Wednesday, 30 January 2013

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

I was looking for something to write about. Rhye suggested I do a post about the last time I said, "I love you" to someone.

A couple of hours ago.

It's amazing how things change over time. The last time I wrote a post about saying "I love you", it turned into a bit of a bitch about my first girlfriend and something of a glowing tribute to my then-girlfriend, the drinking girl. In 2010, I was in a relationship - not only with a different person, but also having a different kind of relationship from the current situation. With the relationship I'm in now - having a live-in girlfriend who not only reads my blog, but writes a prolific one of her own - one may think (rather naïvely)that either it's

a) overdone, á la Sit Down '98, as declarations of love are not difficult to find with me
b) a given; something that doesn't need to be confirmed, because after all, we share the same bed

It's really neither of those things.

I've never said "I love you" and not meant it. I may have said it to people I wasn't truly in love with (Soldiergirl being the example that spins into my head), but if I said it, I meant it, and maybe even if I wasn't in True Love, I thought I might have been... and that still counts as an honest, if untrue, statement.

I say it because I like it. I like the reminder, both to her and I, that there is a lot of love there. Even if it might be considered a bit of a given fact at times, love is a precious and often unstable thing, and I do like to appreciate it as much as I can. I am, after all, an ILB. And therefore, I love to say it. I love to re-affirm my feelings, to re-state them, to reinforce them.

But, above all, I say it because I want to. And I think that's a good sign.

Monday, 28 January 2013

Who are you?

Seriously, though, what the hell is it with me? Like, seriously?

So I think I'm having a sexual lull. Nothing to do with my actual sex life - it just happens sometimes. Lack of chocolate. Massive stress. Hey, it's possibly a combination of both. Let's not discriminate. It's not catastrophic, and it's not exactly the case that I'm not having sex - the last time was two days ago - and, as for feeling sexy, well, I am. Just not as much as I often do.

It's also not the first time this has happened. It passes. And, in these moments of low activity, when it does happen, it's mind-blowing. So, speaking of the mind...

On Saturday night I had an incredibly sexy dream during the sleeping period after the immense amounts of sex. At least I thought it was a dream. My mother's annoyingly carrying voice woke me up the following morning, but after the five seconds of annoyed wakefulness, I slipped back into a sense of half-sleep. The dream, or visions or whatever they were, kept going of their own accord... at which point I realised I could turn them on and off, like a VHS. I kept the "play" button firmly on for as long as I could.

Today I came back from work in a rather tired and befuddled state, despite the fact that I finished at 12:30 and therefore have very little right to be exhausted (but I was, dammit!), to find Jilly also tired and fed up. We had lunch, and then did the thing that made the most amount of sense - went back to bed for a rest. About an hour of dozing passed... before the exact same thing happened again. Another incredibly sexy situation manifested itself, again in the state between being conscious and... well, not. And, although not totally lucid, I found I could control its progress, if not the actions within.

Thus providing my own source of entertainment while I continued to doze and Jilly kept a warm arm around me. (Not that I took advantage of the situation. I'm not one to come in my own bed while my girlfriend's asleep. I'd prefer to save it for when she's awake.)

But... really. Why this? Why just not my usual utterly bizarre sexual dreams? I both understand and appreciate that sex dreams are a way of the subconscious mind channelling sexual desires in a healthy way, but in all seriousness, why in these states? And why at this time? It's not unpleasant, but it fuels my desire for a while... and then... just... stops!

Jilly thinks it may be because we haven't had as much sex recently. Okay, time to put that to the test. I'm game.

Just let me have another sleep first...

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Old Fridge

Sometimes it feels as if my brain is going to explode.

I don't know whether there's too much going on or not enough. I make progress in one direction and then it's halted or reversed. Or I get cold feet or second-guess myself. Or everyone else except myself. I'm not even often too sure how I feel, or how I think I feel, and certainly not how I'm supposed to feel.

Everything's so transient. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff waiting for erosion to take its course. I glance around at everything and everyone I used to know and everything seems to have changed too much for one person to handle - even an ILB. The people I used to see I barely see any more. The places I used to go don't seem to exist. Everything I used to do, I no longer seem to do.

I hardly ever play my guitar.
I hardly ever use my Wii.
I hardly ever read books.
I hardly ever do any exercise.
I hardly ever get out of here and go to town...

