I've made a list of things to do! I'm turning into a middle-aged woman!
In my defense, to be honest I've suddenly been burdened with a hell of a lot of stuff to do at the same time - some pleasant, some not so much - and (although most of this comes as a result of things I have genuinely decided I have to do) the upshot of being unavailable during the week (again due to a combination of pleasant and unpleasant things) has revealed itself to be stressful enough to keep me up at night. I lie awake plagued by the memory of the worst times in my life, like when the mouse pointer moved left instead of right, and that day I realised there was a small tear in the protective screen of my new mobile.
And the only way to combat this is to actually get all the things done. For those of you who were actually sensitive enough to read all the entries here that don't mention sex and are actually wondering in which direction my life is going, I am about to re-enter education. It's for, like, a month, so I'm not going to be attempting to add a third university degree to my belt (honest!), but this starts in a week and two days, and therefore I have five working days to get all this stuff finished.
So. Make a list.
Incredible that it is that a list of things to do seems to get longer and longer as you cross bits off - especially as you end up adding more things - there is a definite amount of catharsis in scrubbing bits out ("Great! I actually managed to send that two-sentence e-mail to that Chinese boy I tutor! Back to Super Mario World!"). It's just difficult to actually get enthusiastic about any of it. Specifically when I'm stopped doing stuff because the place I'm heading for is closed and nobody bothered to tell me. I hate leaving stuff unchecked!
The main problem I have, however, is that my netbook - which is to all intents and purposes my primary computer - is currently being held by the people at the local PC shop. Why? Because some of the keys don't work, or - as I'd be saying if I were typing this on my netbook, because sme f the keys dn't wrk. My old laptop - originally called "Jim" but now "old faithful" - has been a temporary saving grace, but he doesn't have a working I key, forcing me to use creative copy-and-paste or find-and-replace to type that important vowel. (You may have noticed me on Twitter or MSN using lower-case Is. I'm not lazy, just disadvantaged as the result of a hoover being in the wrong place.) I've managed to get him back onto the Internet without too much trouble, but nevertheless, I would feel much more comfortable about working towards both a social and academic end if I had a fully functioning machine.
Yes, I don't have any money and I'm seriously gaining weight right now, but both computers are slightly broken and that's what's important right now. Geek love.
However... having said all that, there's always a saving grace. And my "thing to do" for Tuesday - weight, money, computer and outstanding work to do all irrelevant as soon as it starts - is "go to Leeds and see cutieloveheartgirl". Now that's a task I can seriously cope with.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Best interests at heart
When it comes to things to do, I am sometimes easily swayed, and yet sometimes not. My mother, as an example, is one of the people that takes it upon themselves to make all my decisions for me. As of today, my sister no longer lives in our house, and therefore I can foresee more upcoming decision-making on my behalf by her. She does, of course, run it past me first, but only in a perfunctory manner; the assumption being that when she makes a suggestion, I will follow it to the very letter. This does not bode well for me, the fact of the matter remaining that all I've done which could be (loosely) termed as successful throughout time has been as a result of ideas I've had myself.
It doesn't stop her trying though - and although I'm grateful for her support, she made a suggestion the other day, based on an advert she saw, which almost genuinely hurt.
It's not interesting, despite what you may have been reading on Twitter, where I am workwise. Needless to say, I am still unemployed, but I'm re-entering full-time education in a week or so for, like, a month. This is purely vocational, and hopefully I won't fuck this one up. Until then, I am doing voluntary work - of course, I won't say where, but it has its interesting points and I don't hate it. I don't know much about applying for post-course-qualification-specific-jobs, but it's a safe assumption that there will be a lull (or, as I will term it in a more positive light, grace period) between the course and, say, the New Year. I mean, that is a complete guess, but it's what I'm working on. My plan was to spend that time looking and preparing for jobs and all that may come with them, such as finding a place to live, and possibly even relocation. My mother's plan is for me to do Christmas temp work in shops.
Which is, of course, perfectly valid, only she had to mention a shop that I have a bit of an aversion to, due to something that happened there involving my ex. I don't even like going past that shop if I can avoid it, ergo: sod's law dictates that it's the one my mother shoves in my face continuously until I actually apply for the damn job. I probably won't eve have the time to be a Christmas temp anyway, but that's irrelevant when compared to the fact that I don't. want. to. go. there.
I can't tell her that, though, because I'd have to explain, and that wouldn't go well. I wouldn't be able to anyway. And she'd think that I was trying to make some excuse, and/or accuse me of laziness. Some of those nice things that mums say. I did initially consider lying and saying that I'd applied, but halfway through trying that I kind of stopped and changed my story. I'm not a good liar, really. And in the end I applied, full well in the knowledge that a) my prior experience is an advantage since I've done the job before and b) extra money over Christmas is always useful, but with a burning hope in my heart that I won't get it - my course will end too late for me to start or something - because I am fully aware that going to this shop - even as staff - would make me uncomfortable, sad, and distracted.
And to be honest, I really don't need that. Not now. Not ever.
It doesn't stop her trying though - and although I'm grateful for her support, she made a suggestion the other day, based on an advert she saw, which almost genuinely hurt.
It's not interesting, despite what you may have been reading on Twitter, where I am workwise. Needless to say, I am still unemployed, but I'm re-entering full-time education in a week or so for, like, a month. This is purely vocational, and hopefully I won't fuck this one up. Until then, I am doing voluntary work - of course, I won't say where, but it has its interesting points and I don't hate it. I don't know much about applying for post-course-qualification-specific-jobs, but it's a safe assumption that there will be a lull (or, as I will term it in a more positive light, grace period) between the course and, say, the New Year. I mean, that is a complete guess, but it's what I'm working on. My plan was to spend that time looking and preparing for jobs and all that may come with them, such as finding a place to live, and possibly even relocation. My mother's plan is for me to do Christmas temp work in shops.
Which is, of course, perfectly valid, only she had to mention a shop that I have a bit of an aversion to, due to something that happened there involving my ex. I don't even like going past that shop if I can avoid it, ergo: sod's law dictates that it's the one my mother shoves in my face continuously until I actually apply for the damn job. I probably won't eve have the time to be a Christmas temp anyway, but that's irrelevant when compared to the fact that I don't. want. to. go. there.
I can't tell her that, though, because I'd have to explain, and that wouldn't go well. I wouldn't be able to anyway. And she'd think that I was trying to make some excuse, and/or accuse me of laziness. Some of those nice things that mums say. I did initially consider lying and saying that I'd applied, but halfway through trying that I kind of stopped and changed my story. I'm not a good liar, really. And in the end I applied, full well in the knowledge that a) my prior experience is an advantage since I've done the job before and b) extra money over Christmas is always useful, but with a burning hope in my heart that I won't get it - my course will end too late for me to start or something - because I am fully aware that going to this shop - even as staff - would make me uncomfortable, sad, and distracted.
And to be honest, I really don't need that. Not now. Not ever.
Monday, October 10, 2011
As far as I can see, we were carved from the same tree...
Why won't this work? AAAAAARRRRGH!!! Oh, there we go.
Don't worry, that wasn't what I said over the last week, spending time with @notCatharine; it's just my immediate reaction to some of the keys on my netbook's keyboard deciding to intermittently shut down. Twitter isn't working on my BlackBerry either. I'd uninstall and reinstall it, but BlackBerry App World also refuses to work, so I'm kind of stuck on that too. Good times.
Anyway, last week...
Well, the first thing that you need to know is that Catharine is a liar.
She'll say something like, "I spent the first two days asleep, because I'm lazy and grumpy." But what she really means to say is, "I slept a lot during the first two days, but that was because ILB had a calming influence on me and very warm cuddles."
She'll say something like, "I woke up at random points in the middle of the night." But what she really means to say is, "we spent large parts of the small hours eating biscuits in the lounge, cuddling and grinning at each other on the sofa and making each other laugh."
She'll say something like, "we didn't say anything that made much sense to each other." But what she really means to say is, "we talked to each other in secret sex blogger language, which made us feel like international super-spies since we knew people that the rest of her family don't."
She'll say something like, "on the last day we tried to do some modelling, but neither of us could do it." But what she really means to say is, "the modelling kit of the demonic elephant was terrible, but the bouncy balls we made were incredibly pretty and very well-patterned, and ILB has been playing with his ever since he took it home."
She may even say something like, "the sex got better and better the more times we did it." But this one I agree with.
Don't worry, that wasn't what I said over the last week, spending time with @notCatharine; it's just my immediate reaction to some of the keys on my netbook's keyboard deciding to intermittently shut down. Twitter isn't working on my BlackBerry either. I'd uninstall and reinstall it, but BlackBerry App World also refuses to work, so I'm kind of stuck on that too. Good times.
Anyway, last week...
Well, the first thing that you need to know is that Catharine is a liar.
She'll say something like, "I spent the first two days asleep, because I'm lazy and grumpy." But what she really means to say is, "I slept a lot during the first two days, but that was because ILB had a calming influence on me and very warm cuddles."
She'll say something like, "I woke up at random points in the middle of the night." But what she really means to say is, "we spent large parts of the small hours eating biscuits in the lounge, cuddling and grinning at each other on the sofa and making each other laugh."
She'll say something like, "we didn't say anything that made much sense to each other." But what she really means to say is, "we talked to each other in secret sex blogger language, which made us feel like international super-spies since we knew people that the rest of her family don't."
She'll say something like, "on the last day we tried to do some modelling, but neither of us could do it." But what she really means to say is, "the modelling kit of the demonic elephant was terrible, but the bouncy balls we made were incredibly pretty and very well-patterned, and ILB has been playing with his ever since he took it home."
She may even say something like, "the sex got better and better the more times we did it." But this one I agree with.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Soft Porn Sunday: Shannon Tweed & Andrew Stevens
Shannon Tweed got married this time last week. Took her long enough. I was surprised, initially, to find out that she married Gene Simmons, before remembering that I'd already read that somewhere, and then having an "oh yeah..." moment. Well done, rock god and erotic thriller actress. Hope you're happy together.
I saw a lot of Shannon Tweed around the age of 15. Channel 5 bought a lot of mainstream erotica to show on Friday nights and, although some of it was cheesy pap, there were quite a lot of American erotic thrillers scattered through the schedules, and I quickly managed to learn that anything billed as "erotic thriller" had some semblance of a plot, whereas "erotic drama" mostly had sex in it. Since the plots were awful, I preferred the latter. Tweed starred in both types, and was prevalent in any film that had a bit of skin in it. To be honest, I always preferred "the other Shannon" - Whirry - but some of these films were good too. I remember taping a few.
I don't have a lot of clips with Shannon Tweed in my collection - which goes to show exactly how non-obsessive I am - so I had to scour the internet for some. And I found this:
Appearance: Illicit Dreams (1994)
Characters: Moira Davis & Nick Richardson
I vaguely - very vaguely - remember this one from my past. The fact that it's both directed by and starring Andrew Stevens raises a few eyebrows - an effort to get to have it off with Shannon Tweed? - but the plot is certainly unique. It's daft, but at least a little bit creative. Moira (Tweed) - who is married to Daniel (Joseph Cortese) - discovers over time that she has a telekinetic link to Nick (Stevens). They meet, fall in love, and screw. This movie, oddly enough, also stars Rochelle Swanson, in a minor role. I know that name, even if you may not... but I'll save her for later.
This is your standard sex scene between Moira and Nick. But I'm choosing it because it's a little different from her other sex scenes. A lot of them - like this one - mostly involve odd contortions, unlikely face pulling, and music from strangled saxophones that makes me want to tear my eyeballs out and stuff my ears with them. This one's actually quite romantic, insofar as soft porn scenes go.
Okay, to start off with, aesthetically neither character is much to look at. Shannon Tweed has an OK body, but it's not really made much of in this scene. Nick has a ridiculous beard though - even worse than mine. I mean, really. Shave, Stevens! In fact, even though I'm aware of how unattractive my beard may be, his knocks him down the Glist several thousand places. It's really off-putting, and it makes me wonder if Moira would even go near him without that psychic link. Gah!
Movement-wise, though, it's okay. Pleasantly, it starts off with a nice kiss, which is always good to see, as it emphasises the "OMGZ love" bit. It mixes to them lying on the bed, looking at each other with lustful eyes for a while, and then there's a few seconds of Nick delicately running his hands over Moira's thighs. (Awww, cute!) There's a bit with him kissing up her neck and then licking her ear - which is surprisingly arousing, considering all you can see is her face and his back (but then again, I spent the last four days making a girl orgasm by doing that, so maybe I'm biased), and after that we get OH GOD GET THAT BEARD OFF THE SCREEN Moira riding Nick; implied more than seen, perhaps, as what we get is some head shots of Nick, and no more than head and shoulders of Moira (what, no boobs?). Tweed's making the motions though...
...and then it's over, suddenly. Quite a nice shot of them spooning, while the camera zooms out.
Okay, well, the bad points first. It's not likely to get me off. Hell, I doubt it could get anyone off. It's not very explicit, and there really isn't much movement (and although Tweed can do movement, it looks a bit forced). It's a romantic sex scene... without much romance. There's effort, but it just doesn't look like they're that into each other. They're making the noises (or she is, anyway) and some of the faces are okay (except for Nick's, with that awful beard!), but they don't really fit with the music, either. Which is bland. Unobtrusive, sure, but bland.
However, having seen numerous other sex scenes from this period with this actress, bland unobtrusive music is a bit of a blessing, considering I have great respect for saxophonists and don't like to hear them sounding as if they're being kicked repetitively. And yes, it's not the best of scenes by any standard, but at least the cinematography is good. It's shot well enough and the camera work is neither annoying nor non-existent. In fact, the worst thing about this scene is that it's a bit out of place. It shouldn't really be in soft porn; it's more suited to mainstream cinema drama - since it's short and inoffensive enough to be so.
So I suppose it's a good enough effort to convey romantic sex via film. It falls short of actually doing so, of course, but for what it is, it clearly tries hard, and it does manage to avoid some of the softcore clichés that these films fall into. You can watch it here, if you're interested, if the beard doesn't offend you that much. Just remember that Shannon Tweed's done some better things than this. They're just not that easy to find.
I saw a lot of Shannon Tweed around the age of 15. Channel 5 bought a lot of mainstream erotica to show on Friday nights and, although some of it was cheesy pap, there were quite a lot of American erotic thrillers scattered through the schedules, and I quickly managed to learn that anything billed as "erotic thriller" had some semblance of a plot, whereas "erotic drama" mostly had sex in it. Since the plots were awful, I preferred the latter. Tweed starred in both types, and was prevalent in any film that had a bit of skin in it. To be honest, I always preferred "the other Shannon" - Whirry - but some of these films were good too. I remember taping a few.
