Abuse via Discrimination

Dear people who are in charge of the new posters relating to teenage relationship abuse,

Your campaign is sexist.

All the posters and all the quotes and slogans on your website suggest that teenage relationship abusers are boys who pick on their girlfriends. If you do not understand that girls can also abuse their boyfriends, then you are guilty of sexual discrimination via propaganda.

While I understand that teenage relationship abuse is an extremely important issue to highlight, and it is important to confront bullying of all kinds, you are effectively criminalising teenage boys by putting these posters up and yet not having any suggesting girls can perform verbal abuse as well.

Please rethink your campaign slogans, at least.

Love and kisses,
I. L. B.

I am electro boy

I've been a student for most of my life and I have attended three universities to date, plus I'm coming to the end of my (hopefully last, ever) course in higher education, so it was probably a bit late to give me a "student survival pack" yesterday afternoon. Still, it was free, so I'm not complaining... much.

I opened the pack in my parents' bedroom. Out came all the necessary advertising for magazines. I chucked them into the recycling bin. Then out came the first aid kit. Very useful; into my medicines drawer with it. And... what's this?

A small, rectangular, metal packet. "What's this?" I quipped, turning it over and finding nothing different either side.
"Durex?" said my mother, appearing from behind.
"It can't be a condom," I said, casually forgetting that I was talking to my mother. "Condoms come in square packets, and this one's a small rectangle."
"I still think it's a Durex," said my mother.
"Stop saying Durex," I replied. "It makes you sound like you're from the '70s."
"I am from the '70s," she moaned. "What do you call it, then?"
"Condom," I said, feeling the packet. "And yes, it actually is. That's bizarre."

There was a very pregnant pause.

"Electronically tested," I said eventually.
"What?"
"This condom. It says it's been electronically tested. How do you do that, eh? Fire electrical beams through it? Wouldn't that damage the latex?"
"Well, how would you suggest they test them?"
"Prick them first with a pin? That's what we do these days."
"Really?"

My mother is so gullible.

Look at this bill!

Here is what I've been searching for, according to the search box on vgmusic.com when I double-click it.

I know that Kira Reed appears in soft porn. However, I've no idea why I'd be searching for her; I'm pretty sure I possess enough Kira Reed scenes in various forms should I need a person-specific fix. Not that I generally go person-specific when watching soft porn.

I also know Zorrita. That's the title of a soft porn film. I saw it about 42341809746 years ago on Bravo, or something along those lines.

I remember searching Wikipedia for Minnie Driver. Or maybe it was IMDb. Maybe both. I also remmeber searching for "comments" on Blogger's "add components" menu, hoping to fint a recent comments widget, like WordPress blogs have. Needless to say (as evidenced by my menus), I failed in my search.

But I didn't search for any of these things at all recently, and definitely not on the site that threw up this absurdist menu of choices.

Somebody's lying to me.

Open legs. Uh, letter. Open letter.

Dear Sex,

Thanks for having me the other day. Or, more accurately, letting me have you. Again. And again. And, come to think of it, again.

I don't know what you did to my girlfriend, although maybe it was a combination of not having seen her for a while and her parents being away for the weekend. Perhaps it was the chocolate, or maybe it was a generic change in the wind. Perhaps it was just genuine happiness or maybe it was the fact that she felt she had to soothe me before my exam today (which I've already taken, by the way).

But for whatever reason, Sex, I am grateful for the levels of horny you managed to inject into her body. It enabled me to, uh, inject myself into her body too...

[Yeah, sorry about that.]

...and, what's more, you flicked my "sustain erection" switch to the "on" position. Or I just accidentally knocked it while wandering around the Ashmolean. You know, either way. Whatever the reason, it enabled us to have sex either three or four times, depending on what you count as a time. Let's round up and make it five.

In retrospect, this was some of the best sex I have ever had, and so many times in the same day simply put the plucked cherry on top of the rather delicious cupcake.

Thank you, Sex. I look forward to working with you again.

Blue skies,
I. L. B. Esq.

Extra! Extra!

You have no excuse not to read Sex at Oxbridge. She's the new Belle du Jour, according to the font of all knowledge, Friday's Metro.

