Thursday, 31 March 2011

How to use the Internet

So, you know how when you type a letter into the address bar in Firefox it comes up with a list of suggestions, considering URLs you've recently visited? Six things and more if you scroll down? Clever feature.

Something just occurred to me... and so I tested it out. Again and again and again.

Every single letter of the alphabet typed on its own into my address bar yields a result linked to ILB or sex within the top six suggested URLs.

It's good to see I have a solid grasp of the majority of web content.

Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Squeeze

What's wrong, girl? Don't you want to hug me?

I'll hug you if you're a boy, of course - I'm not one to discriminate - but it'll probably be one of those violent man hugs, with back-slapping and it all being over very quickly. You know, in case anyone sees. If you're a girl, I'll take my time.

And why not? Who doesn't like hugs?

Don't you want to be held? Don't you want to bury your face in my chest, letting my heartbeat lull you to sleep? Don't you want my arms to hold you steady, making you feel safe - secure - grounded? Don't you want to feed off my warmth, keeping you heated in these chilly Spring days? Do you not want me to stroke your hair, make you feel special? Letting go of all your tension, all your muscles getting looser, nerves tingling with relaxation, as you lie in my arms - do you want that? No? How about the sigh, the soft little satisfied sigh that you give as I let you calm down, unwind, maybe fall asleep?

Don't you want that?

Oh, you do? Come here, then.

Tuesday, 29 March 2011

Success!

Check it out. It took a bit of file conversion and multiple saves, but I did it in the end.


This is my BlackBerry running a video of soft porn. I've wanted to get it to do so for a while, but I haven't been resourceful enough (or bored enough) to do so yet.

So, here's what I did: I lined my BlackBerry into my netbook via USB and, rather than accessing the functions, I just opened it as a folder. I had to get some video off it anyway, so this was the ideal opportunity to try. I ppopped a soft porn CD in, and copied this scene to my hard drive, re-copied it into my BlackBerry and... the video didn't load. Unsupported file type. Bugger.

I re-copied the file to a new folder, checked BlackBerry fora to find out what file types it supported. MPEG was listed but this didn't seem to work anyway, but I saw that WMV was. So I opened Microsoft's rudimentary Movie Maker and dragged the file into the view screen. Put it into the timeline and then exported that. Movie Maker automatically saves files as WMV, so I didn't really need to do anything clever with this.

Viewed the WMV and it seemed to work fine. Bit rate and resolution were a bit lower, but it's going onto a mobile, they don't need to be. Copied this onto my BlackBerry, and it works.

I have soft porn on my phone.

Yeah, it's probably nothing compared to what some other people have on their phones... but who cares? It's my phone... and it's my porn!

Monday, 28 March 2011

Too Much

I saw this earlier on via Huzzah, actually good porn!. At about this time two years ago, I had a "fat stage" in my life. I probably looked the same as always, but I felt really physically unattractive. I'm feeling that again. If not more so.

It's more difficult to cope with feeling like you are unattractive if you're single. Hypocritical though this may be, I think that big can be beautiful when it comes to girls. I think any size of girl can be attractive - it also works for boys, to an extent, but it doesn't work for me. I have fat bits on my body and I absolutely hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. And the worst thing is, I don't know when all this started. I just put on some puppy fat when I was 11 and never shifted it.
It's easy to tell that I got fat because I'm clearly thin. You can see I'm thin just to look at me. I should be tall and gangling. I'm tall and I have the physique to go with it - a diamond-shaped face (that's a technical term, it means long and slim), long arms and long legs. My arms - the parts of my body that have the least fat, due to their workouts via guitar, violin, drums, dancing and masturbation - show hoe my body ought to look. The rest doesn't compare. I look like a thin guy who put on some weight, and that looks terrible.

It's awfully depressing, especially now, because I just spent a weekend in the company of a physically confident 47, his pretty young German girlfriend, her beautiful, tall, blonde friend from school and her boyfriend, who isn't the greatest-looking person in the world but has a fantastic smile and great hair. It was a fantastic weekend, sure, but compared to my contemporaries, I found myself looking in every reflective surface and thinking, "dear God, I'm getting fatter." When I sit down in bed, I look down and I see man boobs and a stomach bulge where there ought to be one. I see thighs that should at least not change shape that readily and I feel an arse that's just far too big.

Convinced as I am once again that the reason I always found it difficult to get anyone romantically interested in me (and those that were - Soldier Girl, Rebecca and TD - were all circumstance, and all people that knew me online first, the key factor) was because I find myself physically repulsive, to the point of seeing attractive girls on University Challenge and thinking, "well, she wouldn't like me either," and that must be what everyone else sees too, I find myself retreating into my body-altering fantasies.

I've had these ever since I was about 11. I do something to get rid of the fat bits of my body. The most common fantasy is using a laser to physically chop off my moobs and stomach bulge. I untie my belly button and squeeze the fat out of the hole. I find a way to dissolve it all into liquid, force all the liquid lipids into a blister on my foot and then cut off the blister. I teleport my whole body away without the excess fat, which just falls to the floor. I seize handfuls and just pull it off. But evidently none of these happen.

Problem is, I don't know how to get rid of it. I like food too much to go on a crash diet, and besides, I'm a vegetarian so I need the protein, vitamins, etc. to keep my system going. I had a mild form of bulimia at one point, the aim being to go skeletal and then start eating as I normally do (ie, too much) but that didn't work - and frankly, it was the most stupid idea I've ever had. I don't particularly like exercise, but I don't have the money to join any form of gym and during my third year at university, when I used to go for two-hour walks every single day, all that happened was that my cheekbones became more apparent.

