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.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
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.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Packing
"Hello, Red Letter Days?"
"Hello there. I'm calling in relation to one of your, uh, "experiences" that I booked the other week."
"What's the problem?"
"Well... my name's not on the letter."
"You don't have the letter?"
"No, I've got the letter, it's just addressed to Douglas Hill."
"Who's Douglas Hill?"
"I don't know, but he's not me, and I'm wondering if the hotel will refuse to let me in if they're expecting the fictitious Douglas Hill."
"What's the reference number?"
"[24601]."
*tap, tap, taptaptap, tap*
"He's not listed here. What's your name?"
"[Innocent Loverboy]. I'm travelling with..."
"[Catharine]?"
"Yes."
"Which one are you?"
"Uhm..."
"These two names are the people who are staying, though?"
"Yes."
"That's who they're expecting. I don't know who Douglas Hill is, but it doesn't invalidate your letter."
"Oh... good."
The things I go through.
"Hello there. I'm calling in relation to one of your, uh, "experiences" that I booked the other week."
"What's the problem?"
"Well... my name's not on the letter."
"You don't have the letter?"
"No, I've got the letter, it's just addressed to Douglas Hill."
"Who's Douglas Hill?"
"I don't know, but he's not me, and I'm wondering if the hotel will refuse to let me in if they're expecting the fictitious Douglas Hill."
"What's the reference number?"
"[24601]."
*tap, tap, taptaptap, tap*
"He's not listed here. What's your name?"
"[Innocent Loverboy]. I'm travelling with..."
"[Catharine]?"
"Yes."
"Which one are you?"
"Uhm..."
"These two names are the people who are staying, though?"
"Yes."
"That's who they're expecting. I don't know who Douglas Hill is, but it doesn't invalidate your letter."
"Oh... good."
The things I go through.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
It's All About Me
More bandwagon whoring as I attempt to make TMI Tuesday interesting. Also in order to find something to do to take my mind off the fact that I have nothing to do.
Here goes.
1. When you go to a party, would you rather show up accidentally underdressed or overdressed?
Either in costume, but that's more the domain of the gay sailors / builders / Americans / cowboys, or just wearing the stuff I'm wearing anyway, which is casual enough to pass for party clothes. So underdressed, I guess. 47 would go in a suit though, because he always wears suits.
2. What is something you have won and how did you win it? (Inspired by cutieloveheartgirl)
I've not won many things, but I did win a BBC competition once. The competition, which our school cunningly disguised as English homework, had us writing about things which were important to us. Everyone else wrote about issues, like global warming and arranged marriages. I wrote about myself and won. Go figure. The prize, incidentally, was the chance to produce a radio programme about your issue - in which case, myself - and a shedload of talking books for your school.
My programme was a crazy, anarchic thing about me having a wild adventure in order to try and escape computers. I ended up being killed by one. It was... interesting. It was the best programme in the series though, there wasn't any complaining about my life in it. Interestingly, it also led to me and what passed for my band back in those days going back to the BBC to sing a song! My guitar playing was on the radio... how cool.
3. Do you squeeze the toothpaste from the middle, end, or top?
Usually from the middle, but if there's a bit at the end I'll make sure it comes out, by rolling something like a glue stick across the tube so I can squeeze every last iota of paste out!
4. What is something your parents used to say to you that you promised yourself you would never say – but now you catch yourself saying frequently?
"That could have gone better." It's my mother's catchphrase, and I hate it. But I say it sometimes, which irritates me. Yes, I irritate myself!
5. What 3 lies did you regularly tell your parents? If applicable, what 3 lies do you tell your parents now?
I'm not the world's greatest liar. But I tend to fabricate things like the amount of jobs I've applied for, what I've been doing with my time, and where I meet my friends...
In the past, when I was sleeping with Alicia, I used to tell my parents I was spending the night with a (male) mate from work, who allegedly had all-night sleepover parties at his place. I wasn't. But he always seemed confused when I thanked him at work when he seemingly hadn't done anything!