I don't have a lot of clips with Shannon Tweed in my collection - which goes to show exactly how non-obsessive I am - so I had to scour the internet for some. And I found this:
Appearance: Illicit Dreams (1994)
Characters: Moira Davis & Nick Richardson
I vaguely - very vaguely - remember this one from my past. The fact that it's both directed by and starring Andrew Stevens raises a few eyebrows - an effort to get to have it off with Shannon Tweed? - but the plot is certainly unique. It's daft, but at least a little bit creative. Moira (Tweed) - who is married to Daniel (Joseph Cortese) - discovers over time that she has a telekinetic link to Nick (Stevens). They meet, fall in love, and screw. This movie, oddly enough, also stars Rochelle Swanson, in a minor role. I know that name, even if you may not... but I'll save her for later.
This is your standard sex scene between Moira and Nick. But I'm choosing it because it's a little different from her other sex scenes. A lot of them - like this one - mostly involve odd contortions, unlikely face pulling, and music from strangled saxophones that makes me want to tear my eyeballs out and stuff my ears with them. This one's actually quite romantic, insofar as soft porn scenes go.
Okay, to start off with, aesthetically neither character is much to look at. Shannon Tweed has an OK body, but it's not really made much of in this scene. Nick has a ridiculous beard though - even worse than mine. I mean, really. Shave, Stevens! In fact, even though I'm aware of how unattractive my beard may be, his knocks him down the Glist several thousand places. It's really off-putting, and it makes me wonder if Moira would even go near him without that psychic link. Gah!Movement-wise, though, it's okay. Pleasantly, it starts off with a nice kiss, which is always good to see, as it emphasises the "OMGZ love" bit. It mixes to them lying on the bed, looking at each other with lustful eyes for a while, and then there's a few seconds of Nick delicately running his hands over Moira's thighs. (Awww, cute!) There's a bit with him kissing up her neck and then licking her ear - which is surprisingly arousing, considering all you can see is her face and his back (but then again, I spent the last four days making a girl orgasm by doing that, so maybe I'm biased), and after that we get OH GOD GET THAT BEARD OFF THE SCREEN Moira riding Nick; implied more than seen, perhaps, as what we get is some head shots of Nick, and no more than head and shoulders of Moira (what, no boobs?). Tweed's making the motions though...
...and then it's over, suddenly. Quite a nice shot of them spooning, while the camera zooms out.
Okay, well, the bad points first. It's not likely to get me off. Hell, I doubt it could get anyone off. It's not very explicit, and there really isn't much movement (and although Tweed can do movement, it looks a bit forced). It's a romantic sex scene... without much romance. There's effort, but it just doesn't look like they're that into each other. They're making the noises (or she is, anyway) and some of the faces are okay (except for Nick's, with that awful beard!), but they don't really fit with the music, either. Which is bland. Unobtrusive, sure, but bland.
However, having seen numerous other sex scenes from this period with this actress, bland unobtrusive music is a bit of a blessing, considering I have great respect for saxophonists and don't like to hear them sounding as if they're being kicked repetitively. And yes, it's not the best of scenes by any standard, but at least the cinematography is good. It's shot well enough and the camera work is neither annoying nor non-existent. In fact, the worst thing about this scene is that it's a bit out of place. It shouldn't really be in soft porn; it's more suited to mainstream cinema drama - since it's short and inoffensive enough to be so.
So I suppose it's a good enough effort to convey romantic sex via film. It falls short of actually doing so, of course, but for what it is, it clearly tries hard, and it does manage to avoid some of the softcore clichés that these films fall into. You can watch it here, if you're interested, if the beard doesn't offend you that much. Just remember that Shannon Tweed's done some better things than this. They're just not that easy to find.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
On
I slept in the same bed at 47 on Sunday night... but this entry isn't about that. I'm going to see cutieloveheartgirl tomorrow and will probably end up in bed with her in a very short period of time... but this entry isn't about that either. This entry is about feeling horny.
Yesterday.
I was horny basically all the way through yesterday. I don't remember when it started, but it certainly happened on the Tube on my way into London. I'm doing voluntary work at the moment and my working day was interspersed by short bursts in the office when I blanked out in my chair, losing all concentration, my erection raging to almost the point of unbearability, with very little stimulus (other than my own mind, which is usually more than sufficient, I will admit), and my infrequent trips to the toilet were characterised by noticing exactly how hard I was, and considering taking matters into my hand - then desisting because I was in a scummy toilet in a public building.
I was still turned on when 5pm came rolling around and I was washing crockery. On the way home, I was positively filthy over BBM, tapping out graphic messages to titillate the aforementioned cutieloveheartgirl, while angling my BlackBerry towards me to avoid any prying eyes from inquisitive commuters. Although the idea that they might see what I was writing was also part of the thrill.
Today, that urge is gone. It's been replaced by a desire, just as strong, for cuddles. Although I imagine I'll be getting both tomorrow.
And possibly a hug tonight from 47 as we attend The Distraction Club. But no more than that. Even if he did share my bed.
Yesterday.
I was horny basically all the way through yesterday. I don't remember when it started, but it certainly happened on the Tube on my way into London. I'm doing voluntary work at the moment and my working day was interspersed by short bursts in the office when I blanked out in my chair, losing all concentration, my erection raging to almost the point of unbearability, with very little stimulus (other than my own mind, which is usually more than sufficient, I will admit), and my infrequent trips to the toilet were characterised by noticing exactly how hard I was, and considering taking matters into my hand - then desisting because I was in a scummy toilet in a public building.
I was still turned on when 5pm came rolling around and I was washing crockery. On the way home, I was positively filthy over BBM, tapping out graphic messages to titillate the aforementioned cutieloveheartgirl, while angling my BlackBerry towards me to avoid any prying eyes from inquisitive commuters. Although the idea that they might see what I was writing was also part of the thrill.
Today, that urge is gone. It's been replaced by a desire, just as strong, for cuddles. Although I imagine I'll be getting both tomorrow.
And possibly a hug tonight from 47 as we attend The Distraction Club. But no more than that. Even if he did share my bed.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Family Business
So, it turns out my sister is... wait for it... writing an anonymous blog. Well, in a sense. It's not quite anonymous because she's already told a few people about it, and that - in my experience - is a bit of a mistake. I mean, TD found me through my blog and after a while my girlfriend's mother knew I wrote about sex online. And my sister is using LiveJournal, as well.
I've got nothing against LiveJournal. I keep one myself (since 2002) and it's a blogging service with good enough functionality to keep me amused as long as I actually write in the damn thing (in addition to ILB, which takes priority, of course). The main problem I have with LJ for anonymous writing is that its alternative to a blogroll - the friends function - does create a sort of network that you are part of (people tend to follow the same people, creating multitudes of mutual friends, and webs), and therefore if you are to friend someone that you genuinely know, staying anonymous on LJ seems a difficult task. Unless, of course, you don't friend anyone, and then what's the point in using LJ? Why not just use WordPress or something?
Then again, a lot of people on LJ are migrating to Dreamwidth these days (for a reason I can't quite fathom), so maybe she won't find staying anonymous that difficult at all. How she'll get traffic, however, I don't know.
In any case, I've read her blog. I can relax, it's not about sex. We're not all that similar.
I've got nothing against LiveJournal. I keep one myself (since 2002) and it's a blogging service with good enough functionality to keep me amused as long as I actually write in the damn thing (in addition to ILB, which takes priority, of course). The main problem I have with LJ for anonymous writing is that its alternative to a blogroll - the friends function - does create a sort of network that you are part of (people tend to follow the same people, creating multitudes of mutual friends, and webs), and therefore if you are to friend someone that you genuinely know, staying anonymous on LJ seems a difficult task. Unless, of course, you don't friend anyone, and then what's the point in using LJ? Why not just use WordPress or something?
Then again, a lot of people on LJ are migrating to Dreamwidth these days (for a reason I can't quite fathom), so maybe she won't find staying anonymous that difficult at all. How she'll get traffic, however, I don't know.
In any case, I've read her blog. I can relax, it's not about sex. We're not all that similar.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Siiiiiiiiiiiiing!
I'm doing open mike tomorrow. This band I'm in, the one that 47 started... well, we are rehearsing, and then our blonde lesbian drummer suggested that we do this open mike. We've done it before and it's always gone relatively well - including one memorable session where we collaboratively wrote a song together and then two of us (not me) got up on stage and performed it without actually knowing what it was meant to sound like, going on scribbled lyrics by one of our number, approved by me, and chords by everyone else. I've still got a recording of that somewhere. I should find it.
While I much prefer to do full-length gigs (and I've done these one-and-a-half-hour things all by myself because I am an egomaniac), I'm not really above doing open mike - the problem with such a venture being that one only gets two songs when that happens... and it's difficult to develop much between two songs (I tend to use banter to pad it out, which seems to work well enough). The other problem, which mostly applies to me, is the fact that I can't resist mentioning sex.
It's not really part of my act. Very few of my songs are bawdy, and while there are some really explicit ones, they are masked well by lyrics which are open to interpretation (or deliberately don't make any sense). But there are a few which have no other way of going. At open mike I've performed a song I wrote for Scarlet on Valentine's this year, which is entirely about having sex with a multitude of girls, including the postwoman, taxi driver, French maid, receptionist, waitress, porn stars, and the sister of the girl to whom the song is addressed. I've also performed a song about spending the afternoon making love in various rooms of the house (notably the bathroom floor), one about staying up late playing hentai games until you fall for one of the characters, and one about trying to seduce a girl in French by alluding to croissants and coffee. Oh, and one about trying to convince a visiting American girl to have sex with the narrator via Craigslist.
I can be very deviant sometimes.
There isn't anything wrong with me singing dirty songs. Not really. And I rarely swear, hardly ever in my banter and very rarely indeed in my songs. And now that I'm not single any more, the songs don't really have the same sort of gravitas. Love songs that refer to a certain person have lost their significance in many ways, and those alluding to people who have lost their innocence, turned bitchy, submitted entirely to their partner's whims or been gay in the Scouts also don't hold their weight very much. Yes, I do have songs which are neither about sex nor have any taboo words or allusions to the same (and they're often my best), but when you're steadily doing those over and over again until you want something different to play...
...the sexual songs are going to be all you have left after a while.
Time for a dig through my archives.
While I much prefer to do full-length gigs (and I've done these one-and-a-half-hour things all by myself because I am an egomaniac), I'm not really above doing open mike - the problem with such a venture being that one only gets two songs when that happens... and it's difficult to develop much between two songs (I tend to use banter to pad it out, which seems to work well enough). The other problem, which mostly applies to me, is the fact that I can't resist mentioning sex.
It's not really part of my act. Very few of my songs are bawdy, and while there are some really explicit ones, they are masked well by lyrics which are open to interpretation (or deliberately don't make any sense). But there are a few which have no other way of going. At open mike I've performed a song I wrote for Scarlet on Valentine's this year, which is entirely about having sex with a multitude of girls, including the postwoman, taxi driver, French maid, receptionist, waitress, porn stars, and the sister of the girl to whom the song is addressed. I've also performed a song about spending the afternoon making love in various rooms of the house (notably the bathroom floor), one about staying up late playing hentai games until you fall for one of the characters, and one about trying to seduce a girl in French by alluding to croissants and coffee. Oh, and one about trying to convince a visiting American girl to have sex with the narrator via Craigslist.
I can be very deviant sometimes.
There isn't anything wrong with me singing dirty songs. Not really. And I rarely swear, hardly ever in my banter and very rarely indeed in my songs. And now that I'm not single any more, the songs don't really have the same sort of gravitas. Love songs that refer to a certain person have lost their significance in many ways, and those alluding to people who have lost their innocence, turned bitchy, submitted entirely to their partner's whims or been gay in the Scouts also don't hold their weight very much. Yes, I do have songs which are neither about sex nor have any taboo words or allusions to the same (and they're often my best), but when you're steadily doing those over and over again until you want something different to play...
...the sexual songs are going to be all you have left after a while.
Time for a dig through my archives.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
It sucks to be me
I'm not a fan of blowjobs. I've always been open about that. I don't dislike them - I mean, who would? - but out of preference, I'd give oral sex rather than receive. Although, of course, both is the best option, after all. In porn, they are everywhere, and from my experience, with very limited amounts of cunnilingus, while fellatio takes preference in terms of screentime and prominence. This annoys me (and is the reason, essentially, why I don't watch a lot of hardcore - although there are other reasons too). But normally, I don't hanker for a blowjob. Not usually. I like getting them, but they're not something I crave. I'd rather be inside other parts of a girl's anatomy than her mouth.
However, this morning I was suddenly overcome with a desire to receive oral sex that was more potent than that desire has ever been before. To further complicate this situation, I was sitting in the Job Centre at the time, and there was no rhyme or reason - no trigger, even - as to why I would suddenly want to be sucked off. I just, you know, did.
Out of the girls who have given me blowjobs - seven, if I recall correctly - cutieloveheartgirl's are the best, thanks to her enthusiasm for the task at hand, bordering on obsession, and the sensitivity of the parts of my cock she likes to suck. And therefore I've been experiencing the best oral sex of my life recently, and that's warmed me to it all the more over the past few weeks (although I've still never reached orgasm through oral stimulation, but that doesn't have to be the aim!), and I think the random fish through my memories, plus the fact that there was a delay at the Job Centre and I was sitting there for an interminably long time...
...plus, the fact that I've been incredibly tired all day and needed some form of relief...
...arose the want to receive oral gratification in me. It's subsided now (although I wouldn't say no, ever, anywhere), but it would have been the best way to pass the waiting time that I could think of, right there and then. And so... I thought.
However, this morning I was suddenly overcome with a desire to receive oral sex that was more potent than that desire has ever been before. To further complicate this situation, I was sitting in the Job Centre at the time, and there was no rhyme or reason - no trigger, even - as to why I would suddenly want to be sucked off. I just, you know, did.
Out of the girls who have given me blowjobs - seven, if I recall correctly - cutieloveheartgirl's are the best, thanks to her enthusiasm for the task at hand, bordering on obsession, and the sensitivity of the parts of my cock she likes to suck. And therefore I've been experiencing the best oral sex of my life recently, and that's warmed me to it all the more over the past few weeks (although I've still never reached orgasm through oral stimulation, but that doesn't have to be the aim!), and I think the random fish through my memories, plus the fact that there was a delay at the Job Centre and I was sitting there for an interminably long time...