I'd say the whole thing about society's expectations and all that, but you've heard it all before.

Still, I feel really fat. I look it. I feel extremely physically unattractive, especially when compared to other male sex bloggers who have much more female attention than I do. And it seems as if there's nothing I can do about it.

Plus, my beard looks ridiculous.

Thursday, 24 March 2011

Addiction XVI: Socialising

This is weird.

Socialite ILB didn't really raise his vanilla head much until just before Christmas. He made a very quiet appearance at the CCK Hallowe'en party just before the shop closed, but in terms of meeting people as ILB (with the exception of meeting The Oxford Seamstress, who was by then his girlfriend), he wasn't doing too well. But then he turned up to one of the CCK socials before Christmas, and then when dumped by the aforementioned Seamstress, who by then was a Drinker, found himself without anything to do on Thursday nights, so he started going to Spiritual Space.

In January, he was invited to review a Lovers' Guide, and he did so with great zeal, but even if he hadn't reviewed it, his evening was a night to remember by all accounts, with a huge amount of free chips, spring rolls and Diet Coke, the coolest collection of drinking buddies one could think of, and the most fascinating of conversations. Oh, and the chance to feel like a genuine sex writer, as well.

Throughout the year so far he has been reusing two MSN accounts simultaneously, talking to people he wouldn't have talked to on MSN before - not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know them. Likewise, his Twitter account has afforded him communication with more lovely people; indeed, when his relationship came to a grinding halt, it was people on Twitter who first game him words of comfort. And that is the wonder of the Internet.

But at the moment, ILB is not socialising. His real life self is, but as ILB, there's not much to be done. He had a good weekend, earlier this month, in Germany. He has a weekend coming up which he will spend with 47 and others, concentrating on that most precious of art forms, music. But he has a desire to socialise more as ILB than anything else, and considering his wallflowering speciality this time last year, this is, indeed, weird.

Not so much of a shrinking violet after all.

Wednesday, 23 March 2011

Muffliato!

Last night was a whirl of emotion, both physical and emotional. I knew I had to watch the last episode of Secret Diary - my dad was going to bed and my mother was out, so I had the perfect opportunity with the time - but I was also horny. I'd already had one orgasm yesterday (random urge in the morning; weird, eh?), but I suddently felt incredibly turned on, so I tried to masturbate. This didn't quite work for a while... until I realised that I wasn't getting hard because I needed to go to the toilet.

Hmmm.

Anyway, eventually I did manage to finish the task, and considering how long it took, the orgasm I had made up for it well, some of my man juice hitting my chest and even bits of my neck. (Although I was lying on my back... so it's not that impressive). And as I wrenched myself up and pulled on my
clothes in order to stagger downstairs for Secret Diary, my first unsteady step coincided with an odd buzzing in my ear, practically every other sound extinguished. This has happened before post-orgasm, but I'm not sure why. Nor has it happened to this extremity, either. Checking around quickly to see if anyone had sneakily cast Muffliato! on me while I was preoccupied, I made my way to the lounge.

I sat next to my dad as he surrendered the lounge for the safety of sleep. Switched over to ITV2 to watch the programme and suddenly realised that I had a massive amount of cramp in my right leg. Again, this was irksome, but not unheard of. I've had cramp before, after all. Twitching my right leg into all sorts of positions, I decided that cramp wasn't going to just go away - lactic acid doesn't just vanish into the ether - so I concentrated all my attention on the TV.

The advert break came and I suddenly felt sick.


Okay, this isn't good, I thought to myself. Have I inadvertently broken myself through masturbation? First deafness, then cramp, and now this! Am I going to throw up?

Fortunately, I didn't. I've no idea why I felt sick, but my mouth did feel, as I described it in my
youth, "like Yoshi". I was, of course, trying to describe the sensation that, when about to be sick, my mouth feels bigger than it should be, specifically the lower jaw area - which is what Yoshi looks like having eaten a shell - hence, the Yoshiness. But thankfully, dinosaur or not, I didn't throw up, so I could watch the second half.

So I watched.

I went to bed in something close to tears. Very sad ending, and considering it's one of only three TV programmes I watch these days (and it's finished forever now, ouch!), I was not abashed to shed manly tears. By the bucketload, but then again, that's how I cry. I'm well-versed in it.

The good thing, though, was that I had forgotten all about the buzzing, cramp and sick feeling.
The bad thing? I cried myself to sleep.

Monday, 21 March 2011

Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring, bananaphone.

My BlackBerry growled at me last night. My immediate thought was of a tweet - since that's all I seem to use it for these days - but after a few moments I realised it was a call. There was no need to look at the screen. There's only one person who would call at 11pm. It certainly wasn't a booty call.

Click.
"Hello there? How can I help you?"

I was surprised by the clarity I managed to summon up in my own voice. I'd been trying to sleep, and besides, I haven't been particularly chirpy recently. But with the desire to show off borne of being the son of an actor, I couldn't resist putting a slightly upper-middle-class inflection into my voice. I was, after all, being a helpline alternative. Why shouldn't I affect a voice?

I should get a Spotlight page.