6. What is something that you intended to do today but didn’t? Why not? Will you do it tomorrow?
Finish applying for a job that I started to apply for yesterday. And no, I probably won't. I'm not even sure I want it any more, plus I have an interview for something else anyway.
7. What is something that people do in traffic that really bothers you? (inspired by My Quest To Be A Good Girl)
Not indicate. I can't drive, but I'm taking lessons and it's ridiculous when people don't indicate! It's an implicit part of driving!
8. Whose autographs have you collected? (You can stop at five, in case you’re an autograph hound or celebrity stalker).
Tim Booth from James, Skreen from the Cuban Boys, Matt Lucas, Mark Lamarr, Mel Smith, Belle de Jour, author Robin Kingsland, and whatever bloke was in the Mickey Mouse costume at Disneyland.
I've met a lot more celebrities than I have collected autographs. I had a chat with Dominic Cooper on the set of An Education and I've worked with Michael Rosen. I've also met Paxman, Boris and half the cast of EastEnders when I went to see a musical on the 18th birthday. It was a première, so lots of celebrities were there. But I don't like EastEnders so I wasn't bothered.
I've also met nearly all of James. There's a photo of me somewhere hugging Saul Davies, their violinist and my idol.
Bonus: Where do you go to find solitude, tranquillity or connection to a higher power?
Into my head. Usually while listening to something pretty. I've currently got Carnival of the Animals on, which is working nicely.
Here goes.
1. When you go to a party, would you rather show up accidentally underdressed or overdressed?
Either in costume, but that's more the domain of the gay sailors / builders / Americans / cowboys, or just wearing the stuff I'm wearing anyway, which is casual enough to pass for party clothes. So underdressed, I guess. 47 would go in a suit though, because he always wears suits.
2. What is something you have won and how did you win it? (Inspired by cutieloveheartgirl)
I've not won many things, but I did win a BBC competition once. The competition, which our school cunningly disguised as English homework, had us writing about things which were important to us. Everyone else wrote about issues, like global warming and arranged marriages. I wrote about myself and won. Go figure. The prize, incidentally, was the chance to produce a radio programme about your issue - in which case, myself - and a shedload of talking books for your school.
My programme was a crazy, anarchic thing about me having a wild adventure in order to try and escape computers. I ended up being killed by one. It was... interesting. It was the best programme in the series though, there wasn't any complaining about my life in it. Interestingly, it also led to me and what passed for my band back in those days going back to the BBC to sing a song! My guitar playing was on the radio... how cool.
3. Do you squeeze the toothpaste from the middle, end, or top?
Usually from the middle, but if there's a bit at the end I'll make sure it comes out, by rolling something like a glue stick across the tube so I can squeeze every last iota of paste out!
4. What is something your parents used to say to you that you promised yourself you would never say – but now you catch yourself saying frequently?
"That could have gone better." It's my mother's catchphrase, and I hate it. But I say it sometimes, which irritates me. Yes, I irritate myself!
5. What 3 lies did you regularly tell your parents? If applicable, what 3 lies do you tell your parents now?
I'm not the world's greatest liar. But I tend to fabricate things like the amount of jobs I've applied for, what I've been doing with my time, and where I meet my friends...
In the past, when I was sleeping with Alicia, I used to tell my parents I was spending the night with a (male) mate from work, who allegedly had all-night sleepover parties at his place. I wasn't. But he always seemed confused when I thanked him at work when he seemingly hadn't done anything!
6. What is something that you intended to do today but didn’t? Why not? Will you do it tomorrow?
Finish applying for a job that I started to apply for yesterday. And no, I probably won't. I'm not even sure I want it any more, plus I have an interview for something else anyway.
7. What is something that people do in traffic that really bothers you? (inspired by My Quest To Be A Good Girl)
Not indicate. I can't drive, but I'm taking lessons and it's ridiculous when people don't indicate! It's an implicit part of driving!
8. Whose autographs have you collected? (You can stop at five, in case you’re an autograph hound or celebrity stalker).
Tim Booth from James, Skreen from the Cuban Boys, Matt Lucas, Mark Lamarr, Mel Smith, Belle de Jour, author Robin Kingsland, and whatever bloke was in the Mickey Mouse costume at Disneyland.