No, I don't know who Belle du Jour is, either. I know who Belle de Jour is, but I'm assuming that's someone completely different.

You know, because everyone who writes a sex blog is the new Belle de Jour, because she is the only person to have ever written about sex on the Internet. Sex at Oxbridge is a totally new phenomenon, and on account of that, the blog should be featured, not only in the Metro, but in many news articles which can be found by a simple search via Google. What's more, as the Metro is quick to point out, it's not even made clear which university she's at, and that's extremely similar to Belle, because while she was writing an anonymous sex blog, she didn't give us details of her personal life, either. How wonderfully unique that is!

This is all very confusing, because a few years ago Belle de Jour was the new Abby Lee. They are nothing alike, but then again, they both write about sex on the Internet. Except Abby hasn't had a TV series, so she's not relevant any more.

Fortunately for anyone who would like to read about sexual activity on the Internet, these three blogs are the sole resources for that, so as a good 'net citizen, I am reporting on this joyous fact for the rest of you.

Fortunately for the Oxbridge girl, her writing is sharp and readable (ironically, a bit like Belle's writing is...), so if you need a genuine reason to read her, that is it. It's an inspiration to all of us; maybe, in a few years' time, I'll start writing a blog about sex and someone will notice it and start calling me the new Sex at Oxbridge.

It's really something to aim for.

Sex : How To Do Everything (Review)

Given that this isn't a commercial blog, I've been refusing a few "offers" recently (advertise an escort service on my blog? Er, no thanks...). But I just couldn't resist the chance to preview a series called Sex: How To Do Everything (starring Em and Lo - no, I don't know either, but TD recognised the names). And so I settled down to watch episode one. That is to say, I had to attack the link with multiple tabs in Firefox and IE, download QuickTime twice, view the HTML source of the secret page to find the direct link to the movie and watch it in a separate window and kill all the other running processes in order to watch it. But hey, I watched it. So here's the review.

Sex: How To Do Everything is a programme which appears to be a blend of a few things - it's not exactly a show about how to have sex, it doesn't actually show much sex and it's not really one of those shows that have people talking about sex (like The Sex Show on L!VE TV in the '90s), rather it's a crossover of all those things and a few more bits. In fact, it's more of a variety show than anything else, held together by one common theme. No prizes, of course.

On the whole, a big plus point for the programme is that it is presented extremely well. The opening credits are nicely done and the programme occasionally snaps to some quick softcore snaps of a couple who are allegedly having sex. The woman's pulled faces are amazing. The music, depending on what's on screen at the time, lurches from porn-stylée "snapping" music to classical music intoned by string quartets. The studio is bright and colourful and has a giant screen showing revolving background images of sex (er, presumably if you forget what the show's about, or something) and everything's done very nicely. Em and Lo themselves make for presenters who are both attractive and likeable, and - of course - they are sex experts (that's what the caption says, "Em & Lo - Sex Experts," so it's got to be true) who clearly have a lot of knowledge in their field. For style, it gets ten points.

The format of the programme appears to be rather haphazard, but there are clearly some things which are constant (although, having seen only one episode, it's hard to predict things exactly). The programme picks an aspect of sex - episode one is my absolute favourite, oral sex - and shapes its featurettes around it. We have helpful diagrams of how to do it, "Em & Lo's Confessional Booth" (a cheesy, but amusing, attempt to get random people to confess their darkest sexual secrets), random street interviews (the type where you see a microphone in front of a person and they're saying a line, about... well... oral sex, in this case) and debates about the topic. Personally, I don't think these work, as Em and Lo are debating against each other and it's clearly line recitation... and neither of them are that good at acting, actually. But all the little bits, an odd mix as they may be, are handles well, with lots of humour, sensitivity, and an air of not trying too hard to take anything seriously. And the voice of the voiceover guy is strangely comforting, for some odd reason.

The programme also features a very sweet couple named as Georgie and Dougie (what would they call their child? Maggie?) who are 'roving reporters' - er, yes, really - exploring... well... things to do, I suppose. This episode had Georgie visiting a 'sex educator' - named Midori, which is actually Japanese for 'green' - and learning some blowjob techniques, then using them on Dougie. This section sounds pretty embarrassing, but it's not really. In fact, this was one of the best sections, with a good selection of music, a genuine sexually active couple who suited each other and genuine real sex going on. Georgie's voice is irritating, but I'm sure she means well.

