Monday, 31 December 2012

Lucky '13

I don't have a New Year's resolution, but if I were to make one, it would be something along the lines of, "Get Confident, Stupid!".

2012 has been a very strange year for me. It's had some very good bits, but conversely, it's had some very bad bits too. In some cases, it's been almost devastating, and nevertheless I've survived through the companionship of my flames, friends, family and father, even at times aided and abetted by my mother, who has spent the whole year acting as both a hero and a villain according to increasingly random stimuli. 2013 also looks to be...

...interesting.

I don't make many resolutions (apart from a list I made a few years ago) because I generally dislike rules, laws, or making any plans. If I make a promise to someone I'll do my best to fulfil it, but that's just having good moral standards, and those I have. Setting myself a goal, however, always seems to be a surefire way of saying it won't happen.

A good example is the idea of moving out of my parents' house. This is something I wanted to do two years ago and still haven't managed to do, due to a combination of the volatile jobs market and bad luck. Now that I have a live-in girlfriend with me, renting a room the size of a cupboard isn't an option any more, so I've stopped idealising in my head about where I (and/or we) may end up, and abandoned myself to the fact that it might happen at some point, hopefully, in 2013. If I aim for something, it doesn't happen.

The fact that I barely missed out on getting to compete on University Challenge still hurts.

I quite like living by the skin of my teeth. I know it doesn't apply to everyone, but I still have some semblance of a sense of adventure, I think. Without a slightly risk-taking attitude, I wouldn't have started going to Erotic Meets, and with the demise of the CCK meetups at the beginning of the year, I was devoid of the chance to meet and mix with more sex-related people. Not every Erotic Meet has been a roaring success, but I got to meet loads of people I admire, and even some new ones, which is frankly astonishing.

Not making any resolute plans in the form of a list allows me to shape bits of my life when opportunities come around, and as long as I try to hang on to my moral values (which I'm managing to do, I hope!), then I think I'll be OK with not ritualising any sort of thing. It's a mini-adventure... except without a car. I gave my car to my cousin with the large breasts a while ago.

I digress.

The closest thing to a resolution I'll give myself is to get more confident and more... shall we say... vocal. I'm the least likely person in Christendom to develop a backbone of steel, but I need to be able to give my opinion on things. Ask for things (which is the thing I like doing the least in the world due to my abject fear of failure). Learn to say "yes" to some things and "no" to some other things. And, crucially, I need to stand up to bullies. Every year of my life I've had a bully and every time I've tried to stand up to them it's gone wrong - I've been shouted down or physically attacked or humiliated. This has got to stop.

I'm still going to be nice. Hell, we all know I'm a pushover. I'm really easy to throw off-balance as I have a tendency to fluster when wrong-footed. I backpedal, I apologise, I don't argue. I don't fight. This isn't a "don't fuck with me" post. But I really want to make a difference this year... something more than asking mothers not to smack their children in public places. Maybe "stand up to bullies" isn't the correct term - "make bullies realise what they are" is a better thing to try to do. It worked wonders for Dudley Dursley.

You get the point, I'm sure.

Do I have a sex resolution this year? No. With the exception of "keep having sex", there isn't really anything new I want to do. If there's one thing I need to do, it's to work on my oral skills. We all know how much I love oral sex, but I need more practice if I'm going to keep it up.

Thus begins a year of having my head between legs. Nice to know I'm still capable of getting myself into all sorts of weird situations. Nice one, ILB.

You idiot.

Sunday, 30 December 2012

Sexual Moments of 2012: as told by LLB via ILB

Written in response and with rather severe thanks to Girl on the Net, as it was indeed her idea. Or at least she did it first. The basis of the challenge? Ask your significant other (and/or sex partner) about significant moments in your sex life throughout 2012, and you have a retrospective. Or something close to.

This is evidently difficult for me since I was, during the February to October period, in a relationship during which I wasn't having much sex (or any at all, at some points), and then I was single for a couple of weeks from September to October, so although I am in a position to ask the question to my girlfriend now, it won't be a rip-roaring helter-skelter through the wonder that was 2012.

So, girlfriend... what were the most memorable sex moments of the LAST THREE MONTHS?