...and when I do, it all seems to either go wrong or stop me in my tracks. I get flustered - I show my vulnerability. I am unsure. I am nervous. And my energy goes very quickly. I used to suffer from the occasional lapse in concentration, but then burst into flame when charged up. I should still be doing that. I've got a job, I've got a social life, I've got a girlfriend. I should be moving forward.

The problem is, with everything going on at the moment, my overwhelming feeling is that I don't want a change. I really, really don't. My body appears to be fighting against it. "Slow down," it says, "you're moving too fast." I try to chide it for inserting a pointless Simon and Garfunkel quote into my daily life... but can's quite get there.

"I'm a cat," says Willow.

I just want to turn back time. Back to just before Christmas. Feeling harmonious at times and okay at all the others. When I could sit on the sofa with Jilly and watch Red Dwarf if I wanted to. When I could step out of the door to my bedroom without feeling like I have five million things to do. When everything seemed OK and looking forward wasn't a terrifying prospect.

Because it is. It is terrifying.

And something has got to stop.

I just have no idea what.

Thursday, 24 January 2013

Reflections

A few things that happened to me this morning:
  • My next-door neighbour trapped his finger in his front door this morning while leaving for work. I happened to me in my mother's car at the time (we were also leaving for work). He must have done something serious to his hand, as he started screaming and swearing at the top of his voice, and I've never heard him done so (he has two small children). It put me on edge all morning.
  • The place I work is relatively near to a McDonald's and, although I rarely buy food from there, it's early enough for them not to complain if you go and loiter for a while. I usually go and sit downstairs on one of the tables, occasionally with a coffee but usually nothing except my 'phone, and wait until the admin staff unlock the front door to work. Today I was sitting in close proximity to two good-looking blonde girls who, to be fair, did look like they had only just stopped going on the lash. Their conversations took in all and sundry, but mostly hovered around the topic of having sex with other girls' boyfriends, their boyfriends having sex with other girls, and... er... Kelly Brook. This, for some reason, put me a little more on edge.
  • Mellie tweeted a few times around this point concerning her living in Tokyo for a while. It immediately made me want to either go there or escape London. Then I remembered that I wouldn't survive in Japan for very long, and reconsidered. (I have these thoughts about once every hour, so it's nothing unusual - this just had a stimulus.)
  • At one point I tried to explain the concept of polyamory to a group of clients. I can't recall exactly how this topic of conversation started, but it took me a while to explain. I'm not entirely sure all of them got it. I could see one of them was itching to ask a question, so I headed him off with, "but it's not for me!" - which would have saved a lot more questions. I'm not about to out myself to clients - there may not be any worse ideas in the world.
  • I just did an item for work which involves the All Your Base meme. This, of course, means that today is officially awesome. For great justice !!

Sunday, 20 January 2013

Orange bells!

Playground games. Don't you just love them? Those nonsensical words that make no sense and have no relevance whatsoever to anything at all, and yet they all seem to make sense because they rhyme? Check it out:

I am the greatest!
No, you're not!
Why don't you prove it?
Under! Over! Pepsi-Cola!
1, 2, 3, 4!

And the actions! Aren't they great, too? Tumbling over forwards, walking on your hands, flipping backwards? How wonderfully injurious those games can be. Even in the case of a more traditional game, like "it", there's always the danger of running into a wall, a drainpipe or, worse, a teacher. But they were all played... over and over and over again, in fact. Playtime was precious, and so we all used it to the fullest of extents.

Yet there are still games which tend to segregate, to divide, to put up gender barriers so rigid that people can be excluded. I've never seen a boy playing "I Am The Greatest"... and yet, back when I was a young ILB, there was one specific game that I certainly remember joining in with... breaking down those gender barriers.

This was a game specifically for girls which was being played around the time I was about nine or ten. A ring of girls with locked arms would dance around in a dizzying circle, with one unfortunate person in the middle, the task of whom it was to pass judgement on a classmate picked generally at random by the rest of the circle, who chanted as they danced:

_____ says he loves you, he loves you, he loves you!
_____ says he loves you, he loves you so!

Turn around if you like him, you like him, you like him!
Turn around if you like him, you like him so!

Stamp your foot if you hate him, you hate him, you hate him!
Stamp your foot if you hate him, you hate him so!

Wiggle your bum if you'd sex him in bed, sex him in bed, sex him in bed!
Wiggle your bum if you'd sex him in bed, sex him in bed!

Orange bells! Orange bells! Here we go again!
Whoo!
Last one to sit down gets a boyfriend...