...plus, the fact that I've been incredibly tired all day and needed some form of relief...
...arose the want to receive oral gratification in me. It's subsided now (although I wouldn't say no, ever, anywhere), but it would have been the best way to pass the waiting time that I could think of, right there and then. And so... I thought.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Let me know...
It's nice to feel wanted, to feel cared for, to feel loved. But it's also nice to feel needed. Evidently, I don't want people to feel like they can't cope all the time. But it's nice, in an admittedly ego-maniacal way, to think - or rather, to be told, that someone, somewhere - someone who you feel you need - needs you too. Those little phrases you pick up from people that they may say casually, or directly, to you, that make you feel good about yourself.
I began to feel that with Rebecca pretty much immediately after we started going out - as she had a mad crush on me. This had never, ever happened before, and I was liking it with an almost indecent enthusiasm. Her phrases, hints, and suggestions to me - that she'd miss college to be with me, or that she could never live without me - were in almost direct opposition to her repeated indiscretions, but I quite liked it when she said that stuff. And I sacrificed a lot for her, as well, to prove that I reciprocated. Although in fairness, when she dumped me, I'd known it was coming for a while - as I'd worked out she was cheating; a few contributing factors led to this, but none as much as the fact that she stopped saying that stuff.
TD's philosophy on life was different - she didn't like the whole idea that someone would have to make your life better for you, you have to do it yourself - but she did have the momentary blip when she slipped and admitted she wanted me - in order to cope, perhaps? I was a terrible repeat offender, missing her over and over and over again and telling her so. And there were times when I absolutely needed her. Of course there were. And there are times when she needed me. But in this case, it was her actions, rather than her words, that let me know this. Certainly she said things - influenced in part by people telling her not to get tied down to one man, and so on and so forth - but she did other things, like coming to see me a mere one hour after I got back from a week-long Woodcraft Camp, which let me know she wanted me.
I haven't felt that way for a while. And then yesterday, I got this text:
I imagined I was grabbing it and you were fucking me as I masturbated this morning.
And a little spark ignited in my stomach, and felt good about itself once again.
I began to feel that with Rebecca pretty much immediately after we started going out - as she had a mad crush on me. This had never, ever happened before, and I was liking it with an almost indecent enthusiasm. Her phrases, hints, and suggestions to me - that she'd miss college to be with me, or that she could never live without me - were in almost direct opposition to her repeated indiscretions, but I quite liked it when she said that stuff. And I sacrificed a lot for her, as well, to prove that I reciprocated. Although in fairness, when she dumped me, I'd known it was coming for a while - as I'd worked out she was cheating; a few contributing factors led to this, but none as much as the fact that she stopped saying that stuff.
TD's philosophy on life was different - she didn't like the whole idea that someone would have to make your life better for you, you have to do it yourself - but she did have the momentary blip when she slipped and admitted she wanted me - in order to cope, perhaps? I was a terrible repeat offender, missing her over and over and over again and telling her so. And there were times when I absolutely needed her. Of course there were. And there are times when she needed me. But in this case, it was her actions, rather than her words, that let me know this. Certainly she said things - influenced in part by people telling her not to get tied down to one man, and so on and so forth - but she did other things, like coming to see me a mere one hour after I got back from a week-long Woodcraft Camp, which let me know she wanted me.
I haven't felt that way for a while. And then yesterday, I got this text:
I imagined I was grabbing it and you were fucking me as I masturbated this morning.
And a little spark ignited in my stomach, and felt good about itself once again.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Soft Porn Sunday: Malù & Giancarlo Teodori
Let it never be said that I don't like classy erotic films. I do. I just prefer the cheesy, low-budget ones as they generall have a lot more sex in them. However, I actually own this one on DVD. I bought it merely due to the strength of this one sex scene. There are more in the film... but not that many.
Anyway, Scent of Passion is Italian. It stars Malù as a wannabe dancer named Violette, who is "found" by lecherous chorepgrapher... Jeff. Really original name there for someone played by a man named "Giancarlo Teodori". They could have kept that name in; it would have been much more interesting than calling him "Jeff". But anyway, yeah, Jeff has this lover, Celeste, played by Ángeles López Barea, who is openly sexual. You can basically see where this is going, can't you?
So anyway, as this triangle continues, we present here the inevitable sex scene almost exactly halfway through the movie...
Appearance: Scent of Passion (1991)
Characters: Violette & Jeff
This scene takes place in Jeff's forest hideaway (because he can afford somewhere like that, allegedly) and would be your classic teacher/student sex
scene, if it weren't so damn weird. First of all we get Violette allegedly dancing for Jeff, although it's actually just Malù turning around in circles wearing something resembling half a sari, before Jeff picks her up, lays her down on a white shagpile carpet and proceeds to... do something we can't quite see, because some twazzock filmed the next through seconds through a fire, so everything's consumed by flame. Oh, is that artistic? I see.
Anyway, with unashamed nudity, Jeff lies down on top of Violette and they writhe around for a bit. It's not really that sexy, in my opinion, but they are going through the motions, and there is a fair bit of passionate kissing at points, so at least it's filmed well enough. However, then they roll over and what we get here is the bit that I remember vivdly - Violette riding Jeff. In this case, everything's better. The staccato movement of her body, the moans (which mostly come from Jeff, but there are a few of hers too), and the sense that things are gradually beginning to get out of control, all hint at the passion that the title of the film refers to. Here it is, guys! Enjoy! The angle's better here, as well - you get to see more body movement, and more of Violette too, which is good, because although Malù's not the prettiest girl around, Teodori's not much to look at.
This goes on for a while before it's an immediate cut to doggie style. This bit - mostly filmed from behind a fire
(Again? Seriously!) - is largely unremarkable (apart from the clear addition of sweat - not something a lot of producers would think about, I suspect, so kudos for that), until the end, where they clearly are overtaken by said passion, and suddenly the sex is a lot harder, more frantic, until it all ends quite suddenly. Although I suppose the sudden release of orgasm is like that in real life too, so maybe that's a good thing. I don't know.
Okay, so do I like actually like this scene? I bought the DVD specifically for it (sorry, anyone who assumed I have an inbuilt love for Italian cinema - I prefer Japanese), so is it worth it? Well, no it isn't. As I may have mentioned before, the second part of the scene does stick out in my mind. But I think that, since what actually formed the largest memory is the setting - with the fire, the bed and the white shagpile carpet (which just looks like it would be a fantastic thing to have sex on, congratulations for not acquiescing and using the bed) - the fact that I didn't exactly remember what the characters did should have probably been a good indication.
I don't like the music (it's all arty and floaty, but not in a good way), and I'm finding it difficult to connect with the characters in any meaningful way... and, tragically, I don't really find myself turned on by this. I know I used to, but I think that in many ways I've sort of matured since then. If that makes any sense. I've outgrown erotic Italian cinema. Tragic.
It's probably just not my cup of tea though. It might work for you. Who knows?
Anyway, Scent of Passion is Italian. It stars Malù as a wannabe dancer named Violette, who is "found" by lecherous chorepgrapher... Jeff. Really original name there for someone played by a man named "Giancarlo Teodori". They could have kept that name in; it would have been much more interesting than calling him "Jeff". But anyway, yeah, Jeff has this lover, Celeste, played by Ángeles López Barea, who is openly sexual. You can basically see where this is going, can't you?
So anyway, as this triangle continues, we present here the inevitable sex scene almost exactly halfway through the movie...
Appearance: Scent of Passion (1991)
Characters: Violette & Jeff
This scene takes place in Jeff's forest hideaway (because he can afford somewhere like that, allegedly) and would be your classic teacher/student sex
scene, if it weren't so damn weird. First of all we get Violette allegedly dancing for Jeff, although it's actually just Malù turning around in circles wearing something resembling half a sari, before Jeff picks her up, lays her down on a white shagpile carpet and proceeds to... do something we can't quite see, because some twazzock filmed the next through seconds through a fire, so everything's consumed by flame. Oh, is that artistic? I see.Anyway, with unashamed nudity, Jeff lies down on top of Violette and they writhe around for a bit. It's not really that sexy, in my opinion, but they are going through the motions, and there is a fair bit of passionate kissing at points, so at least it's filmed well enough. However, then they roll over and what we get here is the bit that I remember vivdly - Violette riding Jeff. In this case, everything's better. The staccato movement of her body, the moans (which mostly come from Jeff, but there are a few of hers too), and the sense that things are gradually beginning to get out of control, all hint at the passion that the title of the film refers to. Here it is, guys! Enjoy! The angle's better here, as well - you get to see more body movement, and more of Violette too, which is good, because although Malù's not the prettiest girl around, Teodori's not much to look at.
This goes on for a while before it's an immediate cut to doggie style. This bit - mostly filmed from behind a fire
(Again? Seriously!) - is largely unremarkable (apart from the clear addition of sweat - not something a lot of producers would think about, I suspect, so kudos for that), until the end, where they clearly are overtaken by said passion, and suddenly the sex is a lot harder, more frantic, until it all ends quite suddenly. Although I suppose the sudden release of orgasm is like that in real life too, so maybe that's a good thing. I don't know.Okay, so do I like actually like this scene? I bought the DVD specifically for it (sorry, anyone who assumed I have an inbuilt love for Italian cinema - I prefer Japanese), so is it worth it? Well, no it isn't. As I may have mentioned before, the second part of the scene does stick out in my mind. But I think that, since what actually formed the largest memory is the setting - with the fire, the bed and the white shagpile carpet (which just looks like it would be a fantastic thing to have sex on, congratulations for not acquiescing and using the bed) - the fact that I didn't exactly remember what the characters did should have probably been a good indication.
I don't like the music (it's all arty and floaty, but not in a good way), and I'm finding it difficult to connect with the characters in any meaningful way... and, tragically, I don't really find myself turned on by this. I know I used to, but I think that in many ways I've sort of matured since then. If that makes any sense. I've outgrown erotic Italian cinema. Tragic.
It's probably just not my cup of tea though. It might work for you. Who knows?
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Fanny Hill
After about fifteen years' knowledge of its existence, and having seen the film with Lisa Foster in it twice (although I have yet to see the Russ Meyer version or any of the other 4 or 5 interpretations of the story), even enduring a year of working in a bookshop wherein I got over 20% discount, I've finally gotten around to reading Fanny Hill. Took me long enough. And since I downloaded it from Project Gutenberg and thereby depleted my mother's ink and paper supply, it's not really something I can read on public transport, as it's on a stack of sheets of A4 that I'm keeping in a plastic folder. Effectively, it's my bedtime book.
Something I've noticed about this infamous volume is that the language used by John Cleland is explicit, but in a deliberately flowery manner. I didn't know much about this book (other than the basics of the plot...), and although what struck me first is the fact that it is an epistolary novel - although not exactly overtly so, like The Color Purple or We Need To Talk About Kevin - what struck me second (because after a few pages you're thrown straight into the action) is how similar Cleland's descriptions of sex are to mine. I mean, look at this:
We had now reached the closest point of union; but when he beckened to come on the fiercer, as if I had been actuated by a fear of losing him, in the height of my fury, I twist my legs round his naked loins, the flesh of which, so firm, so springy to the touch, quivered again under the pressure; and now I had him every way encircled and begirt; and having drawn him home to me.
And it often doesn't let up. And yes, it is quite explicit. There's no question as to exactly what our Frances Hill is talking about in these passages. But there aren't any swear-words in it (they weren't as prevalent in printed media during 1748, I assume), and although nothing is veiled, nothing is on display either.
I like it.
So much so that, at bedtime (and often I go to bed quite tired, so having to read this ten pages at a time, whereas were it a paperback I'd have finished it by now), within catching a few paragraphs of this stuff, I am captivated, I've often found my instrument of mischief (again, that's a Cleland line - and I quite like that one) ready for - well - mischief. Not that I've ever done anything about it - I'm not one to start masturbating over a masterpiece of English literature - but I have felt the urge, even if I've been up to mischief myself during the day which precedes the sneaky bed-based consumption of words.
But nevertheless, it turns me on. And that's always a sign of well-written prose.
Something I've noticed about this infamous volume is that the language used by John Cleland is explicit, but in a deliberately flowery manner. I didn't know much about this book (other than the basics of the plot...), and although what struck me first is the fact that it is an epistolary novel - although not exactly overtly so, like The Color Purple or We Need To Talk About Kevin - what struck me second (because after a few pages you're thrown straight into the action) is how similar Cleland's descriptions of sex are to mine. I mean, look at this:
We had now reached the closest point of union; but when he beckened to come on the fiercer, as if I had been actuated by a fear of losing him, in the height of my fury, I twist my legs round his naked loins, the flesh of which, so firm, so springy to the touch, quivered again under the pressure; and now I had him every way encircled and begirt; and having drawn him home to me.
And it often doesn't let up. And yes, it is quite explicit. There's no question as to exactly what our Frances Hill is talking about in these passages. But there aren't any swear-words in it (they weren't as prevalent in printed media during 1748, I assume), and although nothing is veiled, nothing is on display either.
I like it.
So much so that, at bedtime (and often I go to bed quite tired, so having to read this ten pages at a time, whereas were it a paperback I'd have finished it by now), within catching a few paragraphs of this stuff, I am captivated, I've often found my instrument of mischief (again, that's a Cleland line - and I quite like that one) ready for - well - mischief. Not that I've ever done anything about it - I'm not one to start masturbating over a masterpiece of English literature - but I have felt the urge, even if I've been up to mischief myself during the day which precedes the sneaky bed-based consumption of words.
But nevertheless, it turns me on. And that's always a sign of well-written prose.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Arsenal
Back in the day, when I was a young ILB, my regular source of erections was my Gran's TV. Gran, who lived in the same house as us until quite recently, is a keen sports fan - which is unlikely for an 88-year-old Scottish lady in a wheelchair, but she is - and for one of her birthdays, although I can't remember which, we decided to get her cable TV for her lounge (our lounge was upstairs; hers, down), so she could watch even more sports. This was good in theory, except we could only do so when we'd surgically detached my sister from the Cartoon Network. I even hogged Sky One myself when there were new episodes of Pokémon up for grabs.
But when I hit about 12, Gran's cable TV became a resource for soft porn, and soft porn only. Back then, I was kind of aware that watching soft porn was wrong. I was, I reasoned, under 18, and shouldn't have been watching this stuff. Because I was also a Spice Girls fan at the time, I had this routine that I would flick back and forth between the soft porn channels and The Box, and Viva Forever would "release me", allowing me to stop seeking sexual arousal and go to bed. Hey, it's a sad song, shut up.