1. Insence and lanterns!
No, before you ask, we haven't turned Wiccan. This was something that happened during the weeks wherein we were watching the sex documentaries on More4. Somewhere along the line, my brain and/or penis thought it would be amusing to light some incense (as I was given some last Christmas) and turn all the lights off, using my IKEA lantern to project stars onto the ceiling.
This masterstroke of genius hit a few snags when I realised that I didn't know how to extinguish an incense leaf once it's started burning, and the small tea-light inside my lantern decided to flicker and die after a while, so we essentially had a smoky room with no light - and the same effect could probably be conjured up by going to your local pub of an evening, which isn't the ideal place to have sex. Unless you're that way inclined.
It's better than it sounds, although making love under the effect of incense is quite heady. It was still good sex. (NB: I probably should have mentioned we had sex earlier in the previous paragraph, just in case you were under the impression dim light and aromas were necessary to enjoy More4. Although there's probably some truth in that, too.) And thankfully the resulting ash didn't cover my entire desk.

2. Epiphany in Willesden!
This was a short but sweet moment when we were taking advantage of the brief time spent in her shared bedroom in Willesden Green when we were about 72% sure her room-mates weren't going to walk in and find us having sex. We weren't exactly a couple at the time - it was about two weeks after I broke up with Catherine and I wasn't sure I was ready for another relationship - but I was certainly ready for more sex, and about halfway through one of our furtive, please-God-don't-let-anyone-hear lovemaking sessions, I stopped moving for about ten seconds, and then ejaculated something along the lines of, "are we falling in love?"
I didn't get a concrete answer, but we went on a date immediately afterwards, although I took the time to tell Rhye everything first. As much as the length of a Twitter DM can constitute everything. It went something like, "OMG!!!*!**! JILLY SEKS WTF?!?!?!? LOL BBQ!!!!!11", or just as equally erudite.
("I always love a good sex barbecue," she says. I worry about her sometimes.)

3. Hotel Meridiana!
This sounds like the title of a new docu-drama based on something Imogen Edwards-Jones wrote, but it's actually a genuine hotel in King's Cross, which I checked into because it was cheap. And by "cheap," I mean "not too expensive." By "checked into," I mean "found and got the last room", and by "genuine" I mean "didn't fall down". But it had a bed, which served our needs, and a TV, the best aspect of which being an off switch.
This was an attempt to escape anyone else (read: relatives of me) getting "involved", by way of being in earshot, although a similar thing happened in the middle of the night more recently. We were making our way back from an Erotic Meet, decided we didn't want to bother going as far as North London, found another cheap hotel and shagged like particularly energetic people who are shagging. I don't remember the name of this other hotel, but that doesn't matter. Let's call it "Sodom and Gomorrah" - it may as well have been.

4. DVD Spankings!
Call me a prude if you wish, but if you're on a comedown from having sex for about 40 minutes or so, among the things most likely to snap you out of your reverie is the sound of a spank and a light "oh!" coming from the direction of your parents' bedroom. Although the subsequent discovery that it was a lesbian porn DVD you had carelessly left on was something of a relief, the "on-edge" feeling - also known as "Jesus Christ!" - still hasn't quite gone away yet.
And this was a few weeks ago.


5. ILB 2.0
You say you wanna evolution? Well, according to her, this was the stand-out moment of the year. I'd be inclined to agree if I could remember all of it. I remember it being bloody good, that's for sure.

*

So there you have it - our sexual (mis)adventures mapped out in retrospective blog post form. As lovingly remembered by her and hilariously transcribed by me... although, to be honest, your journey may not have been necessary, since you could scroll back through the blog archives and read all of this first time around. But you chose to read this! Huzzah!

Join us tomorrow for more thrills and spills, such as New Year's resolutions, pretty sparkly dresses, and things that don't quite make sense any more.

As if they already did.

Friday, 28 December 2012

Analogy

"I feel like I was going to do something today."
"Uhm... article?"
"Done that."

"Guest post?"
"Yep."

"Own blog?"
"Yes, done that."

I cast my eyes around for a visual cue as to what else she could do. They fell upon something I bought earlier on at the chemist. It was my mother's idea.


"You could gargle with soluble aspirin. That'd help your throat."
"Hmm?"
"It's really easy."
"Yeah?"
"Just imagine I've cum in your mouth..."