At which point they would all sit down, the last one to touch the floor being the next one in the middle. It's pretty obvious what the person in the middle would have to do during the slightly pagan-ish dance ritual, although evidently teaching grammar was probably not possible. Although how one would correct "sex him in bed" to a group of ten-year-olds I'm not entirely sure.

In any case, I quite liked "Orange bells". I used to sit and watch my friends play it, my friend-who-is-a-midwife being annoyingly athletic and responsive, thus never being the person in the middle. (Mind you, I'm not sure I'd have wanted to find out who she would have sexed in bed, seeing as I'm still in regular contact with her almost twenty years later.) After a while it occurred to me that I could just as easily join in... so one playtime I did. Robinson and I joined the circle, calling the chant and substituting "girlfriend" for "boyfriend" where necessary. In some cases, other boys - following my example - joined in as well. I didn't see anything unusual about playing this game... although very few other boys were bothered with anything outside their odd variant of football.

At one point, we were in a huddle deciding the fate of one poor girl (I can't recall which), and yet we couldn't think of a boy in our class repulsive enough to cause her the necessary amount of embarrassment (or give her cause to stamp her foot; there was a large amount of feet-stamping involved in this game - what was the most difficult was the mentioning of someone you thought was all right; which action you performed was always in dispute), until the point at which I thought of suggesting my sister. I was all prepped up for arguing that we shouldn't be overly sexist, that my sister is just as much of a person and besides, some people are gay...

...I knew what "gay" meant when I was ten, okay?...

...but at that very point, I couldn't get all the words out. I got about as far as, "how about m...", when the rest of the circle - all girls at this point - decided that meant me, and reformed the circle faster than Billy Whizz on speed, before I could finish with, "...y sister?".

Fortunately, the girl in the middle of the circle rotated willingly in honour of the boy who broke all the gender barriers. But the humiliation was too much for poor young ILB; thus, I didn't play "Orange bells" ever again. But by that point it was back to good old "it" for most of us. Now there's a game where it can't go wrong...

...unless you're it. Then your life is ruined!

Saturday, 19 January 2013

It's gone too far...

You may remember, if you cast your minds back,to a kind of resolution I made just before the new year to give more oral sex. Oral sex, as I'm sure you'll understand, is a very important thing for me, and although Vix put it more eloquently than I think I ever could, I am certainly something of an enthusiast, which is why I took to the task last night with a certain level of zeal and enthusiasm slightly unbecoming of an ILB.

It happened relatively late at night (at least it was late when it finished - it started considerably earlier). The person I was performing oral sex on - my hot, lusty and surprisingly flexible girlfriend - was perching on the edge of my bed, her legs splayed, and I had taken it on myself to kneel before her - like a saint in praise of the glory to be beheld - in order to deliver. (This was, in fact, my idea; one of the things that I really strive for during a licking is the sexual equivalent of an "access all areas" pass... and this was the best way I could think of. It worked.)

I did all I could to the sound of her slightly muted wriggles and gasps. I traced circles, zig-zags and laps up and down her slit. I placed the flat of my tongue directly on her clitoris. I slid it inside her vagina and turned it around and around, feeling how wet she was. I stayed in one place for a while, doing repeated small licks with the very tip, before moving all the way up, down, and back up again. I built up a plan in my head, mentally visualising the place I wanted my tongue to go next, and then moving it there, taking care to stimulate all I could along the way.

And when I wanted a break, I stopped to catch my breath, re-assessed the situation, and then went back into the fray, her thighs being very accommodating mistresses for my head. I even gently cleaned her up with a damp cloth once I'd finished up.

However, I think something that I need to work on, when it comes to the sexual art of licking out, is knowing when to stop. When it's clear that she's enjoying it - and especially if you (that is to say, I) are also enjoying it (and trust me, I was), it's sometimes (read: always) difficult to gauge exactly how far you want to go... especially if, after a while, an orgasm isn't forthcoming and it's probably obvious to the extraneous viewer that you need to do something else in order to, to use the common parlance, switch it up, yo. We don't go in for voyeurism (to our knowledge...), and so, blissfully unaware of the consequences, I carried on regardless, perhaps slightly further than I had intended.

I was, in fact, keeping her on the edge for about half an hour. By the time I'd finished, she was in an unusual state... in fact, at some points she was nearly catatonic. It wasn't, as I gather, unpleasant... but it wasn't exactly the state I'd have preferred her to be in, expecting as I was a post-orgasmic haze. Something approaching delirium wasn't altogether what I had anticipated, although aftercare (cuddles, kisses and water) was nice and easy. I do that, too.