TD was scared. It's her friend's wedding at the end of the week and she's a bridesmaid. With a shock, I realised that, had we still been together, I'd be going along too, with the promise of suits, dancing and hotel sex. Oh, and a wedding. TD, being the girl that she is, was having worries, mostly related to the fact that she has been asked to read a poem aloud at the wedding. I've never really had stage fright to any massive degree; as my brain whirred into action, the thoughts went something along the lines of:

Well, you could say that you wouldn't have any problem with it, but that wouldn't help - we're all aware you would sing an entire rock opera a capella if you were asked. And there's no good telling her she'll be fine...

"You'll be fine."

...d'oh!

But, as much as I could tell her she'd be fine, I know how little of an effect such things happen to you if you don't believe them. I know - I've paid the price for believing such lies as, "you'll get into the local selective grammar school," "you are going to love the sixth form," or even, "the girls will be all over you." I know full well that it's easier not to believe in yourself. That way, anything that does happen is an unexpected bonus.

Ruminating on this wasn't going to help her, though.

I cast my brain around and it landed on random topics. I talked and talked and talked. She answered at points, but it slowly became apparent that, in the end, she just wanted someone to take her mind off the problem at hand - or, to be more accurate, the problem in the future. Which probably won't be a problem. What a wacky situation that was!

I spun through topics ranging from Goldie Lookin' Chain to Black Swan to Rebecca Black. And some other ones that don't involve colours. I shot for humour, she laughed. I occasionally got quite maudlin, and had to drag myself back up again. But anything to entertain her. If I was going to be a distraction, I was going to do it well, dammit.

About an hour later and she'd fallen asleep. An odd moment of familiarity. I rearranged some bits of my bedroom for a want of something to do, and decided to try and sleep myself. Now I think back on it, that was a very strange situation. And yet it seemed perfectly natural. I'd try and help anyone who 'phoned, but this was TD, and so I knew exactly what to do.

And although I was vaguely troubled for the rest of the night, it's nice to know that I still have the healing power of making people relaxed enough to sleep. Fair enough, it's not the power I would have chosen right off the bat, but it's all part of being an ILB... and when you've got the knack...

Sunday, 20 March 2011

Soft Porn Sunday: Kim Dawson & David Christensen

I chose this one completely at random. Fortunately, it's not so bad.

Appearance: Bedtime Stories, Series 1: "Like A Virgin" (2000)
Characters: Belle & Alec

I used to watch Bedtime Stories on what was once UK Living. I think it then became UKTV Living, and probably something else after that. Being a boy, I probably wasn't its target demographic. But I remember it showing soft porn, mostly aimed at girls - although soft porn should have universal appeal, surely? - and so I used to watch it to catch a glimpse of some of the sexy situations. Bedtime Stories stood out as one of the best of the bunch.

In the style of many softcore shows, like Passion Cove, Eden and Red Shoe Diaries, there's an overriding setting, but it acts as more than a wraparound: Belle, arguably the main character, owns a house with high-class girls - not really a brothel... more of a hotel with benefits. Each of the episodes features somebody coming in with some sort of problem, all of which are solved by sex - as you do, you know. Belle, played by Kim Dawson, even got involved in some of the scenes herself. And therein lies the difference. This scene, which I've picked at random, features her. And somebody called Alec.

I've sort of forgotten the details of the plot. Forgive me. It goes something along the lines of: Alec isn't having sex, he goes to the house, he has sex with Belle... something along those lines. I forget. How lame of me is that? So I'll have to focus on the merits of this one as to the scene itself, OMG SCANDAL.

No way. My technique is miles better.Bedtime Stories is also pretty unique in that nearly all its softcore scenes open with cunnilingus. Of course, it's simulated, but now I think about it, it must be really easy to simulate. Simulated fellatio isn't nearly as easy, as evidenced by a lot of the scenes where, if you look closely, it's clear that she is kissing his legs and there's no faux penis encounter there. In this case, it's quick - camera angle, legs covering anything graphic, head between legs. It can't be as easy as I think it is, but it surely can't be that difficult. Anyway, the first third or so of this scene has Alec licking Belle out.

I like this because of the following reasons.

- Kim Dawson is an incredibly attractive woman. She has long, curly, blonde hair, and a well-defined body.
- She also acts reasonably well and, during sex, does these priceless facial expressions. This is what Belle is doing while being gone down on.
- I mean, look at the picture. She's got one foot over Alec's shoulder and her hands are balancing her position on the bed. Leaning back allows for better access to vaginal areas and stuff. I don't know if said implication was the intention, but I'm going to think that it is.
- Belle is also clearly enjoying it, judging by the movements of her body and the look on her face. It's going well.


After about a minute of this (which includes a sizeable chunk wherein Belle
grasps Alec's hair, a nice touch), the picture then shifts to the cowgirl position. But we don't just get a mix to her astride... what we actually get is a pan up from crotch to face, and then back down again, face to crotch... only, in this case, said crotch is occupied with something other than being licked. That's actually remarkably clever. I wouldn't have thought of it.

Then after some shots of Alec's face (and David Christensen is doing a good enough job with the facial expressions himself, even if he does look a bit gormless at points) and Belle's top half, we get a long wide shot of the act of sex from a distance, with a steady rhythm of bouncing from Belle and rather a lot of boob-fondling from Alec. A bit closer and Belle finishes off with a little moan...

...but we are back as we mix to another position for the two! False ending, I '<span class=know, shocking... but it leads to more sex. And that's a good thing, because it wasn't quite believable that any sort of orgasm was achieved there...