She didn't stop laughing for a while.

Thursday, 27 December 2012

Back in business!

So, er, you wouldn't think I write blog posts, would you? It's not been the ideal week to do so, what with the insane business that comes with the 18 people we have attending one of my family Christmasses all demanding moar food, plus the other events that happen around this time of year. Friends that I almost forgot I had crawling out of the woodwork demand my attention to see all the films out this Christmas, eat a monstrosity of a dinner with them, or be unintentionally racist during a party game (it's a long story)... and, of course, I comply, throwing myself wholeheartedly into the festivities, dragging my long-suffering girlfriend along with me.

Not that there are just festivities to deal with. No, that'd be far too easy - where's the challenge there? I had an almost-complete redesign of a room to get through, that being made slightly more complicated by the presence of a wire rack, which suddenly materialised in the middle of said room (which we quickly requisitioned and are now using as a bookcase. Sneaky buggers.). That and a pile of laundry approximately the size of Nebraska, which the Hotpoint is being incredibly valiant in tackling but keeps building up. Add the fact that my girlfriend is coming down with something resembling the plague, both the aforementioned lounge and my own bedroom are still in a constant state of flux, I'm nearing £300 in debt and the slight niggle that we haven't had the necessary energy to have sex for a while, and that all puts the fact that I got Tales of the Legion of Super-Heroes #318 for Christmas into context a little starker than I'd like.

Then comes the gratification. I wake up this morning to warm croissants. I enjoy my girlfriend's company as we walk into town. Red Dwarf box sets are £10. QI is on Dave as we get back. Upon Jilly deciding she needs to take a nap (for she is infirm), I return to my room and survey my domain.

It's clean. It's tidy. It's warm with the aid of a convection heater. And it's quiet, despite all my parents' efforts to the contrary. My head is still pounding and I crave chocolate. But I make a cup of tea, take some deep calming breaths... and sit down. I turn my computer on and watch the screen flicker into life, waiting for me to write something.

Pause.

IL as it used to B. And after all my exertion getting things into order, long may it remain so.

Sunday, 23 December 2012

FAQ VI (of a sort...)

It's now been over five years since I started this blog and, as is the norm at this time of year, I've been revising any frequently asked questions one may have upon chancing across my blog the first time. My previous five FAQs do answer some questions, and any NSFAQs... well, we have Formspring for that.

Rather than running through all the questions again I'll make it simple, and just update you as to where I am at this moment in time:
  • I'm Innocent Loverboy, or usually just "ILB". I'm 27 years old, and my birthday's in March. I have blue eyes, black hair and some other bits that suggest I'm almost human. I have a high IQ, but I tend to let my heart do the thinking for me. I like sherbet lemons and tea.
  • This is a sex blog, or if you're my dad, this is a lifestyle blog. If you're my mum, I don't have a blog at all. Throughout my life I've been fascinated by love, sex and relationships and how they work. My focus generally is love, not sex, although a combination of the two is always appreciated.
  • I love to have sex and I am a giver in bed. I like giving oral sex, getting back rubs and making girls orgasm. I like to masturbate too. Unlike a lot of sex bloggers, I'm not very kinky and don't really go for fetishes or dirty fantasies. I'm into vanilla sex and it's always been good so far. I don't like sex toys, mostly on account of the fact that they don't work for me, although you will find the odd review on this blog. I love softcore, considering it an under-appreciated art form, and the written word turns me on more than any visual stimulus.
  • I live in North London with my mother, father, girlfriend and cat. This house has the curiously My Family-esque tradition of having people stay around for a transient period of time. My grandmother, sister, sister's best friend and second-cousin have all lived here at some point, but now there are only four of us humans - plus my lovely, long-suffering tortoiseshell, Willow.
  • I don't have a job at the moment although I've been trained for several. I've had a very unlucky year with employment throughout 2012. Extracurricular activities include writing and performing musical comedy.
  • I'm a socialist, environmentalist, pacifist, vegetarian and liberal Christian. I'm an activist for The Green Party and advocate of free speech and freedom of expression. I have anti-censorship, anti-capitalism and anti-arms trade views. I think Britain should have joined the Euro and that that would have had a massive positive effect on the Eurozone crisis. I don't often get political on this blog, but if I do you can pretty obviously tell what my bias is.
  • I have a lot of friends, from a number of groups, but the ones I hang out with most are a combination of old schoolfriends and those that used to go to Woodcraft Folk together. They all have their names on the blog. 47, my closest friend, is not part of that group - I met him through the James community. My oldest friend is Robinson; my closest female friend is H. My girlfriend is the sex writer Jillian Boyd.
  • I'm also a member of several online communities, none of which I particularly expand on here much... apart from the sex blogging community, which (due to events) has grown exponentially over the past few years. I have a lot of friends within the sex blogging community, the oldest being Blacksilk and Lady P.
Anything else can be asked in the comments or found in the previous five FAQs. Here's to another year of blogging... and, you know, I have a feeling this one is going to be an interesting year, too...