But for all that, and although it was a slightly unnerving ending to a great evening, I enjoyed doing this. I love exploring my girlfriend's body - it's not something I'm totally used to yet, and there's always more to discover, touch, kiss, and in last night's case, lick. And without exploration, how would you get anywhere, I ask you?

I may have used too many commas in this post. Another example, perhaps, of a little too much.

Wednesday, 16 January 2013

Blog Hop

This odd meme has been hopping blogs for a while and I've come under its command after being ceded control by Rhye. The idea is to ask yourself questions, answer them and then hop the meme onto somebody else. Sounds simple, no?

No? Well, I'll try it anyway. I've got half an hour to do so, so let's see what questions I can come up with...

Why is your blog named Innocent Loverboy?
It's a self-titled blog. My username/pseudonym, Innocent Loverboy, is - as you may know by now - both ironic and truthful in equal measure, although to be honest I first used it to describe a character in Battle Royale! The reason I went with 'ILB' to begin with was both to reflect the whole "love" element of my personality, give myself an adjective (innocent) to associate myself with, be able to abbreviate when possible, and to catch the eye on blogrolls! I think that worked perfectly.
I didn't think up a title for this blog, mostly because I didn't want to bother thinking of one. To be honest, I like it as it is. A kind of WYSIWYG title, almost.

Where does your life stand at the moment?
On a crossroads, with me unsure as to which direction to take. At the moment, I'm living in a nice house in North London with my parents, girlfriend, and cat. I work in Central London in a low-paying job which I sort of enjoy; my girlfriend is a writer and usually stays at home.
My mother has Parkinson's disease and thus my parents are planning to uproot from the family home and move into a house without stairs to assist her mobility. This plan doesn't really factor in what's going to happen to Jilly and I (or even Willow), and therefore the plan's to move out, the most likely destination to be to a warehouse community somewhere in North London (my sister's boyfriend administrates some). 
At the moment, we can't afford to do this; if the move comes and we don't have a place to go, then I have somewhere temporary in mind, but at the moment, with no disposable income and a lot of possessions that need storage space, staying in the same place for as long as we can seems a good idea to me!

What labels to you apply to yourself, especially with regard to politics?
I don't really do "labels", as such, but if you want to put me in any of those boxes, my moral/ethical standpoints include: pacifist, vegetarian, socialist, ecologist, left-winger, Christian, sex-positive, activist, anti-capitalist, anti-arms trade, pro-European, non-patriot and pro-free speech... among lots of others. You can probably place me somewhere along the political spectrum if you really have to do that.

Where else can I find you?

You can actually find me in lots of corners of the Internet, but as I don't always write as 'ILB', there's always a chance you'll be reading me and not actually know it's me! I do have another main pseudonym I use for a lot of my other writing, as well as having a few hobbies which include, but aren't limited to, music, stand-up comedy, musical stand-up comedy and acting. At work, I use my real name, obviously.
As ILB, you can find me in real life at several sex-blogger-related events, namely the bi-monthly networking Erotic Meets (where you'll occasionally find me speaking) and the annual conference Eroticon. I also go, occasionally, to the monthly "alternative Christian" meetup called Spiritual Space. The first event I started attending was the monthly CCK meet-up, which was more a cross between dinner with friends and a munch! Sadly, these don't happen any more.
My writing as ILB elsewhere isn't common, but whenever I do write something for other sites, I will link it here.

And that's all we've got time for, so that ends this blog hop. I'm actually passing this along to Shalla. Why? Because I'm totally aware that girl can't resist a chance to talk about herself!

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Searching...

It's never exactly a certainty that I'll get a lot of sleep. Last night is a bit of a curio in that regard as, although I'm pretty certain I did get an amount of sleep, I must not have refuelled enough, due to the fact that when I got on the train after work (bearing in mind that I finished at 12:30 today, so I wasn't exactly going all the way through until six) I felt ready to drop... or let myself fall. Shaking off the cobwebs of my mind for long enough, I fumbled my way through a job centre session, trod my weary way home and, at 3:30ish, blasted through the first solid food I'd had since 7AM. I felt very high-powered, but working on low power nonetheless.

As you can probably imagine, it didn't take much to persuade me that a rest would be a good idea.