And it's here where Christensen gets his chance to shine. He steadily steps up the pace, Alec doing the majority of the movement (although we also get some hand gestures and stuff from Belle), a close-up of his face demonstrating some genuine acting, and the final resolution - the classic "slowly sink onto partner, sigh and hold" - most certainly brings things to a definite end, rather than just a fade-out. Which does make a nice change.

It's a long scene, this one - and while it's not one of the Greatest Of All Time (although I do wish I could remember the plot), it does its job. It's a classic Bedtime Sessions love scene, and since it wasn't aiming to achieve anything more than that, it's quite satisfactory. To be honest, the music isn't great here and it's not one of Kim Dawson's best by any means... but then again, if you get bored with the naked bodies, there's plenty of pretty décor to look at... candles, fern, nice windows, good curtains, colour scheme. So I guess there's something for everyone, after all.

Saturday, 19 March 2011

Emo

I have the sads.

My mother got me doing some work in the garden - our house has undergone a period of some transition and, even though they promised not to, my parents continually rope me into doing things to effect this transformation that neither myself nor my sister have approved. But I didn't mind doing this one - mundanely shredding bits of dead wood. Putting them into the shredder and seeing them come out as mulch. It's easy and satisfying. Getting pricked by rose thorns less so. Nevertheless.

But it's a mundane task and for some reason my thoughts wouldn't leave me alone. And we know what happens when I think too much. And this time, I had more to think about, because more time has passed.
I don't know why by brain is wired this way. I wish I could just let go of some things from the past. But I can't. They stick. And I think to myself, what if I had done this differently? What if I had done that differently? What should I have said? I say the things I should have said out loud, sometimes in earshot of my mother, which causes a few odd looks.

The pervasive question remains, however: Why?

I want answers and the fact that I'm not getting them makes me have the sads. Mundane work makes me think and I just see all the bad stuff. There's a lot of good stuff that's happened to me, but the bad stuff has a much bigger effect. All the stuff that happened with TD, for example. Most of that was good and yet it's the stuff that hurts that I manage to remember as clear as day. I remember things I saw that upset me. Things I heard that hurt me. Things I didn't, and still don't, understand. And it was the same with Rebecca. There's even some stuff that Soldier Girl said that I don't understand.

And these things attack me and they will. not. let. go. My memory is stuck on "replay". I'm a Time Lord on an infinite loop. Any other analogies you want to stick here. They lead to the same thing. If I think too much, the bad stuff makes me sad. It's not even my choice.

I feel like I'm being punished for something and I don't even know what I've done.

Thursday, 17 March 2011

HNT: Birthday Bristles

Do you like my new haircut?

HAIR
Please believe me when I say that it's shorter than my old haircut. You can't really see the complex layers in this photo, nor can you understand how brutally short this actually is. I'd never go bald, but this is about as close as I'll ever get. My hair used to reach down to my shoulders, and up until about two hours ago, I had about as much hair as Boris Johnson. It wasn't long, but there was a lot of it. Thanks to the skilled fingers of my hairdresser (yes, a hairdresser - I'm too feminine to actually go to a barber), I now have less hair than before. And thanks to the electric shaver I have on my desk and some disposable razors I bought, I'm going to have less beard than before this evening too. Not no beard... just a tidier one.

Not that I have much to look nice for. I'm going for a pizza tonight with 47, H, Robinson, the young raver, and some others (and you're all invited, if any of you have deduced my real identity and are brazen enough to randomly appear in the place where we're going... and happy hunting, there are about 15 pizza places near here) - and possibly even a drink too - but these are all my friends. I'm not trying to pull any of them. Still, it's my birthday. It's not your birthday every day. And I'm 26 now, so I may as well make an effort.

It's better than the massive green hat I got given last year though. The irony of a teetotaller being born on Saint Patrick's Day wasn't lost on my sister, who provided me with said hat.

Which, of course, I would wear in the pizza place tonight...
...except that I've had my hair cut, and I want to show that off instead.

What a shame.

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

...and mind my spine!

Anyone who recognises the quote from the title of this post gets a cookie.

So, I went to see intelligent stand-up comedy again last night. The same girl from last time was there, only this time she was also playing a string bass, and looked twice as gorgeous. I endured twice as much teasing from H and some sort of spiritual transcendence when the lovely girl's lovely band played a lovely rendition of a Disney song and still managed to make it sound sexy. Yes, all in all it was a good night...

...except the boy sitting in front of me had a better night.

I was transfixed by his back. Not that it was particularly interesting, but what was happening to it was - well, appealing. His girlfriend, who was sitting next to him (and had nice hair from what I could see, although I preferred H's plaits), was occasionally reaching around to give him some semblance of the occasional back massage. One-handed, of course, and that's not how you give a real back massage. But it was a very good effort, from what I could see. Not that I'm sure exactly what she was doing, but there was the occasional thump on the back which ends a pressure-point workout.

I miss being massaged - I really do! I've got some problems with my back. The skin there is itchy and scratching it never helps (although I do like it being scratched), and my back is often quite tense. I don't think there's anything wrong with my spine per se, but there's definitely something that's not quite... right about it, and experiencing both TD's naked full back massages and H's quick shoulder massages in the past, I can attest that they certainly unwind whatever it is in me that's... well, wound, I guess. And this guy in front of me was getting a semi-massage from a pretty girl while watching stand-up comedy and cool music?

Dude.

Stop tormenting me.

Anyway, so after about three semi-massages, and in the clapping break between acts, he grabbed her arse.