Friday, 21 December 2012

Atic Atac

There's a room above mine, which has variously been known by a number of names. None of them are as frustratingly middle-class as things like "the garden room" or "the library", both of which have been applied to a back room on the ground floor by my parents, or even "the study" (which is now a spare lounge for me to crash out in). Not being a cast member on Keeping Up Appearances myself, I don't go into that kind of bourgeois language. I call the room on the top floor "the studio" because it actually is a studio. My dad has set up a recording desk there and uses it as an audio studio. So do I.

It's been called other things, though. It was "my sister's bedroom" for a long enough time to justify the Jigglypuff painted on the wall. It's been "the guest room" a few times when my dad's tidied it up under direction from my mother. It was "my cousin's room" for the year or so that my cousin lived in this house. It's even been "the cat's room" at times when Willow runs up the stairs and REFUSES TO COME BACK DOWN AGAIN. It's also been "the loft", on account of the fact that it's the loft.

However, I prefer to think of it as "The ILB Hostel".

I shall explain. This room has a large bed in it, which has housed a fair number of sex bloggers. Rose slept there for a night last February. Blacksilk and Crush were there earlier in the year and even Jilly spent a night there before we were Being A Couple. There's a sink and a towel rack and and heater, and even a TV. It's quite a nice room, when you come to think about it. Pretty self-contained and far away enough from my mother, which is a plus...

...except at the moment it looks like a bomb's hit it.

Seriously, I have no idea what happened to it. My dad spent about three weeks tidying it up, which involved creating ordered piles of random stuff in the storage space cunningly concealed behind the walls, and yet when I went up there yesterday morning to clear some of the aforementioned storage space to put some stuff in... well... storage, I found that to be an incredibly easy task, on account of the fact that someone had taken it all out and dumped it on the floor. I'm willing to bet that someone wasn't the cat.

47 turned up yesterday with about half an hour's notice and I was suddenly struck with three feelings - one: slight annoyance, as I was planning to seduce and make love to my girlfriend that afternoon; two: delight, as I've missed him a lot and didn't see an awful lot of him despite staying at his house last week; three: "oh fuck, where am I going to have him sleep?". Visions of pulling out spare sleeping bags or unfolding the chair-bed combo that Willow likes to sit on being a cat flitted through my head, but I eventually settled upon, "if it's okay that it's a bit messy, you can sleep in the studio".

47 pointed out the fact that he spent the previous night sleeping with a friend in a makeshift bed that was still on the floor from the last time he stayed over with this friend, and that was over a year ago. This put things into perspective somewhat, and therefore I let him toddle off to the loft to watch cartoons, or whatever it is that he does to help him sleep. (I settled for having sex directly below him. Don't say a word.)

I was going to mention the fact that I've never fantasised about having sex in that bed. Which is weird, because I have thought long and hard about having sex in my own bed (in fact, it's one of the very few places I can envision it, but I suppose that's easy enough to do, since it's actually happened), but as I've said, it's a self-contained room almost entirely cut off from the rest of the house (there's a door before the stairs and all), almost creating a "sanctuary" feeling. I've even had sex on the floor of that room and didn't even think to head about a metre to the left for a softer surface. It would, now I think about it, be the ideal place to have sex, and yet I've never even considered it.

But if I ever do, before any of you come to stay, I make this solemn vow to you. Scout's honour.

I'll change the sheets.

Tuesday, 18 December 2012

Emmanuwhat?

On Monday evening @JillyBoyd and I watched Emmanuelle together in bed. Sounds sexy, right?