I kept flicking between softcore and music channels, even when I wasn't looking to be released from my thrall, but this time because my mother had told me once that it might be possible to tell which channels you were watching the most (it wasn't), so I used the "last" button creatively to flick between things, assuming that this would fool the channels into thinking I was watching something else.
And therefore, any mention of Arsenal Football Club makes me think of soft porn.
You're confused, I can tell. Well, having grown up in a Tottenham-supporting family (both Dad and Gran are supporters of Spurs, and I suppose so am I, in a passive way... ergo: I'd like them to win, but I don't give a fuck if they don't), Arsenal wasn't often mentioned. My cousin, who's living here now, actually works for Arsenal, so it's got more prominence in the house... well, I think it does. I don't care about football in any way so I don't know. But what I do know about Arsenal is that before a cup final match against... someone else, I don't know what either... is that they released a version of Hot Stuff with genuinely inspired lyrics, such as this wonder:
I want to see the Arsenal playing some hot stuff... Come on, the Arsenal.
Marvellous.
But because of my massive amount of reliance on the "last" button, any occurrences of the track (only labelled "Arsenal FC - Hot Stuff", no album or producer or artist or anything) would be interspersed with channels which, I knew, played soft porn after 10pm, and therefore Arsenal's "cover" was sometimes punctuated with sex scenes, to that effect - appropriate, perhaps, for Hot Stuff... just not so much for a football team.
I still know which one I prefer, too.
But when I hit about 12, Gran's cable TV became a resource for soft porn, and soft porn only. Back then, I was kind of aware that watching soft porn was wrong. I was, I reasoned, under 18, and shouldn't have been watching this stuff. Because I was also a Spice Girls fan at the time, I had this routine that I would flick back and forth between the soft porn channels and The Box, and Viva Forever would "release me", allowing me to stop seeking sexual arousal and go to bed. Hey, it's a sad song, shut up.
I kept flicking between softcore and music channels, even when I wasn't looking to be released from my thrall, but this time because my mother had told me once that it might be possible to tell which channels you were watching the most (it wasn't), so I used the "last" button creatively to flick between things, assuming that this would fool the channels into thinking I was watching something else.
And therefore, any mention of Arsenal Football Club makes me think of soft porn.
You're confused, I can tell. Well, having grown up in a Tottenham-supporting family (both Dad and Gran are supporters of Spurs, and I suppose so am I, in a passive way... ergo: I'd like them to win, but I don't give a fuck if they don't), Arsenal wasn't often mentioned. My cousin, who's living here now, actually works for Arsenal, so it's got more prominence in the house... well, I think it does. I don't care about football in any way so I don't know. But what I do know about Arsenal is that before a cup final match against... someone else, I don't know what either... is that they released a version of Hot Stuff with genuinely inspired lyrics, such as this wonder:
I want to see the Arsenal playing some hot stuff... Come on, the Arsenal.
Marvellous.
But because of my massive amount of reliance on the "last" button, any occurrences of the track (only labelled "Arsenal FC - Hot Stuff", no album or producer or artist or anything) would be interspersed with channels which, I knew, played soft porn after 10pm, and therefore Arsenal's "cover" was sometimes punctuated with sex scenes, to that effect - appropriate, perhaps, for Hot Stuff... just not so much for a football team.
I still know which one I prefer, too.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Oral hygiene
When I am sexually aroused, I usually run my tongue around my mouth. I don't let it hang out or lick my lips, because that's just a bit creepy - and clichéd, and I try to avoid clichés like the plague. But I do run my tongue around the inside of my mouth. Maybe this is an automatic thing. I'd like to think it's a precursor to oral sex. And I do love oral sex.
However, when I am sexually aroused this week, the usual end result is me in quite a lot of pain around my lower jaw. There is a mouth ulcer directly in the middle of the flap of skin that joins the inside of my lower lip to my lower gum and it hurts like buggery to do anything that involves moving it - including talking, singing, shaving, or - tragically - eating, which meant that dinner tonight was a nightmare, especially when the stalk of a lettuce leaf hit it directly, like a finger pressing a button, and I would have screamed, but for a combination of good table manners and the common sense to know that screaming would have hurt even more.
Yes, I am a wimp. I'm hypersensitive. Shut up and pity me.
It's a good thing nobody's trying to kiss me or I may end up crying during the kiss, and not in the whole romantic way.
The top lip - or what I'm going to refer to now as the safe bit of my mouth - is actually incredibly sensitive, and to lick the bit in the middle directly under the philtrum (on a girl, at least) produces a sensation of being licked over a lot of nerve endings, similar to being stimulated in that way via the clitoris (apparently). It doesn't work for everyone (on me, licking my top lip just tickles, but then again I'm ticklish practically everywhere), but I like to think of it as a good indication that what you want to be doing after the kiss is to lick said clitoris. This has never been an idea that hasn't gone down well. "Philtrum," after all, is Greek for "love potion", so there.
However, I think it highly unlikely that I'm going to subsist on top lip kisses forever, and that if I don't want to project a scream of mortal agony into cutieloveheartgirl's mouth next time we kiss I need to get rid of this ulcer - if, indeed, it is an ulcer. It may just be benign and what is hurting is actually my lower gum itself, which would be the sort of ironic thing that happens to me. But in any case, I am becoming a slave to oral hygiene.
I've never really slacked off oral hygiene. I know you're meant to brush your teeth at least twice a day and yes, I rarely ever manage this, but I do manage at least once a day, and when I feel I need it, I do get that chewing gum with the teeth-cleaning granules in it. I have and use a tongue scraper almost religiously, I love swilling mouthwash (although mostly because it looks like I am expectorating some sort of corrosive acid afterwards and can therefore I can pretend I'm a supervillain who has that as his power), I steal my sister's plaque disclosing tablets from time to time, and all in all, I love my mouth (even when it hurts). Why some of my teeth still appear slightly yellow is a mystery which plagues me. It's one of the things about my body I hate, like my stomach bulge, the fact that my thighs rub together as I walk and my moobs. But I digress.
Oral hygiene is important to me and thus I have bought a tube of gel. I've never used gel before, preferring instead to suck Rinstead pastilles. But this is desperate. Okay, so I don't have a fixed date for seeing cutieloveheartgirl again, and I'm sure I could still kiss without being in too much distress. I could probably deliver perfectly adequate oral sex too. But I wouldn't be at my best... and considering the fact that I don't have much else going for me, this is not acceptable!
So... gel it is, then. Brushing, disclosure, brushing, tongue scrape, mouthwash and gel. It sounds like a kink.
Cleaning my teeth is going to be interesting tonight.
However, when I am sexually aroused this week, the usual end result is me in quite a lot of pain around my lower jaw. There is a mouth ulcer directly in the middle of the flap of skin that joins the inside of my lower lip to my lower gum and it hurts like buggery to do anything that involves moving it - including talking, singing, shaving, or - tragically - eating, which meant that dinner tonight was a nightmare, especially when the stalk of a lettuce leaf hit it directly, like a finger pressing a button, and I would have screamed, but for a combination of good table manners and the common sense to know that screaming would have hurt even more.
Yes, I am a wimp. I'm hypersensitive. Shut up and pity me.
It's a good thing nobody's trying to kiss me or I may end up crying during the kiss, and not in the whole romantic way.
The top lip - or what I'm going to refer to now as the safe bit of my mouth - is actually incredibly sensitive, and to lick the bit in the middle directly under the philtrum (on a girl, at least) produces a sensation of being licked over a lot of nerve endings, similar to being stimulated in that way via the clitoris (apparently). It doesn't work for everyone (on me, licking my top lip just tickles, but then again I'm ticklish practically everywhere), but I like to think of it as a good indication that what you want to be doing after the kiss is to lick said clitoris. This has never been an idea that hasn't gone down well. "Philtrum," after all, is Greek for "love potion", so there.
However, I think it highly unlikely that I'm going to subsist on top lip kisses forever, and that if I don't want to project a scream of mortal agony into cutieloveheartgirl's mouth next time we kiss I need to get rid of this ulcer - if, indeed, it is an ulcer. It may just be benign and what is hurting is actually my lower gum itself, which would be the sort of ironic thing that happens to me. But in any case, I am becoming a slave to oral hygiene.
I've never really slacked off oral hygiene. I know you're meant to brush your teeth at least twice a day and yes, I rarely ever manage this, but I do manage at least once a day, and when I feel I need it, I do get that chewing gum with the teeth-cleaning granules in it. I have and use a tongue scraper almost religiously, I love swilling mouthwash (although mostly because it looks like I am expectorating some sort of corrosive acid afterwards and can therefore I can pretend I'm a supervillain who has that as his power), I steal my sister's plaque disclosing tablets from time to time, and all in all, I love my mouth (even when it hurts). Why some of my teeth still appear slightly yellow is a mystery which plagues me. It's one of the things about my body I hate, like my stomach bulge, the fact that my thighs rub together as I walk and my moobs. But I digress.
Oral hygiene is important to me and thus I have bought a tube of gel. I've never used gel before, preferring instead to suck Rinstead pastilles. But this is desperate. Okay, so I don't have a fixed date for seeing cutieloveheartgirl again, and I'm sure I could still kiss without being in too much distress. I could probably deliver perfectly adequate oral sex too. But I wouldn't be at my best... and considering the fact that I don't have much else going for me, this is not acceptable!
So... gel it is, then. Brushing, disclosure, brushing, tongue scrape, mouthwash and gel. It sounds like a kink.
Cleaning my teeth is going to be interesting tonight.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
TMI Tuesday: Decisions
These questions are quite ominous. Don't make me choose in complicated decisions! I'm just too opinionated for this sort of thing...
1. You encounter a good-looking, lost, and frantic tourist looking for the airport. You:
A) Shrug your shoulders, feigning ignorance.
B) Find the shortest route on your smartphone and get him/her a cab.
C) Direct him/her to the nearest bus stop.
D) Get your car, pick up his/her luggage and speed to the airport.
(This one isn't strictly true, as I don't have a car. But it's the sort of thing I would do. I found a lost old lady once and took her to the bus stop, got on the bus with her, and guided her all the way to her destination.)
2. You’re taking a vacation alone. Your destination:
A) Beach resort — I just want to relax and de-stress.
B) A group tour — I don’t want to worry about the details.
C) Wherever the dart lands on the map.
D) Every country with a hostel — my backpack is my home.
(This is a tie between A, C and D because I like to de-stress, although I'm not too keen on beaches, I like to be interesting and unusual with my holidays, and I like to travel! So yes, a tie!)
3. Blackout! You can’t watch TV, so you light some candles and:
A) Dig up some batteries and listen to the radio.
B) Invite the neighbours, light a fire and sing camping songs all night.
C) Find a friend and play games that don’t require electricity. . . Like chess.
D) Drive to the next town — oh sweet Wi-Fi, I’ve found you!
(Except not my neighbours. My friends. We are The Woodcraft Folk... Plus, I don't watch much TV anyway. It'd be my computer that's the problem.)
4. The man/woman of your dreams has finally proposed. The relationship is perfect, they are everything you’ve ever dreamed of and ever wanted. They are also a multi-millionaire and want you to sign a prenuptial agreement. Which would you do?
A) Sign it
B) Just not get married
(I'm adding my own option C to this - depends what the pre-nuptial agreement stipulates!)
5. If you were going to marry an inanimate object, what would you marry?
Probably a bass guitar. It's the sexiest musical instrument I can think of. And yes, my brain immediately listed musical instruments when it saw "inanimate objects". At least I didn't say a sex toy.
Bonus: You’ve just inherited a manufacturing plant that specializes in plastics. What are you going to make?
Action figures based on things from my youth that I think should have had action figures, but didn't. If anyone can give me a valid reason why there weren't Knightmare action figures I'll be very surprised.
1. You encounter a good-looking, lost, and frantic tourist looking for the airport. You:
A) Shrug your shoulders, feigning ignorance.
B) Find the shortest route on your smartphone and get him/her a cab.
C) Direct him/her to the nearest bus stop.
D) Get your car, pick up his/her luggage and speed to the airport.
(This one isn't strictly true, as I don't have a car. But it's the sort of thing I would do. I found a lost old lady once and took her to the bus stop, got on the bus with her, and guided her all the way to her destination.)
2. You’re taking a vacation alone. Your destination:
A) Beach resort — I just want to relax and de-stress.
B) A group tour — I don’t want to worry about the details.
C) Wherever the dart lands on the map.
D) Every country with a hostel — my backpack is my home.
(This is a tie between A, C and D because I like to de-stress, although I'm not too keen on beaches, I like to be interesting and unusual with my holidays, and I like to travel! So yes, a tie!)
3. Blackout! You can’t watch TV, so you light some candles and:
A) Dig up some batteries and listen to the radio.
B) Invite the neighbours, light a fire and sing camping songs all night.
C) Find a friend and play games that don’t require electricity. . . Like chess.
D) Drive to the next town — oh sweet Wi-Fi, I’ve found you!
(Except not my neighbours. My friends. We are The Woodcraft Folk... Plus, I don't watch much TV anyway. It'd be my computer that's the problem.)
4. The man/woman of your dreams has finally proposed. The relationship is perfect, they are everything you’ve ever dreamed of and ever wanted. They are also a multi-millionaire and want you to sign a prenuptial agreement. Which would you do?
A) Sign it
B) Just not get married
(I'm adding my own option C to this - depends what the pre-nuptial agreement stipulates!)
5. If you were going to marry an inanimate object, what would you marry?
Probably a bass guitar. It's the sexiest musical instrument I can think of. And yes, my brain immediately listed musical instruments when it saw "inanimate objects". At least I didn't say a sex toy.
Bonus: You’ve just inherited a manufacturing plant that specializes in plastics. What are you going to make?
Action figures based on things from my youth that I think should have had action figures, but didn't. If anyone can give me a valid reason why there weren't Knightmare action figures I'll be very surprised.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Captain's Blog
Avast behind, all ye saucy wenches and stallion beasts o' the sea! Hop upon me Cap'n's Log an' see why me roger is so jolly! Prepare yerselves to be boarded!