I've met a lot more celebrities than I have collected autographs. I had a chat with Dominic Cooper on the set of An Education and I've worked with Michael Rosen. I've also met Paxman, Boris and half the cast of EastEnders when I went to see a musical on the 18th birthday. It was a première, so lots of celebrities were there. But I don't like EastEnders so I wasn't bothered.
I've also met nearly all of James. There's a photo of me somewhere hugging Saul Davies, their violinist and my idol.
Bonus: Where do you go to find solitude, tranquillity or connection to a higher power?
Into my head. Usually while listening to something pretty. I've currently got Carnival of the Animals on, which is working nicely.
Monday, August 22, 2011
It's a game of one half
If you blow up a balloon half-way, it doesn't end up in half a sphere, right? Just checking. Because blowing up a balloon half-way, though difficult to judge, fills it with some air. And I had half an orgasm today and I'm working on the same principle.
You see, I'm going on holiday with cutieloveheartgirl on Thursday and, as such, I want to be in the peak of sexual health when I do so. This, of course, means I shouldn't be frantically masturbating up until the event. If I don't touch myself - and earlier on this month I had a week in which I didn't do so at all, so it shouldn't be difficult - during the next two days then I should be perfectly primed to cum in my pants when she kisses me on the platform on Thursday morning. Of course, I don't plan to cum in my pants; I'd prefer it if I didn't - but if I store up my sexual energy, the opportunity would be there.
Maybe.
"So," I thought this morning, "I'll masturbate to orgasm today, and then I won't think about doing so for the rest of the week, and then I can have a sexually charged holiday with cutieloveheartgirl, and it will all be lovely." Well, that's what my thoughts should have been. In fact my thoughts were, "zomg!!?!??! soft pr0n!!!!!!!!!!11" as I realised my parents had left the house and I could plug my external HD back in.
And lo, I had half an orgasm.
I didn't even think you could have such a thing. It wasn't intentional. I was certainly masturbating like I usually do. I was certainly watching soft porn and in particular scenes that I know are bound to make me orgasm. But I didn't feel like I was going to orgasm when I did - I was between scenes and my imagination, which usually takes over after a while, wasn't running at full capacity, so I don't know why I came, exactly. I just did. Or at least halfway.
It certainly wasn't a dry orgasm. There was ejaculation. And it wasn't a bad orgasm. Because I enjoyed it (which is a relief). It was just... half an orgasm. It was very quick, there wasn't much cum (I didn't pulse any more than twice), it was over almost as soon as it began, and because it was such a surprise, I didn't enjoy it as much. I just... wasn't ready. It's as if it just happened and then decided not to happen. Very unusual.
I'll save the other half for the holiday though. Who knows, cutieloveheartgirl may appreciate it. She needs more orgasms; she only came for ten minutes today. Tragic, I know.
You see, I'm going on holiday with cutieloveheartgirl on Thursday and, as such, I want to be in the peak of sexual health when I do so. This, of course, means I shouldn't be frantically masturbating up until the event. If I don't touch myself - and earlier on this month I had a week in which I didn't do so at all, so it shouldn't be difficult - during the next two days then I should be perfectly primed to cum in my pants when she kisses me on the platform on Thursday morning. Of course, I don't plan to cum in my pants; I'd prefer it if I didn't - but if I store up my sexual energy, the opportunity would be there.
Maybe.
"So," I thought this morning, "I'll masturbate to orgasm today, and then I won't think about doing so for the rest of the week, and then I can have a sexually charged holiday with cutieloveheartgirl, and it will all be lovely." Well, that's what my thoughts should have been. In fact my thoughts were, "zomg!!?!??! soft pr0n!!!!!!!!!!11" as I realised my parents had left the house and I could plug my external HD back in.
And lo, I had half an orgasm.