I bundled into bed next to my equally sleepy girlfriend (who has, for the past few days, been valiantly battling the mother-of-all-colds, so has her own reasons to be hella tired), preparing for a little rest. After a few minutes, during which I could have sworn I closed my eyes, I got up and logged onto my computer.

I opened up my massive repository of porn and found a multitude of files ready to titillate and delight me. Filtering out all that I didn't want to watch, I settled upon a Japanese porn star whose name I knew well. I was about to open one of the videos featuring her, before I paused and reflected for a while. Immediately deciding that I needed a new video with this certain lady, I snapped open Firefox and proceeded to run multiple Google searches for Japanese porn, hoping this certain porn star would crop up. Lo and behold, there she was - and I started to download more and more, while wondering which video I should watch first...

...all while my girlfriend pottered around behind me doing things and asking me gentle questions.

Of course, this was a dream. I don't have a massive repository of porn that isn't soft, and I'm pretty sure all the Japanese AV idols I know of don't have a name like the one I chose (I can't actually remember the name, but it was quite a long one - something like Utsumi Yukie, although not her, because she's a girl from Battle Royale). I'm also pretty sure that I wouldn't be likely to scutter around the internet as opposed to watching a file that I already possess.

But what gets me was how gleeful I appeared to be in this dream. I was clearly excited by the prospect of, not watching porn, but searching for it. I guess it's the same with sex; when some is on the cards, it's the excitement, the anticipation, that really gets me going, so that when it actually happens, it's so magnificent... a climax before the climax, shall we say? Naturally, in the dream I never actually managed to watch any of the porn - I rarely do in dreams, and when I do it's always disappointing. (And usually with someone. No prizes for guessing who would have been my viewing buddy in this situation.)

All the same, I'm glad I had the dream. Shows me that all my important bits are still working, that I still have that spark of anticipation.

And, due to the fact that I know exactly which build of Firefox I was using in it, it also shows that I'm still a massive geek.

Sunday, 13 January 2013

Sinful Sunday: Halves

I shaved off half my beard by accident. That is to say, I usually trim it to 2 millimetres long, but the battery of my electric shaver died just as I was passing the halfway mark...
I raised my eyes to the heavens...
Not a sin... just an honest mistake.
Sinful Sunday

Saturday, 12 January 2013

The truth is I never left you

I tweeted from my BlackBerry the other day while sitting in a McDonald's at 8:30am. As we can probably imagine, McDonald's is not my natural habitat, but nobody had turned up to open the front door to my workplace (I don't have a key), so there I was, lollygagging about in a fast food restaurant. The tweet was of the utmost importance.

I had to decide which song to warm up with - and I had two choices. Oh! What a Circus! from "Evita"... or Vienna, by Ultravox.

SRS BSNS.

I do like to warm up with a song, especially if I have a little room of my own to do it in. Even if I don't, before anyone else comes in, it always seems a good idea to sing a little. It both helps my voice limber up and staves off the blues (unless I'm singing blues)... and, if it does turn out I'm actually in The Truman Show, it entertains the viewers a little. I can't really sing that well, of course, but when you're on your own, does that matter?

Neither song is new to me - although I've had phases of singing other things. I used to entertain myself by rapping Gold Digger while doing the manual labour aspect of one of my past jobs. Safety Dance has been a good standby, as has Sing! from "A Chorus Line", Songs of Love by TDC, a multitude of comedy songs from different artists, and anything that's been featured on Glee. But here, it was one of two songs... and I needed to know.

Vienna is always a good candidate because it's got a strong range and it's fun to sing. I used to, in yet another of my past jobs, walk around in a circle singing Vienna to myself in not a quet enough voice - some of my clients heard once, but they didn't join in. Which is a shame. I also once drew a picture of a bear singing it, and wrote a version for Jude Law to sing: "She means nothing to me, oh, Sienna." But then again, I've liked musical theatre for a longer period of time than Ultravox, and "Evita" songs do also seem like an obvious choice. I once sang the whole entire musical when I was on my own in a sports hall...

I was at university. We had a big sports hall; I was playing table-tennis in it with a friend of mine who had to skip out for something or another, and I was left alone in this massive empty space without anyone else. So I sang "Evita" - which seems like the obvious thing to do, if you happen to be me. And I know all the lyrics. True.

A few results of the tweet came back - and everyone plumped for Oh! What a Circus!. A fine choice. And so, once I'd gotten inside, got all my stuff together and ascertained that there was nobody else in the room, I sang the entirely of Oh! What a Circus! before bracing myself to face the clients of the day. It was a very special moment.