How be ye celebratin' this magical day of true cultural expression? Be ye singin' lustfully o' fish and booty while ye raise a glass o' grog? Be ye flyin' through the air as pirates do, droppin' swords on yer enemies? Or be ye playin' yer way through Donkey Kong Country 2, or even better, Monkey Island, revelling in the piratical glory o' it all? Or be ye merely watchin' that televisual feast, Pirates, shiverin' yer own timbers? Variety be the spice o' piratical life, after all, arrr!
Fer yers truly, today has been a day o' voluntarrrrry work - but there be a promise o' a trip ter the local waterin' hole this autumnal evenin', with many in tow, like Jolly Jack Robinson, the bounding Mane, an' the young sailor, maybe wi' man-lovin' lubber costumes intact! Who knows? It be an evenin' o' high adventure and good spirits, ter be sure! An' although me schemin' sister has me treasure, I be sure to keep an eye (patched or not) on her! I know fer sure she be owin' me £2! Ha-har!
Me lady has been tellin' me this evenin' that I be the best pirate she has ever known! Warms the barnacles of me heart, that does, an' deserves a fine comment to go wi' it. So here it be:
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!
How be ye celebratin' this magical day of true cultural expression? Be ye singin' lustfully o' fish and booty while ye raise a glass o' grog? Be ye flyin' through the air as pirates do, droppin' swords on yer enemies? Or be ye playin' yer way through Donkey Kong Country 2, or even better, Monkey Island, revelling in the piratical glory o' it all? Or be ye merely watchin' that televisual feast, Pirates, shiverin' yer own timbers? Variety be the spice o' piratical life, after all, arrr!
Fer yers truly, today has been a day o' voluntarrrrry work - but there be a promise o' a trip ter the local waterin' hole this autumnal evenin', with many in tow, like Jolly Jack Robinson, the bounding Mane, an' the young sailor, maybe wi' man-lovin' lubber costumes intact! Who knows? It be an evenin' o' high adventure and good spirits, ter be sure! An' although me schemin' sister has me treasure, I be sure to keep an eye (patched or not) on her! I know fer sure she be owin' me £2! Ha-har!
Me lady has been tellin' me this evenin' that I be the best pirate she has ever known! Warms the barnacles of me heart, that does, an' deserves a fine comment to go wi' it. So here it be:
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar!
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Rah!
I woke up this morning; everybody was a dinosaur
Every motherfucker in the world is a dinosaur
Dinosaur! Everybody give a roar!
Every motherfucker is a dinosaur
Today is, according to Blacksilk, "Pretend To Be A Dinosaur Day" - although why they put it two days before International Talk Like A Pirate Day I'm not sure, but nevertheless, it's still a pretty cool idea for a day. And, as you may have surmised from the fact that I haven't been posting for a while, I was elsewhere until today. I was, in fact, spending a few days with my girlfriend who, coincidentally, likes dinosaurs. They're even making a BBC documentary series SPECIFICALLY IN HER HONOUR. And although consisted mostly of my leaving, we did celebrate the day pre-emptively. How? We painted some ceramic Stegosaurus moneyboxes, that's how.
You know, obviously.
That is, however, pretty much all we did that didn't involve being in bed. I mean, we got out of bed, sure, but that generally centred around having meals or showers, or maybe procuring orange juice (but keep that a secret). The days have been pretty miserable, and in order to not get buffeted around by wind to an extreme degree, rained on torrentially, or frozen in the cruel North temperatures (it's very cold in the North!), all we could do was stay inside, and since we've only been a couple for a while, exploring each other's tendencies was perhaps the best idea. Well, second best. Stegosaurus moneyboxes were hard to beat.
I'm not sure how much I'm able to say. I mean, we've been together for a while and we've even had plenty of non-penetrative sex too, on holiday in Buckinghamshire. How much more do I say? Her blowjobs are fantastic; she is very keen and very good. Her hair is long and can be annoying, but it's very attractive and nice to stroke. I can bring her to orgasm by playing with her clit, sliding a finger inside her, or licking her briskly for a few seconds. I can also do that by licking her ear or kissing (although not biting) her shoulder. We had full sex this time as well, and although the shared orgasms were incredible, I think the main thing is that without even moving my hips, once I pressed my cock into her she was over the peak once, and would be so again if I just stayed where I was.
But for all the good that was, I think the main point of discovery with this girl is something I have experienced with her before, but failed to register exactly. She is very intimate. Even the smallest hug is very close - her bed is small, so whether we were trying to sleep, indulging in pre- or post-coital cuddling time or laughing our heads off at 2am about nothing in particular, there was a lot of shared warmth, body heat, skin on skin. She could wrap her whole body around me and think nothing of it. I could lie on her back - or she could lie on mine, pressing her boobs into the expanse of skin around my spine. And even in our least intimate moments - when waking up from sleep or merely discussing what to do - we were entwined within each other, a tangle of limbs, hair and hands holding whatever they could reach.
So that's what I've been doing this week. She is, after all, a lovely dinosaur.
Every motherfucker in the world is a dinosaur
Dinosaur! Everybody give a roar!
Every motherfucker is a dinosaur
Today is, according to Blacksilk, "Pretend To Be A Dinosaur Day" - although why they put it two days before International Talk Like A Pirate Day I'm not sure, but nevertheless, it's still a pretty cool idea for a day. And, as you may have surmised from the fact that I haven't been posting for a while, I was elsewhere until today. I was, in fact, spending a few days with my girlfriend who, coincidentally, likes dinosaurs. They're even making a BBC documentary series SPECIFICALLY IN HER HONOUR. And although consisted mostly of my leaving, we did celebrate the day pre-emptively. How? We painted some ceramic Stegosaurus moneyboxes, that's how.
You know, obviously.
That is, however, pretty much all we did that didn't involve being in bed. I mean, we got out of bed, sure, but that generally centred around having meals or showers, or maybe procuring orange juice (but keep that a secret). The days have been pretty miserable, and in order to not get buffeted around by wind to an extreme degree, rained on torrentially, or frozen in the cruel North temperatures (it's very cold in the North!), all we could do was stay inside, and since we've only been a couple for a while, exploring each other's tendencies was perhaps the best idea. Well, second best. Stegosaurus moneyboxes were hard to beat.
I'm not sure how much I'm able to say. I mean, we've been together for a while and we've even had plenty of non-penetrative sex too, on holiday in Buckinghamshire. How much more do I say? Her blowjobs are fantastic; she is very keen and very good. Her hair is long and can be annoying, but it's very attractive and nice to stroke. I can bring her to orgasm by playing with her clit, sliding a finger inside her, or licking her briskly for a few seconds. I can also do that by licking her ear or kissing (although not biting) her shoulder. We had full sex this time as well, and although the shared orgasms were incredible, I think the main thing is that without even moving my hips, once I pressed my cock into her she was over the peak once, and would be so again if I just stayed where I was.
But for all the good that was, I think the main point of discovery with this girl is something I have experienced with her before, but failed to register exactly. She is very intimate. Even the smallest hug is very close - her bed is small, so whether we were trying to sleep, indulging in pre- or post-coital cuddling time or laughing our heads off at 2am about nothing in particular, there was a lot of shared warmth, body heat, skin on skin. She could wrap her whole body around me and think nothing of it. I could lie on her back - or she could lie on mine, pressing her boobs into the expanse of skin around my spine. And even in our least intimate moments - when waking up from sleep or merely discussing what to do - we were entwined within each other, a tangle of limbs, hair and hands holding whatever they could reach.
So that's what I've been doing this week. She is, after all, a lovely dinosaur.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
TMI Tuesday: Dating
TMI Tuesday is about dating this week. This is difficult for me to do as, although I've been in three relationships, I haven't had many "dates" in the traditional sense characterised in the Point Romance books. I'm not even sure that's how it works. I don't quite get the concept of going on one date with someone. It seems a bit weird. But then again, how am I to know how it works? I'm rarely that successful. Anyway, here goes.
1. You’re on a speed date. You’ve got 7 minutes with the potential partner. You already know the person’s name. What are the first three questions you would ask?
- Do you like chikity china, the chinese chicken?
- Have you a drumstick and your brain stops ticking?
- It's all about value, isn't it really?
2. Have you ever participated in speed dating? Did you get a regular date/second date out of it?
No, I haven't done speed dating. My mother suggested I do so once, but I don't think she'd get a work in edgeways (the date, not my mother); I can talk for 7 minutes without realising I'm doing so.
3. Do you participate in online dating? How many dates have you had as a result of online dating sites/matches?
I've tried, but not through conventional means. I mean, I've tried conventional means too, but they don't actually make much of a difference, even though my sister is still convinced I meet people off match.com. I've never actually had a romantic date from any sort of dating website. I don't really think they work.
But in answer to your question, yes, I met all three on the internet.
4. You are attracted to:
a. Who people are?
b. What people have?
c. What they can do?
Why don't you phrase this in the form of a question? Anyway, all three.
5. What “little red flag” will cause you to end a date or immediately decide this person isn’t for you?
I'm not the sort of person who would do something like that.
6. What do you feel you need to sacrifice or have sacrificed to be a part of a relationship?
Oh, Lord. I've sacrificed all I can before. I don't plan to do so, of course, but I've ended up doing so because of the relationships I've been in. The worst thing was that I had to sacrifice some of my most deeply-held values because they didn't gel with the person I was with, particularly. I got less tolerant after a while and all I got for protesting was a telling-off. See, I can't win.
7. If you cooked for your date, what would you cook?
Depends what they like. I've cooked for girlfriends before, and it's been a range of things, but then again, I rarely get to, so when I do, it's usually something planned. Generally with pasta in it. I like pasta.
8. At the end of a first date, how would you kiss your date?
a. Press your lips against theirs
b. Gentle kiss on the cheek
c. Lots o’ tongue, like you’re on a tonsil exploration
d. I don’t kiss on the first date
It depends how well the date went, surely?
This is, of course, a guess, as - I've said before - I've never done the traditional date thing, really. Not really. I suppose on the only occasions I've had what you could term a date, they've ended with a full-on snog, but we'd probably have been doing that already anyway. I don't know. These questions... were they written for 14-year-old American girls? Because they "date", allegedly.
Bonus: You just put up a profile on a dating site. You must describe yourself in 10 words or less. What are your 10 words?
I've done this before. They are usually, "I am not interested in viewing girls on webcam sites," in huge bold capital letters. And yet they still try to scam me! What the fuck?
Anyway, if you need me, I'll be in the North for the next few days. Ta-rah!
*
1. You’re on a speed date. You’ve got 7 minutes with the potential partner. You already know the person’s name. What are the first three questions you would ask?
- Do you like chikity china, the chinese chicken?
- Have you a drumstick and your brain stops ticking?
- It's all about value, isn't it really?
2. Have you ever participated in speed dating? Did you get a regular date/second date out of it?
No, I haven't done speed dating. My mother suggested I do so once, but I don't think she'd get a work in edgeways (the date, not my mother); I can talk for 7 minutes without realising I'm doing so.
3. Do you participate in online dating? How many dates have you had as a result of online dating sites/matches?
I've tried, but not through conventional means. I mean, I've tried conventional means too, but they don't actually make much of a difference, even though my sister is still convinced I meet people off match.com. I've never actually had a romantic date from any sort of dating website. I don't really think they work.
But in answer to your question, yes, I met all three on the internet.
4. You are attracted to:
a. Who people are?
b. What people have?
c. What they can do?
Why don't you phrase this in the form of a question? Anyway, all three.
5. What “little red flag” will cause you to end a date or immediately decide this person isn’t for you?
I'm not the sort of person who would do something like that.
6. What do you feel you need to sacrifice or have sacrificed to be a part of a relationship?
Oh, Lord. I've sacrificed all I can before. I don't plan to do so, of course, but I've ended up doing so because of the relationships I've been in. The worst thing was that I had to sacrifice some of my most deeply-held values because they didn't gel with the person I was with, particularly. I got less tolerant after a while and all I got for protesting was a telling-off. See, I can't win.
7. If you cooked for your date, what would you cook?
Depends what they like. I've cooked for girlfriends before, and it's been a range of things, but then again, I rarely get to, so when I do, it's usually something planned. Generally with pasta in it. I like pasta.
8. At the end of a first date, how would you kiss your date?
a. Press your lips against theirs
b. Gentle kiss on the cheek
c. Lots o’ tongue, like you’re on a tonsil exploration
d. I don’t kiss on the first date
It depends how well the date went, surely?
This is, of course, a guess, as - I've said before - I've never done the traditional date thing, really. Not really. I suppose on the only occasions I've had what you could term a date, they've ended with a full-on snog, but we'd probably have been doing that already anyway. I don't know. These questions... were they written for 14-year-old American girls? Because they "date", allegedly.
Bonus: You just put up a profile on a dating site. You must describe yourself in 10 words or less. What are your 10 words?
I've done this before. They are usually, "I am not interested in viewing girls on webcam sites," in huge bold capital letters. And yet they still try to scam me! What the fuck?
*
Anyway, if you need me, I'll be in the North for the next few days. Ta-rah!
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Soft Porn Sunday: Pegg Landon & Paul Michael Robinson
The first in the Emmanuelle in Space sequence is a bit of an incongruous beast, when you consider what comes after it. For a start, although Emmanuelle is in the title, she doesn't actually have a lot of sex in this episode, and for two instances of such (it seems a lot, but consider the amount of sex scenes in these films... 9 in this one alone), she is in disguise, so Krista Allen only appears in two. And for another, it sets up the plot nicely, but doesn't appear to have much relevance to the remaining six storylines. It's not a total non-sequitur, because it's a set-up... but it does mostly consist of Haffron having sex. Not that I complain, of course.
Appearance: Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy, aka First Contact (1994)
Characters: Louise & Haffron
First of all, I don't like the title First Contact. It's too cheesy even for soft porn, and when I first watched this (how old was I? 14ish?), it was introduced as Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy. The DVD's even labelled as such. I don't know how First Contact came into being. Not that I care much, either.
This scene is the last of three sex scenes to happen on a riverboat presumably going down the Nile. There's a very limp explanation for this: Emmanuelle has been abducted by aliens at a very inconvenient point: she is about to take a totally unexplained cruise in Egypt. Haffron decides to come with her, although how he can do this without having any form of ticket is unexplained (the Doctor would have used some psychic paper), and during the boat ride - you can tell it's a boat ride because there are occasional shots, from afar, of a boat - he sleeps with three women, one of whom is Emmanuelle in disguise. This is not Emmanuelle.
Say hi to Louise. She introduces herself briefly and jumps into bed with Haffron after an incredibly quick conversation (causing the barman, played by John Huey, to throw his list of pick-up lines away in a wonderful piece of bit part acting), thus begins the scene.