Emmanuelle reminds me of many things, but I've only ever actually seen it once before (barring a few short scenes which I own in MPEG format). The most famous scene (insofar as it's the one used whenever the film is referenced on TV) is the swimming pool one, filmed underwater, where we get a look at Sylvia Kristel's body. But a couple of things I noticed which I didn't, for some pretty obvious reasons, when I first watched the film at the age of 15.

The first is that a lot of the earlier Emmanuelle films are referenced here and there in the later ones - and I think deliberately, as well. The first sex scene in the film is shot through shimmering gauze; this is done again in one of the Emmanuelle in Space films a few decades later. Wicker chairs make their appearance - something of a recurring motif. If sex is about to happen, there's usually a brief cutaway to something mundane happening beforehand - again, done later. And there's a squash game, something which again happens in EIS. Plus a masturbation scene practically mirrored again in EIS.

I may be over-analysing here, but I think there are too many things for a few sneaky references in the later films not to be intentional. (There are even some things that happen in all the earlier films, too - Goodbye Emmanuelle ends on a repeated freeze-frame, as does this.)

However.

One more striking thing about this film is how really really dark it is. I'm really surprised it actually got through the censors in some places. There's nothing over the line too much, but a lot of the sex scenes are violent and - in many cases - feature non-consensual sex, at times verging on rape and, in one case, actually being full rape. The third act of the film (in which Emmanuelle experiences a sexual awakening with new lover Mario) contains a lot of things which aren't exactly BD/SM, but are clearly distressing for the heroine... and the viewer.

And then there's the characters. A lot of them - in fact, all the supporting cast (including Emmanuelle's husband Jean, pretty girl Marie-Ange, expatriate Ariane and archaeologist Bee) - seem to have dark ulterior motives, leaving no particular character you can actually root for.

I get the whole idea of a new sexual experience being unsettling, but this seems too intended to shock, or at least rattle a few bones, especially considering the eponymous heroine is introduced as a young lady who enjoys making love so much - making me wonder why they had to put too much of an emphasis on taking her out of her comfort zone. It is, after all, meant to be a soft porn film - not sexploitation or film noir. And, unlike a lot of more recent softcore, it isn't aiming to turn you on. Or if it is, it's not working, really.

I know it's a classic... I also know why: it was successful. But I'm not entirely sure why it was successful. It's shot well, the acting is good and the dialogue (terrible English dub aside; there wasn't an option to watch it in the original French on the DVD) isn't too bad, but it's really quite dark and disturbing, and in my opinion that's not what soft porn should be!

I enjoyed it more than the lesbian hardcore we watched last night, though... but that's another story...!

Thursday, 13 December 2012

Casanova

I can hear steps.

When 47 invited me to stay for a few days at his flat in southern Germany, I was initially uncertain about the reality of actually going. I didn't have much faith in my new job giving me time off during my second week. Initially my boss said that wad fine, but as it turned out, I didn't really pass my trial week (although I'm pretty sure that's not my fault, but can't complain, really) - so I got to come here either way, really.

Or, as 47 put it, I lost my job* before the week when I was planning to go to Germany, so "everything turned out for the best". Yeah.

Staying in this flat is a very odd mix of geekery, bilingualism, a kitchen small enough to surmise it could have once been an airing cupboard, a hacked Wii, sleeping on a sofa too small for me, subsisting on Mario Party, and pretty guitar music, mostly (if not entirely) from 47's lovely Italian girlfriend, who both practices and teaches the instrument. As an example of just how geeky this place is, though, I refer you back to the title of this post... which is the name for one of the WiFi networks they have here.

One of them. There are two. In the same flat.

Looking out of the window I can see a flurry of snow, German citizens going about their daily business in stupid hats (and in one case an umbrella) looking as if being snowed on is something that happen to them on a daily basis. But, upon reflection, it probably does. I saw none of the stuff in North London, but here I an in Central Europe and you could build a house out of the stuff. This does, of course, explain the initially confusing gesture of 47's girlfriend's mother giving me the gift of a thermal vest. But I can see the point. Or feel it, rather. 