I didn't even think you could have such a thing. It wasn't intentional. I was certainly masturbating like I usually do. I was certainly watching soft porn and in particular scenes that I know are bound to make me orgasm. But I didn't feel like I was going to orgasm when I did - I was between scenes and my imagination, which usually takes over after a while, wasn't running at full capacity, so I don't know why I came, exactly. I just did. Or at least halfway.
It certainly wasn't a dry orgasm. There was ejaculation. And it wasn't a bad orgasm. Because I enjoyed it (which is a relief). It was just... half an orgasm. It was very quick, there wasn't much cum (I didn't pulse any more than twice), it was over almost as soon as it began, and because it was such a surprise, I didn't enjoy it as much. I just... wasn't ready. It's as if it just happened and then decided not to happen. Very unusual.
I'll save the other half for the holiday though. Who knows, cutieloveheartgirl may appreciate it. She needs more orgasms; she only came for ten minutes today. Tragic, I know.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Fresh Meat
Insofar as the blogging world goes (Or am I supposed to use the term "blogosphere"? I like it, but it's not a real word, like "kdbtpobv", "psabuwye" or "alligator".), I've always found sex bloggers to be perhaps the best people to share things with. Take the other day. I met up with @JillyBoyd and @ElenyaLewis (and we ended up in Hamleys for some reason), and they had been in a room the previous day which also contained @Hungry_Joe and @Mia_Pure among others. And, of course, I've met @NimueFromTheWeb, @SexaholicBBW, @Emanix, @tajasel and @brassfeathers, and "the famous ones", @girlonetrack and @belledejour_uk, and I'm dating @notCatharine. Life's funny like that.
Wow, that's a lot of blue text. I'm more sociable than I thought.
But it has to be said, as I was telling the aforementioned @JillyBoyd (who is lovely, by the way), sometimes I don't feel like I've met enough. I mean, this has been an eventful summer, to be sure, and it's not over yet - I have exciting things to do such as "go for a coffee with H", and the utterly mind-blowing "go on holiday with Catharine" scheduled on my wallchart, along with a tiny "claim JSA" in red, but that's not nearly as fun. But part of me wants to add "meet [blogger username] here and toast the future of uncertainty" to those free dates (and there are only five left, y'know). Because meeting people is fun. And I share a lot with y'all here, so what more is there to do?
It has also to be said, however, that there's a part of me that doesn't want to meet anyone else (apart from Catharine, but I've already met her and will continue to do so, so she doesn't get to escape me that easily), because although I'm perfectly okay with people once I've met them, I always feel awkward on the run-up to the event. Even though it's effectively meeting a friend. According to Jill, I was visibly nervous when I met her, and although I loosen up, it takes a while and a couple of Cokes before I do so. (The exception, I think, being Nimue, who gave out so many geek vibes that I felt drawn to her presence naturally.) But then again, being a bit nervous is part of my charm.
And I haven't been kidnapped. Yet.
But, whether or not I meet anyone else from the sex blogs at any point in the future, it's certainly a lot more social than some of the other communities I've been involved in online. There's one in particular of which I am a dedicated member, but has on occasion suffered from backstabbing and infighting, even from the founding fathers. There's another one, however, which had an unspoken creed of "everyone here loves everyone else", which was beautiful. And all its members, yours truly notwithstanding, were beautiful too. And yet I never met any of them. The opportunity may have been there, it just never, ever happened. And I don't know why.
I just think sex bloggers, open as we have to be to deal with the technicolour splurge that is the preferences and fetishes in the reated world, are likely to be more well-disposed to having a drink and a chat, even with someone as vanilla and straightedge as myself.
Or, as my mother puts it so eloquently, "you've got so many little friends!"
Wow, that's a lot of blue text. I'm more sociable than I thought.
But it has to be said, as I was telling the aforementioned @JillyBoyd (who is lovely, by the way), sometimes I don't feel like I've met enough. I mean, this has been an eventful summer, to be sure, and it's not over yet - I have exciting things to do such as "go for a coffee with H", and the utterly mind-blowing "go on holiday with Catharine" scheduled on my wallchart, along with a tiny "claim JSA" in red, but that's not nearly as fun. But part of me wants to add "meet [blogger username] here and toast the future of uncertainty" to those free dates (and there are only five left, y'know). Because meeting people is fun. And I share a lot with y'all here, so what more is there to do?