The strangest thing about this programme as a whole, however, has to be the fact that they have special guests on the show who, following a featurette about what they do, appear on a sofa chatting informally to Em and Lo. In episode one this was an artist (whose name escapes me at the moment) who specialised in unusual art, and this includes - naturally - taking plaster casts of girls' vaginas. It's so obvious when you think about it, really. We had a short story of a girl who was nervous about what her vagina looked like, went to this guy, got a cast made and picked her own one out on her first try when looking at the finished product, and then we are back in the studio, the artist relaxing on a sofa with a rather gratuitous clinical psychologist next to him. The next guest, pictured, was a man who had mastered the art of giving himself blowjobs, and he seemed like a genuinely pleasant person. Not only did we have him talking freely about how to suck oneself off, we also had a video of him doing it, cock and all - so no censorship on this show; that's a good thing. But still, it appears to be a talk show during these bits, and that's disturbing, although I'm not sure why.

And that's the programme, in a very large nutshell.

Do I have any criticisms? Well, yes I do, but they're not so much critical as they are confused. It's difficult to see exactly which audience this is aimed at. It's clearly aimed at sexually active people, but that eliminates the catchall element of programmes like Sexcetera (which is nowhere near as good, but at least it's universally accessible), but of what age bracket? It's likely to go over the heads of experimenting teenagers and be scoffed at by people aged 35+, so it's for a rather specific niche. Horny young people surfing late-night channels may be disappointed, as it's actually people talking about sex rather than doing it (unlike in Kira Reed's documentary-which-I-wish-I-could-remember-the-name-of, which has a lovely softcore sex scene in every episode). It's also difficult to see which country it's aimed at; I'm not entirely sure a UK market would lap it up, but it's too intelligent for a US market.

It's a US-style show, as well, with four (FOUR!) advert breaks per episode and a "New York vs. London" slot of the street interviews. But at the end the UK's Channel 5 logo makes an unexpected appearance, which makes me wonder if this is due for a UK release or if it's at all international.

So, yes. This programme appears to have only a very vague direction and if it were any shorter, it wouldn't work. But as it is, it's worth a watch, bcause it's funny, smart, accurate and - best of all - unashamed about the fact it's talking about sex. It manages to do all the stuff it wants do to without being trashy at all, and for that I applaud it. And, as I said before, it's presented ridiculously well. If you're a fan of this type of programme, then you should give it a watch because it's fresh and new, and definitely the best of the crop.

If you'd like to see it now, you'd evidently have to pay - there's a link here if you want to do that. Personally I'd wait until it's out on TV, but why not link, just in case you want to sample an episode?

Valentine

People will call it V-Day. They'll take solace in the fact that Valentine's Day abbreviates to VD. They'll call it singles awareness day, which abbreviates to SAD, appropriately enough. Saint Valentine suffered a lot of hate when he was alive, and he suffers even more now, with people taking comfort in the fact the he died a horrific, violent death.

Let me tell you a story.

On Valentine's Day in 2008, I walked into town. I had a drink on my own in the bar (there were paper hearts everywhere). In the corner was a psychic woman. She was giving free palmistry and tarot readings. As I was one of the only people in the bar, I was offered a chance to speak to her before anyone else turned up. I did.

She told me I would be with the girl I had a crush on within six months - but I wasn't. She mentioned that my crush at the time had a lot of problems moving on from a previous relationship and would find it difficult. But, as for that girl, whenever I talk to her she never mentions any previous relationships. She also told me that someone named Mary would become important. She hasn't, although she picked up on an M, and I know a Mary, so that was the connection she made. She also mentioned someone whose name may begin with J, like a Jessica or a Joanne would. She hasn't either. She mentioned two psychic crosses on my hand, although I thought they looked more like Christian crosses. She also mentioned that my grandmother may die soon. She hasn't.

These things didn't happen.