No, seriously, that's what happened. He just let his hand fall down to just behind the bench, slid it over and grabbed her arse. Standards, dude, standards! I'd certainly be appreciative of my ladyfriend giving me some back pleasure during stand-up comedy, but if you're going to grope her in response, at least do it somewhere that people aren't going to see! I was directly behind you! I saw everything, up to the point of you hooking your thumb into the little space between belt and top with the bare flesh!

Then again, she may have been doing this. I wasn't in the right position to see.

But, anyway. Now accepting applications for masseuses. Or probably not. I wouldn't trust me either.

Monday, 14 March 2011

Blow-off

So... today is steak-and-a-blowjob day, is it? Uhm, okay. Well, at least I know how to celebrate this one.

Or at least I would. It's not really a day for me. It's meant to be designed with men in mind, but if there were a typical man, I wouldn't be one. I'm an ILB, remember?

First of all, I don't eat steak. I haven't ever eaten steak, I don't think. I can't even conjure up what a steak looks like. And I seriously doubt they do vegetarian versions of steak. The closest you could probably get is a big version of a veggie burger, and those are usually tough and a bit tasteless (although it depends how you cook 'em, I guess - I still prefer beanie things though, more of a bite), but without actually being meat there's only a certain way you can go to replicating what is essentially a hunk of dead animal.

Second, I'm not particularly a fan of blowjobs. I mean, I wouldn't pass one up - who the hell would? - but, given the choice, I'm more of a penetration boy. For me, blowjobs are a great form of foreplay, but I've never had a blowjob-induced orgasm. They don't really work for me that well, and with oral sex, I prefer to give.
I don't like blowjobs in porn much either. They're not featured much in soft porn (because they'd be hard to depict), but most hardcore scenes I see end with a blowjob - probably due to the "have to cum outside, fuck yeah safe sex" thing - or, at least, an approximation of a blowjob. Generally a lady with her mouth open and a man masturbating in front of her in the hope that some cum will eventually fall into her mouth. Yeah... that's not how it works, people. A real blowjob involves sucking. Tera Patrick got it right in her first video, where she actually sucked and swallowed. That's oral sex!

Still, no steaks due to morals, and no blowjobs due to... well, not through choice. Lack of sexual partner. No blowjobs, anyway. Not such a great way to mark the occasion, to be honest.

Nevertheless, I'm meant to be cooking dinner tonight. Might well go with a veggie sausage. It's the closest I can get to combining the two.

Sunday, 13 March 2011

Sexy Chatterboxes

It's my birthday on Thursday and I've been trying to organise something to mark the totally unremarkable age of 26 bearing down on me like some sort of doom spectre bringing me one step closer to my inevitable death. I've decided upon Italian food, because it seems safe.

"Who's on your mind?" asked my mother.

@VATTSBLOG - the sweetheart
@ladypandorah - the stalwart

"You're going to invite me, aren't you?" H shouted into my ear, as we waited to see Goldie Lookin' Chain last night.

@factsnfriction - the stud
@maddyaboulton - the friend

"Where are we going to go?" asked my sister as she batted down my suggestion of Mexican food.

@Hungry_Joe - the brains
@Flirty1980 - the brains behind the brains

"When are you going to do it? On the actual day?" asked my father.

@atheatricallife - the flirt
@_gemachu_ - the funster
@Thiefree - the kindred spirit

So I created the event on Facebook, and I invited all my IRL friends - or, at least, the ones I knew would bother to turn up. But fear not, sexy Twitter friends, as much as my IRL friends mean the world to me - that extra dimension you've just added to my week... is totally indescribable.

Saturday, 12 March 2011

Holy inappropriate!

I was baptised in 2008. I still don't have the certificate - need to get onto my minister about that - but I'm sure it's enough for God.

That's right! I'm still a Christian!

There's a campaign running arouns various corners of the Internet to tick the "no religion" box on the UK 2011 Census, as opposed to putting "JEDI" or even an arbitrary "LESBIAN" in the "other" section. Because, apparently, not ticking "no religion" means you are counted as religious, and this is a Bad Thing, apparently. I'm ticking "Christian".

I don't have anything against atheists, same as I don't have anything against black people, or gay people, or women. If one is going to accept people as people, then one shouldn't give a toss about what their religious beliefs are, whether or not they have any. What I have a problem with is people's attitude towards Christians if they are militant atheists, and this is becoming more prominent over Twitter and, worryingly, within the sex blogger community.

Christian evangelists are annoying. I've never agreed with evangelism, as it's essentially a form of bullying; plus, if you want to being Jesus into the equation, he said a lot of stuff about acceptance - "Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eyes, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?" (Matthew 7:3) - and I've always tried to live by that doctrine. Not because I think it's going to grant me acceptance into Heaven... but because I'm just nice. Christian evangelists - the ones that walk around in my town centre with "ask me about Jesus" T-shirts - are the type that will tell you you're going to Hell immediately. I don't believe in Hell, but even if I did, I wouldn't be saying any of that stuff. That's going to put you off Christianity, right?

But however irritating Christian evangelism is, and how much I feel a little ashamed of my fellow Christians for not considering verses like "let he who is without sin cast the first stone" (John 8:7b), atheist evangelism can be just as annoying, and even a little more insulting if you are on the receiving end. A good friend of mine had once known me for two years without knowing of my Christianity - I didn't bring it up in conversation. Not deliberately, but because there were much more important things to talk about. The response I got when I did casually mention it was something along the lines of...

But you seem so clever!

