oh, thanks.

(iii) They make people do stupid things. Another one from the ex: breaking free of my hug to scream at a rock star (a rock star who I've always thought is ridiculously ugly) to, and I quote again, "fuck [her]". Once again, thanks.

(iv) I don't do celebrity crushes. While I can appreciate the aesthetic good looks of someone in the public eye, I can do that for my friends, my family, my colleagues, my girlfriend, or even people who look good in the street. I don't immediately want to sleep with someone because they look good. I already have a gorgeous girlfriend, thanks very much.

(v) They nullify relationships. If you're with someone and they talk about this celebrity they like, where does that leave you? Even worse, if you fancy somebody and they talk about this celebrity they like, what do you do about that? Go home and cry? (Well, that's what I used to do.)

So, my message here is for anyone who is prone to getting celebrity crushes: forget about it. Some people are hot, that's the way that things are. But just because someone looks nice, it's hardly a "come hither". I'd concentrate more on appreciating what you have rather than lusting uselessly after somebody you just don't know. Or your vision of them, anyway.

And if you do have a celebrity crush, don't go on about it to your boy-/girlfriend. Because that just smacks of the none-too-hidden message, one that I pray I'm not going to hear ever again: you're not good enough.

Wednesday, 4 June 2008

Flutter

The human emotions are very interesting things; the most interesting thing about them being, of course, that they are completely unexplainable. As someone with the name "Innocent Loverboy", you can probably imagine that when my human emotions get me, they really get me. When I fall, I fall hard, and fast.

It's not been an overly pleasant week so far - at work, I've had almost incessant training for a job I'm not even going to be doing for much longer. I've been cycling around North London in persistent drizzle, arriving at my various destinations more than a little damp. And the icing on the poison mushroom is that, having been made redundant, I'll be jobless by August; ergo, I need to find one quickety-quick, and I hate jobseeking.

I also know for a fact that I won't get the one I applied for last night, because after I said I had unparalleled mastery over every aspect of English grammar, I was "intrerested" in the job. Damn. That's even worse than this.

But I've also been hearing from her every day. This is, of course, as well as my cinema and pub quiz trips with my friends, which are fewer and further-between that ever before. She's been calling (I've been trying to call too, but she seems to have this knack for doing it before I do). And this makes everything okay.

Everything. It's her voice, and the promise of seeing her again, whether for one hour or two weeks constant. It's all so cute, it's calming and funny. It gives me energy, and also makes me want to relax. Doing both is, of course, impossible. Nevertheless... it makes my heart beat.
Except 'beat' isn't the word. My heart doesn't beat any more. It stops beating. It floats around, it sings. It flutters, like the wings of a butterfly on speed. It's almost like having a mad xylophonist* in my chest. It's manic.

My big fear, of course, is that in many ways I may well be overdoing it. But I can't control this. It's out of my hands... at least, that is until she is in my hands. During my hours of solitude - my bedtime insomnia, or my cycle to and from work - I relive the memories I've got so far. I keep things that I think she might like, so I can show her. I while away the boring hours of training by, although it's slightly embarrassing saying this, remembering what it's like to be inside her...

So... through the unpleasantness, there's a beacon, like a lighthouse in a storm, with a clear blue sky at some point in the future (I hope!). And, all this symbolism aside, there's a phrase which I am perfectly sure you all knew was coming.

I haven't said it yet.

But if I keep feeling like this, it's not too long until I will.

* Xylophonist, of course, not glockenspieler. The two instruments are different in many ways.