Whoever Haffron's having sex with in these scenes, they are all quite formulaic. There are brief cuts to bits of a boat (you do expect to hear this song after a while), more brief cuts to shots of Haffron's crew on their motherfucking spaceship (with the inane computer voice saying things like, "intuitive reasoning down thirteen per cent... mathematical reasoning down twenty-five per cent..."), often looking confused, music that sounds vaguely Egyptian in places and entirely naked Haffron. But strangely enough, in spite of this (or maybe even because you know what's coming), these scenes are all pretty good. I'll say this last one with Louise is the best, though.
The reason I quite like this scene has to be the position. Haffron spends most of this time standing up, while Louise is lying on her back with her legs open. In real life, of course, this results in deep, intense sex. I know this is soft porn, so it's not happening, but as we all know by now, Paul Michael Robinson is very adept at making you think it is, and Pegg Landon, as well as being a very attractive lady, does quite a lot with her face (which quite compensates for her not having that much to do otherwise). Haffron's movement is quite mechanic - hip thrusts - but Louise is moving quite fluidly in response to him, which actually makes for a good motion that complements the scene well.
As I've mentioned before, the music really isn't great. It's not well-thought-out and it could be presented better. But if it's not an integral part of the scene, at the very least it's unobtrusive, which helps a lot. And the soft moans here (which mostly come from Louise, it seems) are nicely timed with the thrusts. So it all fits together nicely.
The problem I have with this scene is its second half. They switch to the reverse cowgirl position after a while and, although the switch is somewhat seamless, the scene is a lot less "involved" this way. The position was working fine initially; why change it, especially when some of the best scenes only use one position? Maybe it's an easier position to do the fall back which seems to have to happen during every damn scene in this film.
Still, that's a minor gripe. It's a good scene. Not the best in this series - not even the best in this film, perhaps - but definitely the best of the "Egypt Boat Collection", and worth watching if you happen to own or be seeing a copy of this film. It should just be longer, more intense, and have more of that great first position in it.
Oh, and Haffron... grow a love trail. I know you're an alien, but at least try to look a bit human, will you?
Appearance: Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy, aka First Contact (1994)
Characters: Louise & Haffron
First of all, I don't like the title First Contact. It's too cheesy even for soft porn, and when I first watched this (how old was I? 14ish?), it was introduced as Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy. The DVD's even labelled as such. I don't know how First Contact came into being. Not that I care much, either.
This scene is the last of three sex scenes to happen on a riverboat presumably going down the Nile. There's a very limp explanation for this: Emmanuelle has been abducted by aliens at a very inconvenient point: she is about to take a totally unexplained cruise in Egypt. Haffron decides to come with her, although how he can do this without having any form of ticket is unexplained (the Doctor would have used some psychic paper), and during the boat ride - you can tell it's a boat ride because there are occasional shots, from afar, of a boat - he sleeps with three women, one of whom is Emmanuelle in disguise. This is not Emmanuelle.
Say hi to Louise. She introduces herself briefly and jumps into bed with Haffron after an incredibly quick conversation (causing the barman, played by John Huey, to throw his list of pick-up lines away in a wonderful piece of bit part acting), thus begins the scene.
Whoever Haffron's having sex with in these scenes, they are all quite formulaic. There are brief cuts to bits of a boat (you do expect to hear this song after a while), more brief cuts to shots of Haffron's crew on their motherfucking spaceship (with the inane computer voice saying things like, "intuitive reasoning down thirteen per cent... mathematical reasoning down twenty-five per cent..."), often looking confused, music that sounds vaguely Egyptian in places and entirely naked Haffron. But strangely enough, in spite of this (or maybe even because you know what's coming), these scenes are all pretty good. I'll say this last one with Louise is the best, though.
The reason I quite like this scene has to be the position. Haffron spends most of this time standing up, while Louise is lying on her back with her legs open. In real life, of course, this results in deep, intense sex. I know this is soft porn, so it's not happening, but as we all know by now, Paul Michael Robinson is very adept at making you think it is, and Pegg Landon, as well as being a very attractive lady, does quite a lot with her face (which quite compensates for her not having that much to do otherwise). Haffron's movement is quite mechanic - hip thrusts - but Louise is moving quite fluidly in response to him, which actually makes for a good motion that complements the scene well.As I've mentioned before, the music really isn't great. It's not well-thought-out and it could be presented better. But if it's not an integral part of the scene, at the very least it's unobtrusive, which helps a lot. And the soft moans here (which mostly come from Louise, it seems) are nicely timed with the thrusts. So it all fits together nicely.
The problem I have with this scene is its second half. They switch to the reverse cowgirl position after a while and, although the switch is somewhat seamless, the scene is a lot less "involved" this way. The position was working fine initially; why change it, especially when some of the best scenes only use one position? Maybe it's an easier position to do the fall back which seems to have to happen during every damn scene in this film.
Still, that's a minor gripe. It's a good scene. Not the best in this series - not even the best in this film, perhaps - but definitely the best of the "Egypt Boat Collection", and worth watching if you happen to own or be seeing a copy of this film. It should just be longer, more intense, and have more of that great first position in it.
Oh, and Haffron... grow a love trail. I know you're an alien, but at least try to look a bit human, will you?
Friday, September 9, 2011
Sharing a word...
"What would you to do me?"
That one question - a statement not exactly made in innocence, but open to interpretation any way you want - started me off. It sounds almost like an invitation, a dangerous substance to play with - what would I do to her? Where do I start? With a lyric - do with me what you want, but don't tell a soul? With a question of my own? Or with an action? I fell back on words, spurned on by my own imagination.
I spun words. I talked of sucking nipples, kissing the stomach, titillating the clitoris and licking the labia. I spoke of the ecstasy of penetration, the feeling of the penis entering her, and of her hands placing themselves on my back. I left a question hanging in the air in the knowledge that she was enjoying the words I was tapping out. She orgasmed, in my absence. She slid downstairs for food. I sat and waited.
My erection was present. I had turned myself on. A mark of good prose? Perhaps. Maybe it was my own words, maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was a combination of the two.Whatever the reason, I had turned myself on. MSN blinked at me to remind me that she was not there. I had nobody to concentrate my affections on but myself. And so I did. I took myself back into my imagination. I read and re-read the words with which I had indulged the girl from 200 miles away. And by the time she returned I was ready to finish. A few lines of conversation followed - we talked of shared orgasms, licking, and how turned on I was. And I brought myself to my own orgasm through that.
A shower followed. I got myself wet, scrubbed, clean and then dry. I needed it, that moment of refreshment during which I reflect. I always reflect. Another lyric came to me, from the same song. One that didn't need an answer - how was it for you? A rhetorical lyric, perhaps. I returned to the computer. She was there... waiting for me. I dried my hair (yes, I use a hairdryer!), and re-entered the conversation. We talked of Wikipedia, Coronation Street, chocolate biscuits and Aldi. I said, "your life has me in it." She said:
"I want you in me!"
My stomach flipped. My penis began to harden up once more. I began to confirm my suspicions... that there would be more orgasms shared between us tonight.
That one question - a statement not exactly made in innocence, but open to interpretation any way you want - started me off. It sounds almost like an invitation, a dangerous substance to play with - what would I do to her? Where do I start? With a lyric - do with me what you want, but don't tell a soul? With a question of my own? Or with an action? I fell back on words, spurned on by my own imagination.
I spun words. I talked of sucking nipples, kissing the stomach, titillating the clitoris and licking the labia. I spoke of the ecstasy of penetration, the feeling of the penis entering her, and of her hands placing themselves on my back. I left a question hanging in the air in the knowledge that she was enjoying the words I was tapping out. She orgasmed, in my absence. She slid downstairs for food. I sat and waited.
My erection was present. I had turned myself on. A mark of good prose? Perhaps. Maybe it was my own words, maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was a combination of the two.Whatever the reason, I had turned myself on. MSN blinked at me to remind me that she was not there. I had nobody to concentrate my affections on but myself. And so I did. I took myself back into my imagination. I read and re-read the words with which I had indulged the girl from 200 miles away. And by the time she returned I was ready to finish. A few lines of conversation followed - we talked of shared orgasms, licking, and how turned on I was. And I brought myself to my own orgasm through that.
A shower followed. I got myself wet, scrubbed, clean and then dry. I needed it, that moment of refreshment during which I reflect. I always reflect. Another lyric came to me, from the same song. One that didn't need an answer - how was it for you? A rhetorical lyric, perhaps. I returned to the computer. She was there... waiting for me. I dried my hair (yes, I use a hairdryer!), and re-entered the conversation. We talked of Wikipedia, Coronation Street, chocolate biscuits and Aldi. I said, "your life has me in it." She said:
"I want you in me!"
My stomach flipped. My penis began to harden up once more. I began to confirm my suspicions... that there would be more orgasms shared between us tonight.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
VILF
Struggling to think of anything sexy to write about, I was just about to make some tea to activate my brain, when three sharp knocks on the front door piqued my curiosity. I hurried to open it, to see framed in the door four people I'd forgotten about temporarily: Robinson, Mane, his gay sailor brother, and looking casual and hanging back a bit, the young raver. They practically dragged me out of the door.
"Give me something sexy to write about," I commanded Mane as we entered the pub. "And don't say sex. Just think of something sexy."
"How about a Japanese girl drummer who looks down?" proffered Mane, leaving me to marvel at how he had recalled a list of things I found sexy from about five years ago. He didn't give me any other ideas, but he did question me about a picture of a towel which appeared to be covered in a red liquid, which I had, of course, casually deposited on Facebook. They all seemed to think it was virgin blood, but I reassured them that I wasn't taking part in any Satanic ritual. And despite having been bitten on the neck, I'm still not a vampire. I did, of course, spin a story involving washing strawberries, but they didn't buy that one. I don't blame them. We all know deep down that it's the blood of my mortal enemy, who I have, eventually, defeated.
"So are you now no longer a MILF virgin?" Robinson asked casually over a pint. I barely had time to ready an answer before I realised he wasn't actually talking to me. I am neither a MILF nor a virgin, so I shouldn't have been so on edge. Maybe it was all this talk of strawberry juice on towels.
"I wasn't one anyway," said the young raver, "but if I was, I would be now."
I, of course, hadn't heard about this. But it didn't take me long to find out that our young raver had been sleeping with a girl of 21, who has a daughter of five years. Were it anyone but him, I'd be slightly worried.
"Besides," said Robinson, "you were only half a MILF virgin beforehand anyway."
"I wasn't in any way a MILF virgin!" protested the young raver.
"It doesn't count if it's your own child," interjected Mane.
"Yes yes, very funny," said the young raver.
"It doesn't count if you pay for it either!"
There was a very pregnant pause.
"€30 for 45 minutes," said the young raver, finally. "That's not such a bad deal, when you think about it."
Everyone went a bit silent.
"It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience," he pressed on earnestly.
"Not for her, it isn't!" burst out Mane, at which everyone dissolved into welcome laughter, any tension having dissipated.
And it got the conversation away from whatever may have been on the towel, at least.
"Give me something sexy to write about," I commanded Mane as we entered the pub. "And don't say sex. Just think of something sexy."
"How about a Japanese girl drummer who looks down?" proffered Mane, leaving me to marvel at how he had recalled a list of things I found sexy from about five years ago. He didn't give me any other ideas, but he did question me about a picture of a towel which appeared to be covered in a red liquid, which I had, of course, casually deposited on Facebook. They all seemed to think it was virgin blood, but I reassured them that I wasn't taking part in any Satanic ritual. And despite having been bitten on the neck, I'm still not a vampire. I did, of course, spin a story involving washing strawberries, but they didn't buy that one. I don't blame them. We all know deep down that it's the blood of my mortal enemy, who I have, eventually, defeated.
"So are you now no longer a MILF virgin?" Robinson asked casually over a pint. I barely had time to ready an answer before I realised he wasn't actually talking to me. I am neither a MILF nor a virgin, so I shouldn't have been so on edge. Maybe it was all this talk of strawberry juice on towels.
"I wasn't one anyway," said the young raver, "but if I was, I would be now."
I, of course, hadn't heard about this. But it didn't take me long to find out that our young raver had been sleeping with a girl of 21, who has a daughter of five years. Were it anyone but him, I'd be slightly worried.
"Besides," said Robinson, "you were only half a MILF virgin beforehand anyway."
"I wasn't in any way a MILF virgin!" protested the young raver.
"It doesn't count if it's your own child," interjected Mane.
"Yes yes, very funny," said the young raver.
"It doesn't count if you pay for it either!"
There was a very pregnant pause.
"€30 for 45 minutes," said the young raver, finally. "That's not such a bad deal, when you think about it."
Everyone went a bit silent.
"It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience," he pressed on earnestly.
"Not for her, it isn't!" burst out Mane, at which everyone dissolved into welcome laughter, any tension having dissipated.
And it got the conversation away from whatever may have been on the towel, at least.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Totally pure, right?
It's been a while since I took TheFerrett's purity test. Out of curiosity (and through trying to distract myself creatively from the very real possibility that I may be going to stay in cutieloveheartgirl's actual house next week), I idly Googled it, and found that not only is it still extant, there's a version two. So, er, here it is.
Oh, and for clarification, because I too was confused by this - the lower your percentage, the more along the scale you are. A low result means you have ticked more boxes.
Oh, and for clarification, because I too was confused by this - the lower your percentage, the more along the scale you are. A low result means you have ticked more boxes.
| Your Ultimate Purity Test 2.0 Score Is... | ||||
| Your Score: | Average For All: | |||
| Dating | 26.92% | 34.58% | Dated seriously | |
| Self-Lovin' | 63.64% | 60.67% | Master of your domain | |
| Shamelessness | 80.65% | 77.3% | Has yet to see self in mirror | |
| Sex Drive | 78.57% | 75.04% | Monks are envious | |
| Straightness | 9.26% | 39.44% | Knows the other body type like a map | |
| Gayness | 94.44% | 77.52% | Repressed, are we? | |
| Dominant | 85% | 86.45% | Afraid to cross at "Don't Walk" signs | |
| Submissive | 92.06% | 86.7% | Submits to no one... almost | |
| Fucking Sick | 91.84% | 89.69% | Refreshingly normal | |
Total Score | 73.76% | 73.58% | ||
Can't argue with that, I suppose.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Glad to be straight?
If I say "I'm comfortable with my sexuality," will people think I'm gay?