But I am with a girl. A girl I love. And... she did have problems moving on from her previous relationship, but I helped her do that.

But I now know two people, one of whom begins with M, and one of whom begins with J. And they are very significant too.

But two Christian crosses have relevance. I go to one church and my girlfriend goes to another, but we share in the love of Christ together.

Oh, and as for my grandmother... she is alive. But my grandfather died almost exactly six months after she did the reading. My mother, who I mentioned to the psychic lady, sent a text to my girlfriend, who told me while we were in France.

The psychic lady may have gotten certain elements wrong; to all intents and purposes she made a prediction which didn't quite come true. But this situation I'm in now - the one that's led up to this point, the one in which I am sitting in my girlfriend's parents' living room, in Oxford, having returned from a romantic weekend in Bath, staying at a Hilton hotel, no less, reflecting on my life in the past, present and future - that situation... well, it's one I'm okay with.

I also asked her what "Innocent Loverboy" meant. The cards wouldn't tell her, or me, almost as if I had to make my own decision. Well, that is something that I have done... with very little problem.

So, whether you are celebrating or commiserating the fact that it's Valentine's Day at the moment, let me give you this one message...

Love.

Eureka!

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I'm so terribly sorry about this post.

So, women - on average - kiss 79 people before they marry. That is, according to Cosmo, and they know everything, apparently.

So, Cosmo, this is what? The average woman? No such thing. Every woman? No. Also, all women get married? Hardly.

And then there's the number. 79. So how do you work that one out, then? What do you count as a kiss?

What I'm getting at here is the fact that I spent three years at university being single and willing and I didn't even get one measly kiss, whereas at Woodcraft events we had girls running around with reckless abandon kissing everyone they could find. That includes me, but only once. That I don't count in my grand total of eight people, since technically it wasn't really a kiss. Or if it was, the girl in question can't remember it. She won the contest with the other girl, anyway, with her 71 kisses in a night.

See, do you count that? In any case, I still didn't get many kisses. (On the same night, I snogged the girl I fancied, but that's neither here nor there.)

This is seriously flawed.

Couple that with the fact that Cosmo also puts guidelines for the perfect kiss in that article and you have instant article FAIL. I mean, perfect kiss for whom exactly? Everyone kisses differently, right? And so maybe you're counting only every kiss that takes in all of the tips they've put in, in which case, how could anyone reach 79?

I've always counted a kiss - a real kiss - as something big and meaningful. A nice, tender kiss is one of the greatest things two people can share, and yet this magazine throws out a number like 79 - not only demystifying the hard-to-find kiss (well, I always thought they were hard to find in any case) but inferring that women will go off and kiss many, many people in the indeterminate time 'before they marry'.

Sexist? Maybe that, too.

I may have to write an article myself if this madness keeps up. As if I didn't have enough to do already. I've got lots on my plate, I don't want to have to go all-out with words merely because I'm angry.

Kickstart

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The younger you are, the more girls strip...

I noticed on Twitter yesterday that Nimue had set up a wonderfully pointless webcam via which one could watch her studying, which - naturally - I did; opened up the link in a fresh tab and, lo and behold, we have Nimue studying. Strangely compelling, in fact, much more so than Kjartan Poskitt's webcam, which - on closer inspection - isn't actually a webcam at all (if you have not opened the link, do not read the previous statement), although a clever trick nonetheless. Nimue, I salute you!

I relayed this story to my friends yesterday as we sat in pub number two of our two-pub-pub-crawl (yeah, we're so hardcore) after our third round of whist. Mane's girlfriend seemed more interested, however, in our young raver, who - in a massive deviation from his usual topic of conversation - was talking about sex. More accurately, girls, which he pronounced "gels" (geh-ulls). Many of which we've never heard of, of course, but it's still amusing to see him talk about how, once a girl has started talking to him on MSN, that's the clincher. Apparently. Clearly he has 1337 MSN flirting skillz. Or he was lying. Either way.