Of course, I now need a song for next week, and as On This Night of a Thousand Stars isn't really my style, I'm open to any and all new suggestions. Any volunteers to duet with me on Telephone? I'm sure we'd rock the house to its knees.

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

TMI Tuesday: Rabbits

At a job interview last week I stressed the fact that I enjoy answering questions. I didn't append "about myself" to that sentence, due to conveniently "forgetting" to do so, but I got the job anyway, so I suppose it kind of worked.

Anyway, in order to answer some more questions, here's yesterday's TMI Tuesday, for want of something to write. It's entitled "Rabbits".

Did you know Bugs Bunny's catchphrase was changed from the scripted "What's cookin'?". Maybe the studio exec said, "WHAT'S the matter with you scriptwriters? If you can't think UP a better catchphrase I'll DOCK your wages!"

Ahem.

*

1. What feels better, the moment right before cumming, the moment of cumming, or the moment right after cumming?

I think it depends on the situation and who you're with at the time. I think if you've cum through sex, then it's the moment immeidately afterwards, as the shared calm can be experienced on many different levels.
But if you're masturbating, I'm really not sure about that. I think it's the moment just beforehand when you realise you're about to and that's really exciting. Just afterwards I feel a little nauseous sometimes - depending on how big the orgasm was and what I'd been masturbating to!


2. For the fellas: it is said that guys will fuck anything that moves, but what if you’re a hippie who’s in love with the wind, how would that relationship work out?

Well, first of all that assumption isn't true! Maybe it is for Lightsinthesky, but certainly not for all guys! Some girls are like that too, y'know!
Anyway, I am a bit of a hippie. I'm not in love with the wind, but if I were, I'm sure it might be okay. I mean, I'm sure that a particularly strong wind over a very small surface area would provide enough stimulation if focused in the right place.* (*disclaimer: don't try this using a hairdryer!)


3. For the ladies: what would be your first gut reaction after the guy you’re on a first date with after months of online chatting looks you straight in the eye and whispers to you even before saying hi, “let’s fuck like rabbits…”?

I'm not a lady, but channeling my inner girl elicits this response: "Kittens."


4. There can only be ONE!!! Okay, you have to choose EITHER your dream [lady] or your dream job, one or the other, not both. Which do you choose for the rest of your life and why?

Lover, of course. That really isn't a question.
Some of the cynics out there might be thinking something along the lines of, "ah, but if he were offered his dream job, he might think twice." That's not really something that would change anything - I've turned down jobs in the past in favour of being with girlfriends, and would do so again if required.
Plus, my dream job is to be an international rock star. I'd have to take my girlfriend on tour with me and that would be amazing.


5. Is love itself, being in love, crazy? Or is the world crazy, and love serves to heal a crazy world? Or is it that you’re crazy and the world is just fine? I guess what I’m asking from you is for a little treatise on the general topic of love and craziness. What is love? …Baby, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me…

What in the hell is this?


Bonus: If all of us in the blogging community pooled our resources together and chained our blogs in unison into one big shining electrical power line of humanity, could we save the world?

Yes, we would. But look at it this way: we're bloggers. We've already saved the world.

Monday, 7 January 2013

Belle

At a commune in Leicester I was once asked to draw a piece of paper from a wicker basket. It wasn't anything unusual, my friend told me, just a random piece of advice that I could benefit from. Furthermore, my friend said, I would be able to find out a lot about myself from the word I drew.

The small pieces of paper, not dissimilar to crêpe, slipped through my fingers as I fished around in the wicker basket. Eventually my hand closed into a fist around one and I drew out a small slip. Everyone else in the room did the same, and their advice was given. I was the last. What do you have, my friend asked.

"Beauty," I read aloud.

After the essential "it means you're beautiful" jokes had been dispensed with, my friend thought for a while. She told me that I needed to be mindful of the beauty within. Not just myself, but everyone and everything. Stop, she said, and appreciate the beauty within everything if you can. If you need a little respite, try to find what makes things beautiful.

One Direction hadn't been invented yet, so I didn't make the joke you're all thinking of.

I went to work this morning, and when the first break came along, I took myself (and a can of Fanta) to the break room. For some reason, my afternoon in the Leicester commune leapt through my memory. I reasoned, perhaps not unfairly, that there wasn't much beauty to be found in the break room, with its unplugged fridge, broken TV, kettle with no available coffee and stacks of stained chairs. My boss came in and informed me that it used to be worse than this.