Okay, that's a really odd question to ask. Sexual orientation is always a thorny issue as everyone throws up the arguments of how to define and whether definition is even necessary - with the generally accepted convention that everyone is on some sort of spectrum somewhere, or that you fancy who you fancy irrelevant of gender or whatever, but a lot of people still make the broad distinctions, gay, straight, bi or asexual. While this can cause problems, if you have to label, you have to label.
A friend of mine who suddenly decided he was bisexual (although I don't think it's something you decide; maybe he was trying to be interesting) introduced himself to Knightmare Winner with the phrase, "hello, I'm Drew, I'm bisexual." He kept repeating the phrase throughout the following week. I eventually said to him, "hello yourself, I'm ILB, I'm straight." It has just as much value as a phrase, in my book.
I am straight. That's no surprise. I am attracted to people of the opposite gender. I've never been attracted to anyone of the same gender - I'm sure the potential is there, but it's never happened and I don't suppose it will, not when I have a particular weakness for pretty ladies. And I can say with certainly that I am very comfortable with my sexuality.
But some people don't think I have a right to say that. Some people think it's a gay phrase. I was once discussing a friend with Rebecca, and I said of this friend that she was in touch with her sexuality. "What, is she gay?" quipped Rebecca. Why make that assumption, girl?! (She wasn't gay, by the way. Turns out that Rebecca, in fact, was struggling with her own sexuality - still, it's a worrying sign that that's the conclusion she leapt to). It's sad, really. To think that being anything other than straight is something you have to deal with - something you have to achieve comfort with through time and/or effort.
Well, gosh. I'm glad I'm so normal. I'm so glad that I'm one of the few people from the CCK crowd who aren't in the least interested in BiCon. I'm really pleased that the majority of the Knightmare community is bi, and that I'm a curiosity because I'm not. I'm totally happy with the fact that Woodcraft used to have a rainbow support network for people who aren't like me. I'm totally happy with the fact that because I'm the least threatening boy in existence, people naturally assume I'm gay and then it's funny when they find out I'm straight! What fun it is to be me.
But I'm comfortable with my sexuality. I am perfectly within my rights to use that phrase... because, frankly, it's the truth. I am a straight boy. I hope you can all accept me for that, and acknowledge that I am what I am.
I hope this doesn't change anything between us.
Okay, that's a really odd question to ask. Sexual orientation is always a thorny issue as everyone throws up the arguments of how to define and whether definition is even necessary - with the generally accepted convention that everyone is on some sort of spectrum somewhere, or that you fancy who you fancy irrelevant of gender or whatever, but a lot of people still make the broad distinctions, gay, straight, bi or asexual. While this can cause problems, if you have to label, you have to label.
A friend of mine who suddenly decided he was bisexual (although I don't think it's something you decide; maybe he was trying to be interesting) introduced himself to Knightmare Winner with the phrase, "hello, I'm Drew, I'm bisexual." He kept repeating the phrase throughout the following week. I eventually said to him, "hello yourself, I'm ILB, I'm straight." It has just as much value as a phrase, in my book.
I am straight. That's no surprise. I am attracted to people of the opposite gender. I've never been attracted to anyone of the same gender - I'm sure the potential is there, but it's never happened and I don't suppose it will, not when I have a particular weakness for pretty ladies. And I can say with certainly that I am very comfortable with my sexuality.
But some people don't think I have a right to say that. Some people think it's a gay phrase. I was once discussing a friend with Rebecca, and I said of this friend that she was in touch with her sexuality. "What, is she gay?" quipped Rebecca. Why make that assumption, girl?! (She wasn't gay, by the way. Turns out that Rebecca, in fact, was struggling with her own sexuality - still, it's a worrying sign that that's the conclusion she leapt to). It's sad, really. To think that being anything other than straight is something you have to deal with - something you have to achieve comfort with through time and/or effort.
Well, gosh. I'm glad I'm so normal. I'm so glad that I'm one of the few people from the CCK crowd who aren't in the least interested in BiCon. I'm really pleased that the majority of the Knightmare community is bi, and that I'm a curiosity because I'm not. I'm totally happy with the fact that Woodcraft used to have a rainbow support network for people who aren't like me. I'm totally happy with the fact that because I'm the least threatening boy in existence, people naturally assume I'm gay and then it's funny when they find out I'm straight! What fun it is to be me.
But I'm comfortable with my sexuality. I am perfectly within my rights to use that phrase... because, frankly, it's the truth. I am a straight boy. I hope you can all accept me for that, and acknowledge that I am what I am.
I hope this doesn't change anything between us.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
TMI Wednesday: Music!
Hooray, I'm almost two days late for doing this TMI Tuesday! I'm sorry, but it's about music. I couldn't resist for much longer!
The lesson learned, I think, is that you should never ask the following questions to a wannabe musician. They don't hold up well under the onslaught of walls of text.
1. What’s the most annoying song in the world?
Oh, there are loads. I think the Crazy Frog version of Popcorn is a good contender. I thought it wouldn't get any worse after he did that version of Axel F, but he managed to do it somehow. Because I Got High by Afroman is also somewhat shit.
But the absolute winner is the proposed theme tune for the revised series 9 of Knightmare, which never got made. For the uninitiated, Knightmare is a dark fantasy set in a gloomy dungeon world. The theme tune was some comedy MIDI organ music which sounded like someone had made love to a carousel with a vocoder screaming "Knightmare, it's a Knightmare" over it. I wonder if they put that in as a joke.
2. What’s the saddest song in the world?
Pure Shores by All Saints. It always makes me cry and it's not even all that sad. Nor is it at all memorable. But then again, I cry at most things.
3. What’s the sexiest song in the world?
It depends what you class as sexy. There are certainly a lot of songs about sex. Take My Neck, My Back by Khia. That's about sex, but it's nauseating, rather than sexy.
I'm tempted to name one of my songs here, but all the songs about sex I write are funny ones, and hardly really meant to be provocative. I think the thing about a sexy song is the way it's performed, rather than the way it's done. So I name here Hips Don't Lie... for obvious reasons.
5. Have you met any famous musicians?
All of James! And one ex-member of... er... James! I'm sure there must be others, but I can't remember them.
6. What song best describes your life?
Sing! from A Chorus Line, because I can't sing...
I Like by The Divine Comedy, because it describes the way I love...
Holiday In My Head by Smash Mouth, because I retreat into my head a lot...
Blue Pastures by James, because I get depressed sometimes...
...and any of the songs I've written about various aspects of my life, like the one about parking in St Ives, being bored on Sunday nights, playing hentai games or making love on the bathroom floor.
7. How important is your partner’s taste in music to you?
My "partner" (how quaint!) would have to have a good taste in music. It doesn't have to be the same as mine, but it has to be good. Fortunately, all three girlfriends have had good tastes in music, with the possible exception of Rebecca, who liked Sum41.
8. Do you sing in the shower?
What else is a shower for?!
9. What was the last live music show you attended? Did you buy a t-shirt?
Goldie Lookin' Chain in Camden in March. It was really funny but quite painful from all the moshing. They are a great band though, one of the most hilarious and clever with their lyrics. There weren't any T-shirts for sale, though.
10. What’s the sweetest song in the world?
Upside, by... James. Find it, give it a listen and then tell me you've heard anything sweeter. (My version of Friday doesn't count. It's me that's sweet, not the song!)
11. Can you play a musical instrument? Which one?
Vocal. Guitar. Violin. Drums. Bass. Xylophone. Ocarina.Timpani. I can also play all types of percussion untuned and I wrote a song on the glockenspiel the other day, even though I haven't touched a glockenspiel for years. I also once played a song on the ukulele, although I can't actually play the ukulele. But I managed to play Sit Down, by... er... James!
12. Are you in a band or are you a performing solo music artist? If yes, what kind of music do you play?
Both.
I used to be in a band that I started because I wanted to be in a band. We played basically offbeat indie rock, which was quite fun. This band never actually officially ended, but we went on hiatus earlier this year because basically we all had other things to work on. I missed being in a band for a while until 47 asked me to play guitar in his band. I've been in his band before, as backing vocalist/dancer/percussionist, but he's reanimated it and I'm now the guitarist. Odd how these things happen. This is more indie rock, but with more of a prog influence to it. It's also harder, in terms of the sound and the difficulty to play!
My solo stuff has changed radically. I used to be doing things that I didn't do in the band, like funk, experimental synthpop, electronica and classical composition! But over time, I basically realised that my strength lay in writing lyrics, and I eventually went back to writing more traditional songs. People started laughing during gigs and eventually 47 told me I should be a comedian. So I said something like, "yeah, okay." And now my songs are played for humour. Strange, but cool.
13. Have you ever dated a musician?
Nope. Rebecca wanted to be a singer, but to be honest she wasn't all that good. TD could sing beautifully, but she lacked confidence. She also allegedly had grade 8 piano and violin, but I never saw her play anything. Again I think she lacked confidence. You can hear her singing in one of my songs, though. cutieloveheartgirl, however, has won prizes for her singing, so I think she's the closest to a successful musician! Brava!
14. Are you a groupie?
Depends what you class as a groupie. I don't travel with a specific band, so no, I'm not a groupie. I know snowdrop is a James groupie, kind of. They know who she is, at least, although they know me only by sight. And she goes to their after-show parties and stuff. I don't, bah!
Closest I've ever been is official photographer/videographer for a touring Glaswegian band, because I know their drummer. I turned up to their one and only London gig so far and he asked me to film them, so I did. And I got in for free because of that! Amazing!
Bonus: Describe your worst, best, strangest, funniest or saddest concert moment.
James, Hoxton, May 2007.
ILB: "When's the album out?"
Tim: "What?"
ILB: "When's the album out?"
Tim: "Oh, we're going to go into the studio in September, and the album'll be out sometime next year."
47: "That's too long!"
Saul: "Yeah, of course it's too long. It'll be about sixty-five minutes! And you'll all be, like, why didn't they make nine tracks? There are nine great tracks there, why'd they have to do fourteen?"
Tim: "Brian Eno used to have this saying, like, MAKE LESS MUSIC. He used to go around with a badge on saying MAKE LESS MUSIC."
Saul: "And you're all thinking the same thing tonight... make less music."
[He starts playing "Getting Away With It (All Messed Up)". Dave joins in, followed by Andy. The audience clap along.]
Larry: "Oh, don't clap, you'll only make him worse!"
Tim: "You've confused him how, he's fuckin' completely lost his time!"
The amazing thing is the fact that this wasn't a false start - they built up and went straight into the song. If you want the MP3, ask me. 47 bootlegged it.
Bonus, Bonus: If you listen to the radio, what station and type of music are you tuned to the most?
BBC 6 Music. It's good background music to anything.
The lesson learned, I think, is that you should never ask the following questions to a wannabe musician. They don't hold up well under the onslaught of walls of text.
1. What’s the most annoying song in the world?
Oh, there are loads. I think the Crazy Frog version of Popcorn is a good contender. I thought it wouldn't get any worse after he did that version of Axel F, but he managed to do it somehow. Because I Got High by Afroman is also somewhat shit.
But the absolute winner is the proposed theme tune for the revised series 9 of Knightmare, which never got made. For the uninitiated, Knightmare is a dark fantasy set in a gloomy dungeon world. The theme tune was some comedy MIDI organ music which sounded like someone had made love to a carousel with a vocoder screaming "Knightmare, it's a Knightmare" over it. I wonder if they put that in as a joke.
2. What’s the saddest song in the world?
Pure Shores by All Saints. It always makes me cry and it's not even all that sad. Nor is it at all memorable. But then again, I cry at most things.
3. What’s the sexiest song in the world?
It depends what you class as sexy. There are certainly a lot of songs about sex. Take My Neck, My Back by Khia. That's about sex, but it's nauseating, rather than sexy.
I'm tempted to name one of my songs here, but all the songs about sex I write are funny ones, and hardly really meant to be provocative. I think the thing about a sexy song is the way it's performed, rather than the way it's done. So I name here Hips Don't Lie... for obvious reasons.
5. Have you met any famous musicians?
All of James! And one ex-member of... er... James! I'm sure there must be others, but I can't remember them.
6. What song best describes your life?
Sing! from A Chorus Line, because I can't sing...
I Like by The Divine Comedy, because it describes the way I love...
Holiday In My Head by Smash Mouth, because I retreat into my head a lot...
Blue Pastures by James, because I get depressed sometimes...
...and any of the songs I've written about various aspects of my life, like the one about parking in St Ives, being bored on Sunday nights, playing hentai games or making love on the bathroom floor.
7. How important is your partner’s taste in music to you?
My "partner" (how quaint!) would have to have a good taste in music. It doesn't have to be the same as mine, but it has to be good. Fortunately, all three girlfriends have had good tastes in music, with the possible exception of Rebecca, who liked Sum41.
8. Do you sing in the shower?
What else is a shower for?!
9. What was the last live music show you attended? Did you buy a t-shirt?
Goldie Lookin' Chain in Camden in March. It was really funny but quite painful from all the moshing. They are a great band though, one of the most hilarious and clever with their lyrics. There weren't any T-shirts for sale, though.
10. What’s the sweetest song in the world?
Upside, by... James. Find it, give it a listen and then tell me you've heard anything sweeter. (My version of Friday doesn't count. It's me that's sweet, not the song!)
11. Can you play a musical instrument? Which one?
Vocal. Guitar. Violin. Drums. Bass. Xylophone. Ocarina.Timpani. I can also play all types of percussion untuned and I wrote a song on the glockenspiel the other day, even though I haven't touched a glockenspiel for years. I also once played a song on the ukulele, although I can't actually play the ukulele. But I managed to play Sit Down, by... er... James!
12. Are you in a band or are you a performing solo music artist? If yes, what kind of music do you play?
Both.
I used to be in a band that I started because I wanted to be in a band. We played basically offbeat indie rock, which was quite fun. This band never actually officially ended, but we went on hiatus earlier this year because basically we all had other things to work on. I missed being in a band for a while until 47 asked me to play guitar in his band. I've been in his band before, as backing vocalist/dancer/percussionist, but he's reanimated it and I'm now the guitarist. Odd how these things happen. This is more indie rock, but with more of a prog influence to it. It's also harder, in terms of the sound and the difficulty to play!
My solo stuff has changed radically. I used to be doing things that I didn't do in the band, like funk, experimental synthpop, electronica and classical composition! But over time, I basically realised that my strength lay in writing lyrics, and I eventually went back to writing more traditional songs. People started laughing during gigs and eventually 47 told me I should be a comedian. So I said something like, "yeah, okay." And now my songs are played for humour. Strange, but cool.