I'm passing time by keeping in contact with various people around the globe via various mediums including, but not limited to, e-mail, MSN, Skype and Twitter, although intermittently. But Casanova does the job of keeping my BlackBerry WiFi'd up sufficiently enough to tweet so's I'm not spending €3,000,000 per text. Which is nice. I've also written a song which I shall, at some point, demo with the other two musicians who live here; I did try and think of a subject with was off-the-wall and unusual, but ended up with snow.

So there's that.

I can hear steps sometimes, which must be coming from elsewhere in the building - this mostly happens when I'm in the bathroom, which doesn't have a lock, hence my feeling on red alert some of the time. But mostly, I'm feeling relaxed, lying back on this computer chair listening to Bach on acoustic guitar and talking to my girlfriend on Twitter, trying to decide what I want to suggest we have for dinner - following up on yesterday's home-made pizza and the baked sweet potatoes we had for lunch.

Nice work if you can get it, right?

* Losing jobs is something that happens to me a lot. It's not something I'm going to talk about much on this blog any more... although I'll mention it when I do get one that lasts for more than a few days. But I needed to mention it here.

Monday, 10 December 2012

Bells

Fallout from the Erotic Meet Christmas party, stylised as "WITH BELLS ON!".

Bells, that is, although not much else in some cases. I arrived myself in a classic shirt-and-trousers combination; Jilly, who was accompanying me, in a lovely top and with jewellery that we'd only just bought, but which worked incredibly well. However, Rose's costume... well... needed to be seen to be believed, and Shalla looked like she hadn't even got a top half of her costume. I also met Silver, boyfriend of Bunny White, who was in possession of both a walking stick and an inrgained love for Sapphire and Steel. Seemed like a genuine guy. Due to a balls-up by the Green Carnation, the first hour-and-a-half of the event has to be held in the small VIP room, but that was worth it for the experience of sitting on the comfy sofas while these amazingly-clad guests arrived...

The performances were varied, as always, but there were some absolute standouts (for different reasons...) One, in particular, stands out in my memory: SP Howarth, the first performer, whose poetry was both inspired and catchy - and suitably erudite enough in its language to satisfy the English graduate in me. Lolo Brow was a pleasant and sexy surprise, Lilly Snatchdragon made us all laugh as well as stare, and Rubyyy just looks fantastic whatever she does. The food, too, was good - I developed a particular liking of the chocolate penises which ejaculated mint cream whenever you bit into them.

We live in an age where one can type that last sentence on a public blog and be taken in utmost sincerity.

Two particular moments stand out in my memory, though - and things that I hope I can still look back upon and smile. And maybe there are visual souvenirs. Or something. The first is Holly Revell's darkroom photo workshop. It's been an idea of mine to get "the gang" together (for the uninitiated, these are the people I've connected with most via sex blogging: Lady Pandorah, Blacksilk, Jilly and Rose) and get a group photo taken (although obviously not for public display on my blog; if you want a full photo of me, I look like this), and this was the ideal opportunity... although it took me a while to get all of us in the same place at the same time! The process was complicated, and resulted in a sort of anarchic mess, chaos yielding beauty as always. I remember being draped in angel hair, clutching a star-on-a-stick like something out of the Kirby games, one arm around Rose and one holding the hand of Jilly, who was cuddling up to my other side, while Blacksilk and Lady P sat on the floor, bedecked with Christmas paraphernalia. The photos were taken in the dark...


...yes, really...

...and came out incredibly well. I can't wait to see the finished product, if only for the costumes.

The second specific memory was a little more calm. After the performances and once drinks were flowing and the volume was being cranked up, I gathered up some friends and absconded to a little café down the road for some respite, quiet, and food. The staff seemed a little bamboozled as we entered - three couples: Jilly and I, Lady P and Mister, and Blacksilk and Crush. We commandeered a big table in the centre of the room and enjoyed the relative quiet after the thumping beats of the mix in the Carnation, diving into not only toasted sandwiches and onion rings that Crush refused to touch, but also deep conversations about the sex blogging world as a whole, roleplaying and movies, and how mystified I was that the staff misinterpreted my request for tomatoes as a request for ham about three times. It may have seemed a little odd at times - three musketeers becoming six - but, in the end, I think we all worked well as a group, proving once again that the dynamic's there if you will it so.