She left me to my musings.

As the chilly winter sun poured in through the window, brightening up the room, I reflected. I was in a light room on my own with a can of my favourite drink. Added to that, there was the fact that I did have twenty minutes to myself to calm my thoughts and realign myself after what had previously been a night of unrest and a chaotic morning journey.

Beauty in the silence. And from that, I recognised its bliss.

Sunday, 6 January 2013

Soft Porn Sunday: Syren & Evan Stone

Evan Stone just realised he's in this movie.
There are some moments in life where you have to stop to convince yourself things are happening, usually during fortunate incidents wherein you have an incredible stroke of luck or something makes you insanely happy. The old cliché of pinching yourself to make sure you're not in a dream does have some resonance sometimes (moreso, perhaps, if you're into pain - then you may as well do it just for kicks). Soft porn's a bit like that too - there have been a few times when I've offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty when I chance across a scene that has all the elements that make good-quality softcore so divine.

And then there are scenes so patently ridiculous you do have to wonder what they were on while writing the scenes themselves. And how exactly to get some. The title of the production often offers something of a clue, as well. So brace yourselves for this one...

Appearance: Tarzeena - Jiggle in the Jungle (2008)
Characters: Shana & Jack Carver

I'll point this out here and now: I don't know the plot of this film. I only own the scene in MPEG format, so I am slightly at a loss as to how exactly this fits in with the schmaltzy adventure-esque plot summary they put on IMDb, but it's clear what's going on here. These are two peripheral characters. One's played by "eroticore" (it's her word, apparently) actress Syren; the other by hardcore stalwart Evan Stone. You can probably guess what's coming, really.

The first thing you see in this scene is a large crocodile head... it would be a twist if the crocodile himself were having sex, but alas, no genius has thought of that before, so we're left with the humans. Jack (Stone) is licking out Shana (Syren) - at least that's what I'm assuming he's doing. He could just as easily be eating her, since we can't see what his mouth is doing due to crafty camera work and the positioning of a black feather boa to block out anything too revealing.

Crocodile: "The hills are alive..."
Forgive me for thinking this is quite clever. A lot of softcore, with the exception of Bedtime Stories which seems to thrive on the concept, has a bit of a problem with portraying oral sex. It is, after all, difficult to portray without making it look too fake. However, the feathers and Evan Stone's famous mane of dirty-blonde hair nicely obscures the place where you assume Shana's vagina must be. Stone, with his experience of such matters, moves his - Jack's - head (and hands, which are having at her bosoms) in a nice "fuck yeah oral sex" way and providing a good intro to the scene itself. This does, however, continue for at least a minute, and despite the noises that Shana makes which are a cross between a moan and a gasp, the improbable things she does with her legs and the revelation that Jack still has his trousers on, by the 01:10 mark you're quite glad that the action changes. I can easily spend twenty minutes plus between some female legs IRL, but this is softcore - switch it up a bit!

After a few seconds of unzipping Jack's trousers (although he keeps them on for a while in an odd, yet unintentional, echo of That Other Scene), something symbolising penetration happens (you're meant, clearly, to imagine his penis protruding through his zip and continuing inside her - this is possible, but  incredibly difficult, to maintain without undoing the top button too... but it's softcore), and Jack turns into a lion...

...oh no, wait, it's just his face; thought he was a lion for a moment there...

I only just realised the doors are pink.
...and they have pretty realistic-looking sex in the missionary position. Realistic, that is, because it's not overly fluid (like in Surrender Cinema flicks) or too staccato (like in films from the '70s). It's very similar to actual sex in the way they move - a few thrusts here, a nipple lick there, a change of position to avoid getting too stuck in a rut. They're still wearing clothes (although not many), which I think is quite hot, and with a close-up boob shot followed by bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy bouncy sex on the edge of the purple sofa they seem to be using to this escapade, that brings the first half of this scene to a close.

I'll explain. I have two MPEGs of this and that cuts the scene in half. Way to spoil the fun, guys.

Om nom nom.
The second half (I know...) starts with an EXTREME CLOSE-UP of the two kissing before a bit of rough-and-tumble takes place, leading into moar seks, only this time it's Shana on top, putting what looks like an incredible amount of effort to be both energetic and shiny. Seriously, she shines. But I think that's a combination of sweat, makeup and studio lights. Still, it's a good effect, and to add to what she's doing, there's even a bit of pretend frigging here. Yes, I know - the whole "girl masturbating her clit during sex" thing. It's in this scene. Hosanna.