13. Have you ever dated a musician?
Nope. Rebecca wanted to be a singer, but to be honest she wasn't all that good. TD could sing beautifully, but she lacked confidence. She also allegedly had grade 8 piano and violin, but I never saw her play anything. Again I think she lacked confidence. You can hear her singing in one of my songs, though. cutieloveheartgirl, however, has won prizes for her singing, so I think she's the closest to a successful musician! Brava!
14. Are you a groupie?
Depends what you class as a groupie. I don't travel with a specific band, so no, I'm not a groupie. I know snowdrop is a James groupie, kind of. They know who she is, at least, although they know me only by sight. And she goes to their after-show parties and stuff. I don't, bah!
Closest I've ever been is official photographer/videographer for a touring Glaswegian band, because I know their drummer. I turned up to their one and only London gig so far and he asked me to film them, so I did. And I got in for free because of that! Amazing!
Bonus: Describe your worst, best, strangest, funniest or saddest concert moment.
James, Hoxton, May 2007.
ILB: "When's the album out?"
Tim: "What?"
ILB: "When's the album out?"
Tim: "Oh, we're going to go into the studio in September, and the album'll be out sometime next year."
47: "That's too long!"
Saul: "Yeah, of course it's too long. It'll be about sixty-five minutes! And you'll all be, like, why didn't they make nine tracks? There are nine great tracks there, why'd they have to do fourteen?"
Tim: "Brian Eno used to have this saying, like, MAKE LESS MUSIC. He used to go around with a badge on saying MAKE LESS MUSIC."
Saul: "And you're all thinking the same thing tonight... make less music."
[He starts playing "Getting Away With It (All Messed Up)". Dave joins in, followed by Andy. The audience clap along.]
Larry: "Oh, don't clap, you'll only make him worse!"
Tim: "You've confused him how, he's fuckin' completely lost his time!"
The amazing thing is the fact that this wasn't a false start - they built up and went straight into the song. If you want the MP3, ask me. 47 bootlegged it.
Bonus, Bonus: If you listen to the radio, what station and type of music are you tuned to the most?
BBC 6 Music. It's good background music to anything.
Monday, August 29, 2011
On transferable media devices
Or: "The Epic Battle of CD and DVD Drives, Part 3: Return Of The King"
I tried out my new drive today. Okay, fair enough, I got it in the post somewhere between holidays two and three, but apart from a really quick test of whatever DVD I had lying to hand (Wallace and Gromit, I think?), I hadn't really had either the chance of inclination to test the drive for what I would usually use it for - although I managed to have a full conversation with @JillyBoyd about soft porn without thinking of watching any, I was determined to not masturbate for three days before my holiday OMGZ SCANDAL - before today, whereupon I decided to try it out.
Quick history of this debacle: I broke my external CD/DVD drive with hard porn. My new netbook doesn't have an internal drive, and my old laptop doesn't appear to be able to ingest discs any more without leaving a sticky goop on them. I scavenged an old DVD player from the attic, watched soft porn on it once, used my mother's laptop illicitly for other reviews, and ordered a new drive from Amazon. This turned up, it didn't work. I sent it back and waited all of holiday one for any form of confirmation, which I didn't get. Eventually I got a refund, ordered another one, and now it is plugged in. Ta-dah! Easy.
The good news is that it plays DVDs. Hey, it also plays audio CDs as well. The bad news, however, is that - unlike the drive I had that is exactly the same model and make, it doesn't appear to be recognising anything home-made. This doesn't bother me insofar as how it relates to the DVD of the little film my cousins and I made last Christmas. It does, however, bother me that it still managed to render 20 CDRs of soft porn absolutely useless, still. Little square bastard.
So.
I got home from my long walk today to find the house vacant. I knew it was vacant this time without having to ask the cat. (It's irrelevant, really, but I tried a new tactic: shouting "IS ANYBODY THERE?" at the top of my voice. It works just as effectively.) I texted my mother to find out where she was and when she'd be back, by I had already put one of my soft porn CDRs into her laptop, which she had foolishly left turned on, and on the kitchen table. A 4GB Transcend USB stick was in the port, and the MPEGs were merrily transferring across. I was casually sipping tea, and life was good.
Screw you, drive. I'll have my soft porn.
Only I had to think of someone sexy to actually orgasm, as the few files I managed to transfer over didn't work too well. Nevertheless, it's a matter of pride, right?
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Once bitten, twice sleepy
They asked me to write a review. I wrote this.
This is a genuinely good-quality hotel; the staff are friendly and knowledgeable, yet discreet, the décor, facilities and services are all outstanding, and any queries I had were dealt with efficiently and swiftly.
And by submitting that, I won 15% off our next one. And so to business. Rather than trying something clever, I'm just going to relate things as they happened according to my memories and the list of cue words I have here.
Thursday (yesterday was Thursday)
After a long and rather chaotic journey there, involving a protracted period of waiting and a brief "WTF?" moment when I realised I'd forgotten to seek out a taxi number before we got to the place itself, we made our way to the hotel, where a trainee girl (who I later nominated for a guest service award) checked us in, gave me a loyalty card(!), and told us where our room was. Room 9, on the ground floor. Fair enough. I entered said room and my jaw dropped.
We spent most of the day in the bed, I am happy to report. We already know she is an orgasm addict; I used this to my advantage. I am also happy to report that she doesn't find me physically repulsive, to the point of kisses lasting basically forever and quite definitely the best BJ I've ever had in the history of everything ever. I also spent a while with her thighs wrapped around my head, enjoying the amount of virgin girlcum, the noises, and upon raising my eyes, the look on her face. Those little things that make life worth living.
We ate some strawberries and this dyed bits a towel blood red. We decided that this was proof that we had committed a bloody murder. It didn't prevent us from hanging the towel back up, though.
By about 8pm, I'd learned exactly where to touch and how to touch it to effect certain results, and by about 11pm, neither of us were moving much. We were asleep at some point after midnight, our limbs in a tangle.
Friday (Today it is Friday)
I didn't wear shoes to breakfast, preferring to pad down in socks. I anally raped the hotel breakfast, whereas she had a sensible amount of food, and when we were both satiated, we did the decent thing, and went straight back to bed.
We were interrupted by a hotel worker who burst into the room. He didn't see much, because we were at that point cuddling, although he did see cutieloveheartgirl's boobs. But that's nothing new. She is unashamed. We were still in bed well past lunchtime, and I think you can use your imagination for most of that... except for once, which I have to describe, in the following way:
I had just experienced a fifteen-minute orgasm. Fifteen-minute minimum. I'm not even sure whose orgasm it was. I certainly experienced something. She was making the noises and the movements, though, and therefore I'm going to assume it was hers. I'll say we shared the orgasm. I think my penis was involved somehow. Anyway, I left her lying on her back (having fallen there from lying on her front... on my front) in order to get to the bathroom and gently rinse bits of me that needed a gentle rinse. I also went to fetch her some ice water. What I wasn't expecting, however, was the presence of a large, red, shiny bite mark on the left-hand side of my neck. This, apparently, wasn't intentional. I can (almost) certainly vouch for the veracity of that statement, as I have a memory of her burying her face in my shoulder to orgasm, and it's perfectly natural for all the muscles to tense up when that happens, so I got an unintentional bite mark. Random!
We went for a walk around the lake and ended up in a car park somehow, then returned to the lake and took some silly pictures because of our inability to take sensible pictures. We returned to the room, had biscuits by way of a semblance of lunch, and then after a little bit more rolling around in bed we headed for the swimming pool. The pool itself wasn't anything more than a rectangle of water, but we did trade orgasms in the outside jacuzzi.
What?
I ordered a sandwich (because I wanted a sandwich) and returned to the room to find poor cutieloveheartgirl feeling quite ill. I made some useless suggestions before taking action and fetching her ice water, which was the best thing to do in the circumstances, as after sipping the water we sat on the sofa and waited for her to feel better. She did over time, and as midnight approached, faint sensations of dizziness gave way to laughter, and we both felt distinctly cheered up as we went back to bed, ostensibly to sleep, although we did more than just sleep.
The sandwich was quite good, by the way.
Saturday (we so excited)
Apparently I wasn't conscious for the start of today, because I was incredibly sleepy. Allegedly, this was cute. After being told I was cute about 429800358 times, I tried to get up, informing her that I was up by flashing my cock at her (although I don't remember this!), and then attempting to put trousers on while somewhat catatonic, which was hilarious (although I don't remember this either!), and staggering down to the all-important breakfast, which consisted of too much food on my part, and her eating honey STRAIGHT FROM THE JAR. I also had some orange juice, but it's a secret, so don't tell anyone!
We didn't need to check out until 12, so I went back to the room and listened to her showering, while I lay on the bed and caught up on sleep. She woke me back up with kisses, and I sleepily cleared up the room, leaving the important things where they needed to go, like putting the murder towel in plain sight, leaving the bed deliberately messy, casting pillows on the floor, and filling in the guest comment card which, as a good citizen, I dropped in the suggestions box on our way out.
We then made our steady way back to London. At least, I think we did. I'm still very sleepy.
This holiday was excellent, but now I look back on it, although I've divided it into days above, it all seemed to blend into one. It was a haze of affection and action, dictated in part by the setting and in part by what we felt like doing, but three days in the isolation of a hotel basically in the middle of nowhere still remains a good idea to have had, and it had a good effect... so I'm all for that.
This, of course, marks the end of my holiday period. I'd certainly take this one again, if I could. Thanks for listening.
This is a genuinely good-quality hotel; the staff are friendly and knowledgeable, yet discreet, the décor, facilities and services are all outstanding, and any queries I had were dealt with efficiently and swiftly.
And by submitting that, I won 15% off our next one. And so to business. Rather than trying something clever, I'm just going to relate things as they happened according to my memories and the list of cue words I have here.
Thursday (yesterday was Thursday)
After a long and rather chaotic journey there, involving a protracted period of waiting and a brief "WTF?" moment when I realised I'd forgotten to seek out a taxi number before we got to the place itself, we made our way to the hotel, where a trainee girl (who I later nominated for a guest service award) checked us in, gave me a loyalty card(!), and told us where our room was. Room 9, on the ground floor. Fair enough. I entered said room and my jaw dropped.
We spent most of the day in the bed, I am happy to report. We already know she is an orgasm addict; I used this to my advantage. I am also happy to report that she doesn't find me physically repulsive, to the point of kisses lasting basically forever and quite definitely the best BJ I've ever had in the history of everything ever. I also spent a while with her thighs wrapped around my head, enjoying the amount of virgin girlcum, the noises, and upon raising my eyes, the look on her face. Those little things that make life worth living.
We ate some strawberries and this dyed bits a towel blood red. We decided that this was proof that we had committed a bloody murder. It didn't prevent us from hanging the towel back up, though.
By about 8pm, I'd learned exactly where to touch and how to touch it to effect certain results, and by about 11pm, neither of us were moving much. We were asleep at some point after midnight, our limbs in a tangle.
*
Friday (Today it is Friday)
I didn't wear shoes to breakfast, preferring to pad down in socks. I anally raped the hotel breakfast, whereas she had a sensible amount of food, and when we were both satiated, we did the decent thing, and went straight back to bed.
We were interrupted by a hotel worker who burst into the room. He didn't see much, because we were at that point cuddling, although he did see cutieloveheartgirl's boobs. But that's nothing new. She is unashamed. We were still in bed well past lunchtime, and I think you can use your imagination for most of that... except for once, which I have to describe, in the following way:
I had just experienced a fifteen-minute orgasm. Fifteen-minute minimum. I'm not even sure whose orgasm it was. I certainly experienced something. She was making the noises and the movements, though, and therefore I'm going to assume it was hers. I'll say we shared the orgasm. I think my penis was involved somehow. Anyway, I left her lying on her back (having fallen there from lying on her front... on my front) in order to get to the bathroom and gently rinse bits of me that needed a gentle rinse. I also went to fetch her some ice water. What I wasn't expecting, however, was the presence of a large, red, shiny bite mark on the left-hand side of my neck. This, apparently, wasn't intentional. I can (almost) certainly vouch for the veracity of that statement, as I have a memory of her burying her face in my shoulder to orgasm, and it's perfectly natural for all the muscles to tense up when that happens, so I got an unintentional bite mark. Random!
We went for a walk around the lake and ended up in a car park somehow, then returned to the lake and took some silly pictures because of our inability to take sensible pictures. We returned to the room, had biscuits by way of a semblance of lunch, and then after a little bit more rolling around in bed we headed for the swimming pool. The pool itself wasn't anything more than a rectangle of water, but we did trade orgasms in the outside jacuzzi.
What?
I ordered a sandwich (because I wanted a sandwich) and returned to the room to find poor cutieloveheartgirl feeling quite ill. I made some useless suggestions before taking action and fetching her ice water, which was the best thing to do in the circumstances, as after sipping the water we sat on the sofa and waited for her to feel better. She did over time, and as midnight approached, faint sensations of dizziness gave way to laughter, and we both felt distinctly cheered up as we went back to bed, ostensibly to sleep, although we did more than just sleep.
The sandwich was quite good, by the way.
*
Saturday (we so excited)
Apparently I wasn't conscious for the start of today, because I was incredibly sleepy. Allegedly, this was cute. After being told I was cute about 429800358 times, I tried to get up, informing her that I was up by flashing my cock at her (although I don't remember this!), and then attempting to put trousers on while somewhat catatonic, which was hilarious (although I don't remember this either!), and staggering down to the all-important breakfast, which consisted of too much food on my part, and her eating honey STRAIGHT FROM THE JAR. I also had some orange juice, but it's a secret, so don't tell anyone!
We didn't need to check out until 12, so I went back to the room and listened to her showering, while I lay on the bed and caught up on sleep. She woke me back up with kisses, and I sleepily cleared up the room, leaving the important things where they needed to go, like putting the murder towel in plain sight, leaving the bed deliberately messy, casting pillows on the floor, and filling in the guest comment card which, as a good citizen, I dropped in the suggestions box on our way out.
We then made our steady way back to London. At least, I think we did. I'm still very sleepy.
This holiday was excellent, but now I look back on it, although I've divided it into days above, it all seemed to blend into one. It was a haze of affection and action, dictated in part by the setting and in part by what we felt like doing, but three days in the isolation of a hotel basically in the middle of nowhere still remains a good idea to have had, and it had a good effect... so I'm all for that.
This, of course, marks the end of my holiday period. I'd certainly take this one again, if I could. Thanks for listening.
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