Why, thank you.
That's exactly the problem, though. Religious nutjobs garner a lot of portrayal because they are nutjobs, whereas in the public eye, you get people like Stephen Fry being an atheist. On Twitter, you have Mitch Benn. And in the sex blogosphere, we have the high-profile Abby Lee being a particularly vociferous atheist "voice", and Furry Girl actively seeking out atheist quotes, while dismissing religious ones as "woo-woo". Much as I admire Furry Girl and her crusade for more accpetance of sex work, I find the "woo-woo" bit hurtful. But this is the thing - atheists are clever. And it shows. It's portrayed well. Even Richard Dawkins is considered clever - because he is.

But religious people are rarely considered clever, especially by atheist crusaders - and this I find mystifying. I've never tried to shove my religion down anyone else's throat and therefore I'm considered, by my friends, to be smart - because I am. If I started conversations with things like "you're going to Hell eventually, but how are you?", that might cast some aspersions on me which wouldn't be particularly favourable. Yet atheist campaigners will dismiss any religious mumbojumbo with their assertion that there is no God, and therefore when you die, you cease to exist. It's a biological process that has a definite end. And that's such a bleak prospect, I have trouble with accepting that!

But I'll defend to the death your right to say it.

This isn't a conversation about how I attempt to reconcile my sexually liberated attitude with my religion. I have that sort of chatter with other sexually liberated Christians at Spiritual Space. But I'd like less attention paid to how you expect atheists to act, especially if you are an atheist. I frankly don't care if you follow Scientology. It doesn't matter to me whether you have any religious beliefs or not. I have mine and you have yours and let's leave it at that!

But in the whole climate, especially circulating the communities I tend to watch and occasionally participate in, of the assumption that intelligent, rational people are not religious, and people of a faith are to be cautioned, it's made quite clear that I am in a minority here...

...which is why I wish some people, who claim to have have no divine guidelines to follow, would be more tolerant! Why? Well, because it's just being nice.

Friday, 11 March 2011

Fail Friday

I had three bots messaging me with automated winks and requests to "lick it like a lollipop ;)" via Yahoo! Messenger, which is probably one of the multitude of reasons I don't often use Yahoo! Messenger. I responsed to all three of them with the same text via the marvels of copy-and-paste, and when I did eventually use the word "bot", they all responded with a vehement denial that they were a bot. Something like:

if i were a bot, why would i be wearing this hat?... ;)

Dumb.

So I decided to be nice.

bouncy.queen545:
;)

ILB:
If anyone's reading the logs of this (and that's highly unlikely), your bot is flawed. Every time I type the word "bot", it gives an automatic response denying it is a bot, and any answer to that yields the response "k". This also ends the conversation. Fix your bot to be more successful with your scams.

bouncy.queen545:
what's a bot??


I've said it before and I'll say it again:

Dumb.

Thursday, 10 March 2011

Mwah!

I was kissed once at university in my first year.

I kissed plenty of people at university - on the cheek, on the hand, on the shoulder - and because of my well-established status as non-threatening boy, nobody seemed to mind. Plus, for the first few weeks of university I was still in a relationship with Rebecca, and due to the fact that I danced like Tim Booth I was well-observed on the dancefloor. I was secure enough with who I was at the time that my affectionate nature was well-known, and so random hugs, kisses on the hand or the occasional sexy dance didn't seem totally out-of-place. This continued into the final two-thirds of my first year, when I continued to go clubbing as a single man, but had missed any chance of forming a romantic, or even sexual, relationship by this point, but then again, I was an ILB.

But after a few weeks at university, I was sitting in the union bar on one of our Friday-night-loud-music club nights, tired a little from throwing shapes on the dance floor, and clutching a Coke in my right hand. I was, for some reason, facing the wall, rather than the table, and a thin, attractive girl waltzed over to me.

"Excuse me?" she said. And, before waiting for a reply, "can I kiss you?"
I blinked.
"Just... kiss you. On the lips. Just quickly, on the lips, please?"
I blinked again. And then I realised that I was being pretty stupid.
"Okay," I said.
She leaned forward and gave me a peck on the lips. I kissed back, swiftly, making the "mwah" sound because it seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn't sure if that was what she wanted - but it was all I was willing to do; I was aware, at this point, that Rebecca was cheating on me, but I was still in a relationship with her, and I didn't really think a random pretty girl would come over for a full snog without good reason. She put another swift kiss on my lips, and then smiled.
"Thanks!" she said, and then quickly drifted away. I took half a glance after her, and watched as she joined a guy at the bar and started a conversation.

It occurred to me later on that this may have been a dare. I didn't know who she was and she didn't know who I was, and it was too premediatated and quick to be a random university snog. So I still don't know exactly why it happened, but I'm betting that whichever guy at the bar she was talking to had dared her to go and kiss someone who looked either lonely or not particularly attractive. Or both. And he'd buy her a drink.

At least, that's what my brain tells me was happening. If there's a more viable explanation, I'd like to hear it! But I guess I never will, though, right?...

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

International Equality Day

So, today is International Women's Day. It's all over Twitter. And I object to it. Or I would on principle, but I don't.

I'll explain.

I wouldn't identify myself as a feminist - mostly because of the negative connotations of the word "feminist". Writers who have termed themselves as "feminist" over the years have varied in success - I remember reading an essay TD wrote, focusing on Djuna Barnes and the lesbian and feminist overtones in some of her writing; I also remember an essay I wrote during my degree in which I wrote about Luce Irigaray and Julia Kristeva, crazy French bitch that she is. I didn't like Virginia Woolf, though, and although H claims that modern feminism is less violent than it used to be, I was always disturbed by the kind of "power over men" thing that many people identify with feminism.