So, webcam discussion. I mentioned Nimue's voyeur-study-cam venture, and Mane's girlfriend took it upon herself to ask our young raver how many girls had stripped for him on webcam. Thus, the connection. I don't think this was a serious question, let's be perfectly honest. It's not the sort of thing you ask... well, anyone, unless you happen to be on a sex chatroom or with someone you're comfortable talking to. I mean, I'd ask young raver, but not if I'd only just met him. Maybe it was a burning question or something. Anyway, we were all definitely curious.

He actually counted in his head. He COUNTED.

"About thir'y," he eventually came out with.

And how many women had he slept with, in reality? Well, that he just couldn't remember.

What a guy.

Textualise Me

I've mentioned somewhere... in fact, it might be in my book, I think it's there... that I have a strange friend who is a furry. It's hilarious, honestly. I may not have mentioned that he lives in a house in the outskirts of London with two more friends. I didn't actually find this out until after they'd all moved in together (er, but... not like that, you understand). In a massive, shocking deviation from what everyone's doing, one of these housemates is currently doing postgraduate study at one of the colleges of the University of London. Wonders never cease.

The other one of these guys, The Obligatory Other Bisexual Male Housemate, is one of the funniest and cutest people you'll ever meet. He's the backing vocalist in my band, cameraman for filming projects I've been in, and winner of the annual Most Unique Way To Work The Square-Glasses-Short-Hair Combo for five years running. And, althouigh frequently known to go wildly off-track, he's rarely given over to outright filth.

Which is why I was surprised to get the following text.

Give us a kiss?!

Naturally, I responded with the likely explanation for the sudden outburst.

Are you drunk?

Response.

Planning to take advantage?

I blinked at the 'phone. I wondered what to write back.

I'm in bed with [TD], so this is neither the time nor the place to take advantage of you no matter how drunk you are!

There, that ought to shut him up. Hello, another text...

I feel so unloved now!

The text I sent him afterwards (Go and get some loving from [furry]. Or [PhD housemate]. I'm willing to bet even [47] is available if you want to go that far.) seemed to end the conversation for that night. I hope he didn't actually follow my advice. But, last night, bold as brass, my phone lit up with the heralds of doom again, and revealed this message:

I need you, Sonic the Hedgehog and [TD] in my bed now!

Okay, at this point I was slightly scared. My response:

You need DRUGS.

Harsh, but true.

The only drug I need is love ;)

Very very scared.

I've got naked [TD] in my bed SO THERE.

How will he respond to this, one wonders?

Well you should know where i am. Get here! Now. Im on the pill low.

Okay, definitely something going awry here.

I have my own pillow!

No contact. I'm awaiting further messages. This could be fun...

In praise of Belle de Jour

Belle de Jour was one of the reasons I started blogging. In a fairly hidden world dominated mostly by the one track mind girl, it was nice to have someone else to read - evidently coming from fairly different circumstances, but nevertheless - her writing was cheeky and fluid, her accounts frank and interesting, and what's more, she wrote more than one book.

"Beware the man of one book." - St Thomas Aquinas

Anyway, so. I recorded Secret Diary the other day. I wasn't available to see it at the time although I enjoyed series 2 (I only ever saw one episode of series 1 - I know!). Two episodes back-to-back. Why does everyone do that now? I can understand a series like Glee, which has 22 episodes to get through, but for Secret Diary? Six episodes, four of which left after the first day? Give us a time for reflection, please!

This was followed by the much-publicised documentary with "the real Belle" in it, so I recorded that too.

Let me say this: Secret Diary is good fun. It's smart, it's sharp, and being British, it's tittilating rather than outright erotic, which I like. But the documentary - okay, wow, where did all this come from? It's two women sitting on a sofa, one of whom's romantic and sexual endeavours have been in the public eye for so long, the other one being Belle de Jour. Sounds a little like Loose Women, no? But it was actually fascinating. Not particularly the questions themselves, but just the way Belle delivered her answers. Direct and to the point. And oh, so confident.

If any of you can, watch the documentary. It's still available here - yes, it's ITV but it's still worth a watch, if only so you can catch this little bit of sex blogger history.

I'm not really going anywhere with this, but I have one final thing to say: after an evening of watching Belle de Jour in various forms, I had amazing, mindblowing sex. Coincidence? Well, yes, probably. But it's fun to imagine that there's something else at work, right?

...right?