It has also to be said, however, that there's a part of me that doesn't want to meet anyone else (apart from Catharine, but I've already met her and will continue to do so, so she doesn't get to escape me that easily), because although I'm perfectly okay with people once I've met them, I always feel awkward on the run-up to the event. Even though it's effectively meeting a friend. According to Jill, I was visibly nervous when I met her, and although I loosen up, it takes a while and a couple of Cokes before I do so. (The exception, I think, being Nimue, who gave out so many geek vibes that I felt drawn to her presence naturally.) But then again, being a bit nervous is part of my charm.
And I haven't been kidnapped. Yet.
But, whether or not I meet anyone else from the sex blogs at any point in the future, it's certainly a lot more social than some of the other communities I've been involved in online. There's one in particular of which I am a dedicated member, but has on occasion suffered from backstabbing and infighting, even from the founding fathers. There's another one, however, which had an unspoken creed of "everyone here loves everyone else", which was beautiful. And all its members, yours truly notwithstanding, were beautiful too. And yet I never met any of them. The opportunity may have been there, it just never, ever happened. And I don't know why.
I just think sex bloggers, open as we have to be to deal with the technicolour splurge that is the preferences and fetishes in the reated world, are likely to be more well-disposed to having a drink and a chat, even with someone as vanilla and straightedge as myself.
Or, as my mother puts it so eloquently, "you've got so many little friends!"
Friday, August 19, 2011
Whiff
Stifler[1] raised the cup of Bouillon powder to his nose and gave a tentative sniff.
"Smells like..." he started, and then paused, aware that there were girls in the room. "...semen," he finished. I still would've said "cum", but then again, I can be blasé like that. It's fun. But anyway, he was right. It did have a scent similar to male ejaculate.
Said aroma does elicit a memory in me - although not initially of that conversation, which happened in my shared kitchen in the first week of university. The memory that the olfactory effect of cum brings up is that of being 18-ish.
It's worth pointing out at this juncture that I didn't always sleep in the place where my bedroom is now. This room was my bedroom for most of my young childhood, and then I was moved into a room on the other side of the house (which is now a bathroom), and then I was moved into another room (which is now my parents'), before being shifted back here. It's been a veritable rollercoaster. It's that third room in which I had most - if not all - of my teenage years, and where I first had Internet access in my room.
I didn't get 'net in my room to look at soft porn, of course. In fact, downloading soft porn wasn't even on my mind at the time. I didn't masturbate, nor did I intend to; I simply wanted to be able to write my LiveJournal and do research for my GCSEs (and, later, A-Levels) in my own room. It makes a lot of sense, when you think about it. I downloaded KaZaA Lite in order to glean a few mp3s of songs which were all labelled "Weird Al Yankovic" but mostly weren't him (like every other teenager in the country), and eventually, out of curiosity, put "Lisa Boyle" into the search box and waited to see what happened. I leeched a couple of scenes from Friend of the Family - including, but not limited to, this one - and they eventually (after many attempts to give up, which mostly involved deleting the files and feeling liberated for a while) became, effectively, my wank fodder.
Ew, that's a really unpleasant phrase.
One scene, in particular, stands out in my memory for this practice. It's not one I've reviewed yet, but I will - in fact, I still have the very same file from the time when I downloaded it about eight or so years ago. It's just on a CDR now, as opposed to a folder placed rather unashamedly on my desktop, safe in the knowledge that my mother would never use my computer. But I loved the file. It was a sexy, sexy sex scene of sexiness, and even all these years on, I still appreciate it for what it is. But I have memories that seem really seedy now... memories of sitting in that corner, in the relative darkness (lit only by a bedside lamp that gave off very little illumination - but I still use!), having orgasms to THE SAME DAMN SCENE AS THE DAY BEFORE, and wiping up with whatever paper came to hand (sometimes just sheets of bleached white A4). I also sometimes exited the room to use the toilet afterwards, and always got the dog glaring at me, as if to say, "I know exactly what you've been doing and I am NOT PLEASED."