Some people take feminism in modern times as favouring women in order to promote diversity. As a straight white male, I have lost out on jobs because of positive discrimination in force. Although I see the reasoning behind positive discrimination (it's better than negative discrimination by several degrees), it is a rather stupid way to consider people for jobs. I'm jobseeking at the moment and am being continually rejected; the only job to offer me a reason for rejection started by saying the word "diversity". That's not how it works!

Feminism should be about equalisation between both sexes - if you make a distinction. Blacksilk and others don't differentiate between genders too much at all! But if it's about equality, why is it called feminism? Why not equalitism or something else which doesn't look right now I've written it down?

I define myself as an egalitarian, because semantics would instil a form of prejudice about me if I called myself a feminist. If we didn't have this silly "male dominance" idea to begin with, there wouldn't be a problem.

Now that we have that out of the way...

Although I both admire and see the point of having an international day for women, isn't that a little sexist... towards women? I mean, does that mean that women are to be ignored on the other 364 days of the year? That's not what feminism is about! Promoting gender equality - yes; indirectly saying that women have one day and that's it? What kind of an idea is that?

And come to think of it, where's International Men's Day? Gender equality, again - not having a day for men the way that a day for women happens indeed suggests one of two things:

i) men are less important so they don't deserve a day
ii) on the other 364 days, women are considered less important so they need this one day

Both of which are terrible.

So. I don't consider today International Women's Day because it can either be construed as sexist towards women or towards men. And to be totally equalitismist, both versions of sexism are just as bad as each other. It's a shame that society seems to have the views which have, effectively, "ruined" perfectly virtuous terms for me, but if one must make distinctions between gender... I'm not entirely comfortable that this is the best way to promote equality.

Because apart from anything else... in a perfect world, it wouldn't be an issue!

Friday, 4 March 2011

Trick or treat?

I had a nightmare a couple of nights ago about being outed. I'm quite low-profile, so nobody's going to bother to try and out me anyway; additionally, it wouldn't make much of a difference. I've had the conversation a few times - "what would happen if you were outed?" / "I'd just carry on as normal, doesn't bother me" - but I think it probably would. I'm not sure why. For a higher-profile sex blogger, it would have more of a profound effect - take The Girl, for example - but for me? Not so much. But I still like the anonymity a sex blog name provides, and the fact that - being anonymous - I can be more of myself than I would otherwise be.

In the dream, however, I was still at school - maybe in the sixth form - and in this case, the fear was real. Really real. Back in the sixth form, I had started writing my LiveJournal, and everyone read it. I was quite proud that everyone read my LJ; it was a welcome distraction from the humdrum of after-school life, and also a really easy way to pick on me. I got numerous anonymous comments (although not many of them were incognito; with most of them you could work out who they were) basically flaming me for things I said, even though the things I said weren't actually offensive or libellious - they were just my opinions.

Anyway.

If I had started writing a sex blog while I was still at school and I was outed, the reaction probably would have been much less so that it had been in the dream. In the dream, everyone picked on me for it. Including the teacher in the dream (who, for some reason, was the teacher who left the school after Year 7) - who seemed to lead the class, in all their mob mentality, in laughing at me. Seems a little stupid now. Why laugh at me for writing a sex blog? I'd like to think these entries read quite well, so why the derision? And then, the thoughts whirled around my head - what do I do now? My best-friend-at-school (my naive, but lovely best-friend-at-school) hadn't found out - when would he find out? What about Lightsinthesky? He'd certainly have something to say. And then what would I tell my parents? And how would I deal with the inevitable deluge of hateful comments from my peers in the sixth form?

I woke up, eventually. And I'm glad I did because the sense of relief was overwhelming. I don't deal well with fear and, because of what had happened with my LJ, this was very realistic. I knew exactly what I would be up against.

Thankfully few people comment on my LJ any more, and those who do are my friends. But LJ has declined in recent years and I've been posting less on it now that I write ILB. Also thankfully, I've had very few comments on ILB which serve no purpose other than to take the piss - I'd like to think that people who read sex blogs are smart enough to not erupt into flames at the mention of something which they don't agree with. But it makes me wonder exactly why my mind manifested that specific dream, and why it made me so scared. Because I was trapped? Because I was being publicly ridiculed? Or because I was afraid of what might happen?

Well, I don't mind being publicly ridiculed. I've been in plays. I'm in a rock band. I do stand-up comedy, for Glod's sake. I've never had stage fright, or been shy of the limelight. And, although I was in an overcrowded classroom with a malicious teacher (who in real life was great) and "friends" who had suddenly shown their true colours (or peer pressure had taken them over), I could have just walked out. But I was trying to defend myself - although why should I? I'm over 16 and I have a right to talk about sex as much as I want!

I don't deal well with fear, though, and the threat of what might happen when I got home was dreadful. The first time I'd had sex, everyone found out (at the same time), and I went home from school in a panic, for fear or what may happen, even though I was 17 and the sex was totally consensual. I had a terrible anxiery over something someone might say, even though I had no idea who may say what, and why.

I wonder what planted this seed in my mind?

I need to get out of my house for a while. I'm going a little crazy.

Fortunate, then, that in two and a half hours, 47 and I are heading off to Germany. 'Bye for now.