I had to bid farewell pretty soon after this, and it's a good thing I did, because it took us blummin' ages to get back home. It's 20 minutes from Central to North London usually, but in this case it took us a little under two hours! Still, at least it guaranteed us a little sleep when we got back (although when I say a little sleep, I mean a lot of sleep, by which I mean ALL THE SLEEP IN THE WORLD).

And, above all, following sleep, it re-energised me. Here's to next Christmas, huh?

Sunday, 9 December 2012

Sinful Sunday: A Burst of Angelic Radiance

My first and most possibly my last entry to Sinful Sunday. Why am I doing this? Well, because I was dared to... and since the person who dared me to posted hers, I may as well post mine to hold up my side of the bargain. Willing to help, Jilly took this picture... and a fine job she did, too. 

Please click to embiggen if you wish:

A Burst of Angelic Radiance

This outfit is the same one I wore to Erotic Meet last night, plus a tie chosen at random from my wardrobe. In addition to this, you get the after-effects of a particularly bright glow from my halo, which is just above the top of the shot. Nevertheless, I think you get the idea.

A picture of a bare chest with hair... and a burst of angelic radiance for all of you who glance upon it.

Sinful Sunday

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Symbiosis

Jilly's mother visited today, and this gave rise to a walk around the western end of the Oxford Street area during a vague middle region between mid-morning and work in the afternoon. Although the actual aim of the day (apart from the rather obvious goal of meeting my girlfriend's mother - achievement unlocked in that case) was to gorge on extremely unhealthy food at Ed's Easy Diner - achievement also unlocked, which is less than I can say for bowels - we also indulged in a little shopping.

At Ann Summers.

I know what you're thinking, teams. Taking your girlfriend's mother into Ann Summers - surely you don't do that until the second time she visits - but this was for a legitimate purpose; said girlfriend was shopping for a new bra, but she needed a sizing and fitting first: something that Ann Summers does (well, by all accounts). This led to a few awkward minutes wandering around the ground floor in an oversized blue coat and a backpack with two politely bemused Belgians, one of whom (her uncle) deciding to ask me what "BJ" stood for at a certain point.

I excused myself and zoomed downstairs to the baseme... sorry, "lower ground floor", which was much more interesting (although I was disappointed to find that they weren't selling soft porn; the guy in Harmony told me that they would, but they appear to have gotten harder in recent times). I casually browsed the toys and erotica until Jilly appeared on the stairs, clutching a bag containing two bras and matching knickers in sets of black and red and clearly wondering where I'd gone.

"This book's really good," I ejaculated without preamble, waving a copy of The Ann Summers Book of Red Hot & Rude Positions. "At least it's good for a sex position tutorial book. Looky here."

She lookied, the page I had open happening to be focused on the missionary position, albeit with a pillow placed under the lady's back to support her pelvis (we have to try that one - it looks comfy). Flicking through the book, I decided to take a punt and buy it, specifically since it was under a banner claiming that it was in the half-price sale. Turns out it wasn't in the half-price sale; that was just a banner announcing that such an event existed - but it was a whole penny less than the price on the inside of the dust jacket. Bargain.

Also, she bought it because I didn't have any loose cash on me.

And so we returned to the ground floor, having ascertained that the book was indeed inside the paper bag we had (since the first thing the cashier had offered us was a bag of air), happy and harmonious... as it should be.

Tuesday, 4 December 2012

It's all over everything

I sped up, but only a little; I was nearly there, after all, and for now it was only a matter of letting myself tip over the edge, transforming the question from if to when - a positive step, of course, for the curious ILB about to achieve orgasm.

She was nestled against my chest in the crook of my arm, her natural resting place. One hand freely stroking my chest hair, which recently has begun to resemble something between the soft down of a duckling and the Amazonian jungle, her mouth was teasing me, kissing up and down all the bits that tickle enough to make me squirm, and circling but not actually touching my nipple, which was about the size of the Statue of Liberty by this point.

I think it's safe to say I was a little crazy, but this all happened after some really energetic and  rather desperate sex, which you can read about elsewhere. And I'd just licked her clean after she came. Twice. So I was full of her taste and scent as well. Surely I'd earned my turn.