But. That's what the scent of cum does for me. It takes me back to that corner, in that room, with that computer, and that scene.
And today, when (for Glod only knows what reason) it was particularly strong, the memory came back again. And, hey, it may as well. I've still got the scene somewhere.
[1] So called because he looks like Stifler from American Pie.
"Smells like..." he started, and then paused, aware that there were girls in the room. "...semen," he finished. I still would've said "cum", but then again, I can be blasé like that. It's fun. But anyway, he was right. It did have a scent similar to male ejaculate.
Said aroma does elicit a memory in me - although not initially of that conversation, which happened in my shared kitchen in the first week of university. The memory that the olfactory effect of cum brings up is that of being 18-ish.
It's worth pointing out at this juncture that I didn't always sleep in the place where my bedroom is now. This room was my bedroom for most of my young childhood, and then I was moved into a room on the other side of the house (which is now a bathroom), and then I was moved into another room (which is now my parents'), before being shifted back here. It's been a veritable rollercoaster. It's that third room in which I had most - if not all - of my teenage years, and where I first had Internet access in my room.
I didn't get 'net in my room to look at soft porn, of course. In fact, downloading soft porn wasn't even on my mind at the time. I didn't masturbate, nor did I intend to; I simply wanted to be able to write my LiveJournal and do research for my GCSEs (and, later, A-Levels) in my own room. It makes a lot of sense, when you think about it. I downloaded KaZaA Lite in order to glean a few mp3s of songs which were all labelled "Weird Al Yankovic" but mostly weren't him (like every other teenager in the country), and eventually, out of curiosity, put "Lisa Boyle" into the search box and waited to see what happened. I leeched a couple of scenes from Friend of the Family - including, but not limited to, this one - and they eventually (after many attempts to give up, which mostly involved deleting the files and feeling liberated for a while) became, effectively, my wank fodder.
Ew, that's a really unpleasant phrase.
One scene, in particular, stands out in my memory for this practice. It's not one I've reviewed yet, but I will - in fact, I still have the very same file from the time when I downloaded it about eight or so years ago. It's just on a CDR now, as opposed to a folder placed rather unashamedly on my desktop, safe in the knowledge that my mother would never use my computer. But I loved the file. It was a sexy, sexy sex scene of sexiness, and even all these years on, I still appreciate it for what it is. But I have memories that seem really seedy now... memories of sitting in that corner, in the relative darkness (lit only by a bedside lamp that gave off very little illumination - but I still use!), having orgasms to THE SAME DAMN SCENE AS THE DAY BEFORE, and wiping up with whatever paper came to hand (sometimes just sheets of bleached white A4). I also sometimes exited the room to use the toilet afterwards, and always got the dog glaring at me, as if to say, "I know exactly what you've been doing and I am NOT PLEASED."
But. That's what the scent of cum does for me. It takes me back to that corner, in that room, with that computer, and that scene.
And today, when (for Glod only knows what reason) it was particularly strong, the memory came back again. And, hey, it may as well. I've still got the scene somewhere.
[1] So called because he looks like Stifler from American Pie.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
TMI Tuesday: Nostalgiarama
Doing this TMI Tuesday thing for want of something to do to get my brain working.
1. What ’80s or ’90s fashion did you love but would be embarrassed to wear today, even if it came back in style?
I didn't follow fashion - in fact, I often tried to subvert it. So I'm not legally obliged to answer this question. I guess I wouldn't wear a shell suit though, not even to deliberately look uncool.
2. What current fashion do you wear and love? Or What current fashion do you wear but probably shouldn’t?
See above for that. I tend to generally wear stuff I feel comfortable in, devil may care what it makes me look like. I always think I look okay if I'm OK with what I'm wearing really. Shoes being the exception, since I have a deep-seated affection for Converse All-Stars.