Thursday, 3 March 2011

Addiction XV: Non-penetrative sex

I know everyone thinks they know about this one. But let's make it clear.


Why this is a mystery to some people is beyond me. I'll grant you that very few boys are unaware of the idea that you can have sex without penetration - it's prevalent in modern popular culture, and most sexual "experimentation" probably involves non-penetrative sex, of a sort - but (as with most things) there is a line one can cross between sex sans infiltration and a mere erotic touch. As I don't think it's been stipulated (Wikipedia is typically vague), here's how I see it:

Penetrative sex, in my mind (and this actually aligns with the Wikipedia entry, damn!), involves the penis going into the vagina or anus, although I may also consider fellatio as a kind of penetration - and the same with cunnilingus, actually, especially considering how far one would care to insert one's tongue. Yet I wouldn't think of those as actual penetration - if we're talking in a sexual way... which, of course, I am.

But I digress.

Refer to the above diagram. Every one of those labelled is an erogenous zone. But that's not all - why not try this?


I've said it before and I'll say it again (if that doesn't make me sound too much like a grown-up). Everyone has their own sweet spot. Some are unique, some are not so much. Ears, wrists, thighs, feet, neck, shoulders, back... they can all be stimulated. The body is awesome sometimes.

So where do I draw the line; what do I consider non-penetrative sex?

This is where I have to think for a while. That time I incited an orgasm by licking a shoulder - was that non-penetrative sex? What about the circular stroking of a knee under a table that had the same effect? Well, no, I'm not sure if that counts. It's sexual excitement without actual cock-based penetration, but it's not the act I have in mind. The aforementioned Wikipedia article also mentions dry sex, which I've always thought of as sex with clothes on - I wouldn't consider that non-penetrative sex either. Although they are, like non-penetrative sex, not specifically foreplay.

And I want to make that clear too. Non-penetrative sex is not equal to foreplay. A young lady I used to attend my school's Christian union with once said, "there's foreplay and there's sex"... and she called me narrow-minded! Anyone with half a brain can work out that versions of stimulation which don't involve penis/vagina don't need to be a precursor to full sex. That's not how it works, soldier. If you're aiming to achieve orgasm (and you shouldn't; orgasms are fantastic, but you shouldn't start off with orgasm in mind; where's the enjoyment in the pleasurable bits in between?), and you both enjoy whatever you're doing, why should it be considered foreplay? If you come, surely it isn't! Jeeze!

Anyway, where was I?

I've always considered non-penetrative sex to be a premeditated act. You have sex - it's something you do. Well, I like to think of it like that. You have non-penetrative sex. Whether it's through use of fingers, tongues, and/or focused on any, all or fewer areas of the body, I think it should be an act you take some time over, like having sex. Yes, the definition will always be a little fuzzy. But there's a scene in David Lodge's novel Nice Work in which the main character and her S.O. are, as he puts it, "having non-penetrative sex," and he appears to be in no doubt how to portray that. It's frisky, exciting, stimulating, and that's what sex is all about.

So let go of the need to conform in every instance. Nothing needs to go anywhere 100% of the time; where's the variety if that is the case?

Indulge.

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

A gentle reminder?

Okay, so last night, I saw No Strings Attached, a film which I now hold close to my heart for three reasons:

- Sex with no strings attached is a subject which I've been talking and thinking about a lot recently.
- Throughout a large portion of the film, I was convinced one of the main characters was played by Jenna Haze (she wasn't, though).
- It's the first romantic comedy I've seen without TD for years and years (and years).

It's also a good laugh. Worth seeing. And it has Natalie Portman in it, and I've respected her since Padmé (and I'll be seeing her again tonight, due to the fact that I don't drag my arse to Black Swan this evening I'll never see it).

But, as I've said, it was the first rom-com I've seen in recent times that I haven't been with TD for. It activated the "lulz romance" part of my brain and I went home thinking a lot. Hmmm, that's not good for a B, never mind an IL-one. But nevertheless...

So. I also updated a website today. One I've been saying I'll update for a while (but haven't actually done so since November). I'm meant to be updating it every month. That hasn't been happening. Mostly because I'm lazy. But anyway, I had a bit of spare time, and I'm procrastinating, so I eventually wrestled with the pages and beat the update into service. Yes, it's that painful. Even worse so than before. It seems that at this point in my life, updating a website means whatever changes I mean to make in a WYSIWYG, then accessing the raw HTML, changing the picture sizes via that, then uploading the page along with all the support files that Windows XP has decided simply must be there for the page to function properly.

I had, of course, forgotten that, within the HTML code for one specific page (the one that I update every month withour fail), I had hidden TD's name, so that I'd get a nice reminder of her whenever I changed the source. It was a little bit of a shock when I saw it and took me a few seconds to realise why it was there. Just another example of my attempting to appear clever to myself. Well, it kind of worked the first few times.
I updated, leaving the hidden text in place. Well, I figured it couldn't hurt.

Every time something comes along to remind me of her, it twinges a bit. It's a dull thud rather than a knife point... but it still hurts.

Just a little.

Tuesday, 1 March 2011

Meowth!

Am I meant to be meowing when I orgasm?

I just had a bit of 'me time' (hey, shut up, I was bored, I'm allowed to play) and, when I came, I let out a... well, a sound. It started as a moan of longing before I reached my peak, but evolved into something between a snarl, a growl, a sigh, and a rolled R sound.

I didn't even know I could make that sound. I wonder if that's normal.

Or if I happen to be turning into a Wookiee.