I let it go. As soon as I started to ejaculate, I felt her head turn to look at my face, rather than my spasmodic penis. Her own ILB-based version of Beautiful Agony. Except without the "beautiful" part. I let go of my kegel muscle, letting my cum really go wherever it wanted. And it did. I felt it spilling out over my stomach.... I just didn't feel much else after that, as I zoned out into a sea of static coupled with the "I want to be a Toys 'Я' Us kid" advert theme running through my head...

...not through choice, it was just there...

...and when I came back to the mortal realm, her head was still nestled into my arm.

"How far did I cum?" was the first sentence that escaped my mouth after I'd asked her if she was still with me, which of course she was. "Did I get my chest or neck?"
"I don't think so. There's a lot on your stomach."

"Weeeeak."
She got up to claim the last wet wipe for me as I looked down at the mess I'd made. There was some on the sheets, but most of it was on my skin.
It all sets a good tone for the rest of the evening, I reasoned as I took the wipe and began to clean up.

Saturday, 1 December 2012

Midnight Review

I don't function too well having had an incredibly long lie-in during the morning, which is probably why I've been bumbling about for the past few days (barring yesterday, during which I had an job interview during the day. It was a really good job, so I'm assuming I didn't get it). I've been blessed with girlfriend for most of the week, so it's been difficult getting up and out of bed when there's someone there to cuddle. But that's what unemployment's for...? Right...?

Anyway, this lack-of-normal-timetables thing has resulted, more often than not, in us being up until midnight. We did, admittedly, do this deliberately last week to watch this, but since then, I've managed to get my TV fully working again. This is the TV that's in my room, bought for £40 from ASDA several years ago - well, I say several, it's about nine - which, during its lifetime, has been a screen for a Nintendo GameCube, an N64 and a SNES, as well as being a screen on which to view VHSs (including all the Star Wars films back-to-back, and all the Pokémons too), a way to show various people what Knightmare looks like, and a vehicle for watching Babestation. It's very rarely actually been used as a TV - television is an activity I rarely indulge in, and on the rare occasion that I do watch something, it's usually with the rest of my family, and there's a bigger and better one in the lounge downstairs.

But my girlfriend loves TV (although I don't envy her preferred choice of programming), so I spent a while rummaging around under my bed (and in my attic) to root out a combination of Freeview box and aerial that worked. This took a while, and by a while, I mean a day. As a result of this, I get to sit at my computer failing to look for jobs while the theme tune to Come Dine With Me plays incessantly in the background.

Wow, my life's amazing.

Anyway, since More4 has taken to showing a series of sex documentaries for a couple of weeks, that's what we've been doing every night. Seriously. We've been sitting up in bed, holding whispered conversations, watching documentaries about sex.

Classy.

The problem with the More4 sex documentaries - with the exception of the Fifty Shades one, which is actually quite good - is that they're incredibly confusing. 50 years of Bad Sex focuses on the Carry On films, ABBA, Baywatch and SATC - with very little actual discussion of sex; it seems to be a way to use up a load of archive footage, cunningly disguised as a documentary. More Sex Please, We're British is very entertaining, mostly due to the people involved, but could frankly be better than it is - I'm not sure entirely how, but it makes me feel like there's something missing - and the other one we managed to miss, which is a shame, because it sounds hilarious.

Another problem is that they're all repeats. The first time these are shown, they're seen as revolutionary - although they aren't - because the OMG U GUYZ SEKS ON TV!!!!!11 factor doesn't really ever go away, even if you happen to have been writing a sex blog since 2007 and actually want moar sex on TV. Being shown again isn't really going to break any boundaries. I'm sure we'd all appreciate frank discussion of sex, and the wraparound with Anna Richardson asking oh-so-risqué questions doesn't really add much of that...

...but, having said that, I have been enjoying them. I've actually been looking forward to watching them, and am a little bit disappointed that they're over. Why? Well, it's a good communal activity - considering that the commune consists of two people and a soft toy rabbit. And, to be fair, nowhere else is showing such documentaries (Sexcetera doesn't count). I just think there should be more, up-to-date, "here and now" ones being made. Obviously, I have no idea whatsoever about the amount of effort that goes into producing one of these, but re-presenting one from years ago with a fancy title and a wraparound of about a minute and a half seems... well, a bit lazy.

But, hey, it's More4. They're not going to show original programming.

And holding hands until midnight is very nice.