3. What was your favourite toy as a kid?
I loved anything I could construct adventure stories with. My Polydrons had many adventures, with characters and locations I constructed for them. I also used to magpie things from promotions, like the Smartians from Smarties and the Orangey Tangs from Jaffa Cakes. (Both are still on my shelf!) The Tangs never got much action, despite having my dad placing them around the Jaffa Cakes, and making a short film with them - but the Smartians had a series of incredible adventures, and who knows, they may even make a comeback.
4. What is your favourite “toy” today?
Depends what you class as a toy. Being a geek, I like my gadgets that don't do much except beep and blink, although 47 is more the expert in that sort of thing. I'm deeply in lust with my BlackBerry, so much so that I brought it back to life using mystical powers, because it helps me stay in communication on the go. I also consider the Internet something that I communicate with; is it too big to consider a toy? Or perhaps my guitar?
I've also got an affection for my iPod, now that my netbook (which is also a toy I love) doesn't play music any more.
5. Did you ever own a Sony Walkman? A boombox?
I owned a Walkman, although I'm not sure if it was branded. I've also owned a dictaphone that uses cassettes, several Discmans (Discmen?), and two iPods. I also once owned an MP3 player with space for about 12 songs on it. I never had minidiscs, though. I always considered them a bit of a white elephant - plus, I was poor and couldn't afford an MD player/recorder.
6. What’s the most played song on your MP3 player?
Uhm, it's difficult to answer this because my current iPod is relatively new and there are only a few artists on it. When there are more artists, it's the song that I don't skip, whatever that may be. At the moment I'm pretty certain it's Lily The Pink. In fact, that's the song that's playing as I type this full stop.
7. Who was your best friend in primary school?
Robinson. Since I was 4. He's still a close friend now.
8. Who is your best friend now?
47. I'm not sure why, but he's a good friend because he seems to be one of the very few people in the world who truly "gets" me. Not sure how he does that, either.
9. Who was your favourite musical group in your early teens (age 13/14)? Post a photo.
10. Who is your favourite musical group now? Post a link to a song of theirs that you like.
Automatically I say James. Which is the truth. Although, seeing as I've typed this whole entry listening to The Scaffold, I'll give them an honourable mention, as I think that musically they're my greatest influence. I think my music sounds a bit like a mix between James and The Scaffold for this reason...
Anyway, here's Waltzing Along, my favourite song ever, by... James.
Bonus: What do you think is the secret to a good life?
An inbuilt love of words and music combining together to form lexical genius and sonorous goodness. Oh, and lots of hugs.
1. What ’80s or ’90s fashion did you love but would be embarrassed to wear today, even if it came back in style?
I didn't follow fashion - in fact, I often tried to subvert it. So I'm not legally obliged to answer this question. I guess I wouldn't wear a shell suit though, not even to deliberately look uncool.
2. What current fashion do you wear and love? Or What current fashion do you wear but probably shouldn’t?
See above for that. I tend to generally wear stuff I feel comfortable in, devil may care what it makes me look like. I always think I look okay if I'm OK with what I'm wearing really. Shoes being the exception, since I have a deep-seated affection for Converse All-Stars.
3. What was your favourite toy as a kid?
I loved anything I could construct adventure stories with. My Polydrons had many adventures, with characters and locations I constructed for them. I also used to magpie things from promotions, like the Smartians from Smarties and the Orangey Tangs from Jaffa Cakes. (Both are still on my shelf!) The Tangs never got much action, despite having my dad placing them around the Jaffa Cakes, and making a short film with them - but the Smartians had a series of incredible adventures, and who knows, they may even make a comeback.
4. What is your favourite “toy” today?
Depends what you class as a toy. Being a geek, I like my gadgets that don't do much except beep and blink, although 47 is more the expert in that sort of thing. I'm deeply in lust with my BlackBerry, so much so that I brought it back to life using mystical powers, because it helps me stay in communication on the go. I also consider the Internet something that I communicate with; is it too big to consider a toy? Or perhaps my guitar?
I've also got an affection for my iPod, now that my netbook (which is also a toy I love) doesn't play music any more.