This goes on for a while, both participants competing in a "make the most bestial noise" competition (I think Shana is winning), before a sudden and rather unexpected mix to a full-body shot of something similar to the spoons position, but for the fact that one of them is Evan Stone (with his trousers still on). Shana does the Shakira dance with her own bouncy boobs for an accompaniment, Jack pulls her hair (for some reason...), and all of a sudden, the action slows down, Syren appropriating perhaps the creepiest smile ever seen in softcore as they calm down...

...then we pan back to everyone's favourite crocodile head.
D'you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?

So, after that rollercoaster of a scene, why do I think it's a little ludicrous? I like Syren, and I've always liked Stone. I don't know anything about the plot, but this scene is decent; both actors are good-looking - what with Syren's sizeable boobs and Evan Stone's... well... Evan Stone. And the sex is... well, it looks impossible, but it's also quite hot. And realistic oral sex is hard to come by, frigging less so and the packed it all into this scene.

But it does touch on the ridiculous at numerous points. The set is pink. There's a crocodile head watching the proceedings and nothing else to suggest that Jack is a jungle explorer type guy. And the post-coital dialogue has some of the usual hilarious "LOL, we're acting" acting to support it. And the music is... well... not really music. You don't need much above the parrot impressions that Shana's doing throughout.

Having said that, I do like it. It's hot if you're not laughing too much. And that's a really nice sofa cover. I wonder where I'd get something like that.

The sofa cover, that is, not jungle explorer sex. But if you're offering...

Friday, 4 January 2013

Chest Brilliant

I was requested (told, actually), earlier today, to "have at my bosoms". I'm not entirely sure what to make of that.

What should I have done? Bosoms certainly offer up some interesting possibilities. But what exactly does "have at them" imply?

Do I use my mouth, kissing the soft flesh, tracing gentle circles around the areolae with my tongue and sucking the nipples until they're hard with expectation?

Do I use my fingers, tickling and stimulating all the right places until she's properly turned on?

Do I use my hands, handling and manhandling the aforementioned bosoms, taking their size and weight in my palms and mashing them against each other?

Do I use my penis? And, if so, how?

Or do I just hold them? Just remind my hands of how they feel? This is, of course, what I opted to do.

Tuesday, 1 January 2013

Erratum

My current choice of reading is L¿ve TV: Tellybrats and Topless Darts by Chris Horrie and Adam Nathan. I'm not ashamed of the fact that I'm reading it purely because I used to watch L!VE TV and wanted to know more about the inner workings of such a cheap television station. It brought about my interest in soft porn, and that's a big part of my sexual identity, I think... and I still watch some of the stuff I first saw on L!VE TV!

The book is fascinating. I had no idea, for instance, that L!VE had anything to do with The Mirror Group. I didn't know that its first incarnation was run by Janet Street-Porter. I'd no idea who Kelvin MacKenzie was and, more importantly, I didn't know that the small titbits of token nudity - Topless Darts springs to mind, as does The Weather in Norwegian - were completely random ideas done on a rather generous budget (the first time Topless Darts was done, the producer was flown to Australia to film it and it still went underbudget!). And there's more to come.

But there's an error. Here it is:

Next came programmes which were supposed to be 'about' sex, or had a titillating element to them. Leading the way was The Sex Show (later renamed Exotic Erotic) which was shown after 11pm... (Chapter 28)

This is incorrect in a few ways. I used to watch both those programmes.

The Sex Show - a magazine programme which the book contains some fascinating insights into, the veracity of which I don't doubt - was shown at 10pm. It ran for a few years, but eventually came to an end. Exotica Erotica - note the As at the end of the words - existed at the same time as The Sex Show, and was nothing more than a wraparound for third-party softcore (perhaps the only thing L!VE aired that wasn't made in-house at their Canary Wharf studio or by the team out and about), often from the 80s or 90s. (The name Exotica Erotica only existed in the title card!) The two shows were not the same, nor were they interchangeable at any point.

I know this is a nitpick, but I've read through most of this book waiting for a mention of softcore to turn up - it's what a lot of people watched L!VE for! - and when it gets a mention, it's not correct. I watched this when I was 14 and I still remember it perfectly!

This has made me both disappointed and nostalgic at the same time...

...it's still a fascinating book, though.