5. Did you ever own a Sony Walkman? A boombox?
I owned a Walkman, although I'm not sure if it was branded. I've also owned a dictaphone that uses cassettes, several Discmans (Discmen?), and two iPods. I also once owned an MP3 player with space for about 12 songs on it. I never had minidiscs, though. I always considered them a bit of a white elephant - plus, I was poor and couldn't afford an MD player/recorder.
6. What’s the most played song on your MP3 player?
Uhm, it's difficult to answer this because my current iPod is relatively new and there are only a few artists on it. When there are more artists, it's the song that I don't skip, whatever that may be. At the moment I'm pretty certain it's Lily The Pink. In fact, that's the song that's playing as I type this full stop.
7. Who was your best friend in primary school?
Robinson. Since I was 4. He's still a close friend now.
8. Who is your best friend now?
47. I'm not sure why, but he's a good friend because he seems to be one of the very few people in the world who truly "gets" me. Not sure how he does that, either.
9. Who was your favourite musical group in your early teens (age 13/14)? Post a photo.
Blink182.
10. Who is your favourite musical group now? Post a link to a song of theirs that you like.
Automatically I say James. Which is the truth. Although, seeing as I've typed this whole entry listening to The Scaffold, I'll give them an honourable mention, as I think that musically they're my greatest influence. I think my music sounds a bit like a mix between James and The Scaffold for this reason...
Anyway, here's Waltzing Along, my favourite song ever, by... James.
Bonus: What do you think is the secret to a good life?
An inbuilt love of words and music combining together to form lexical genius and sonorous goodness. Oh, and lots of hugs.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Lips
Kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me
I was struck by the sudden urge to kiss earlier on. One of the things I missed the most while being single was kissing, and now that I'm dating someone sexy - the worst-kept secret in the world - I'm loving the chance to kiss again. And, as I've said before, I was her first kiss, which I'm happy about to an almost insane degree.
Doesn't mean I don't still miss it though.
During my teenage years, and sixth form in particular, where hormones ran rampant, snogging someone was a form of currency in some quarters, and I still didn't get to do any. We had arrogant gits snogging girls because they could (although Glod knows how), in some cases getting a commitment-free kiss out of the deal and in some cases playing with their hearts (and guess who got to pick up the pieces?). And then in university there were some people - I can think of one in particular - who kissed someone different every single night, including in one case the girl I was dancing with twenty seconds earlier. These people deemed a kiss of very little consequence.
But I've always seen it as something particularly special. I'll agree that not every kiss needs to be, but since every time I've kissed someone it's been someone I care about deeply, the act of pressing one's lips against someone else's holds a special significance for me. And since rediscovering how pleasurable it can be, I want it more and more and more, and I was struck suddenly, this evening, by the almost instant urge to kiss - to slide my tongue into her mouth, to taste her, feeling her teeth, her tongue, the inside of her cheeks - to savour, to pleasure, to love.
When I kissed her on my second date, I opened my eyes briefly. And I saw, apart from the freckles on her cheek, her eyes closed, her hair falling down over her shoulders. She looked happy, contented, blissful. And it was the kiss, the kiss that did it.
I've nothing against my cousin and her fiancée kissing, not even in the swimming pool. If they want to display affection, why not? We are, after all, on holiday. But I want to. I want to as well. I miss it and I have the urge. Such an urge...
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me
I was struck by the sudden urge to kiss earlier on. One of the things I missed the most while being single was kissing, and now that I'm dating someone sexy - the worst-kept secret in the world - I'm loving the chance to kiss again. And, as I've said before, I was her first kiss, which I'm happy about to an almost insane degree.
Doesn't mean I don't still miss it though.
During my teenage years, and sixth form in particular, where hormones ran rampant, snogging someone was a form of currency in some quarters, and I still didn't get to do any. We had arrogant gits snogging girls because they could (although Glod knows how), in some cases getting a commitment-free kiss out of the deal and in some cases playing with their hearts (and guess who got to pick up the pieces?). And then in university there were some people - I can think of one in particular - who kissed someone different every single night, including in one case the girl I was dancing with twenty seconds earlier. These people deemed a kiss of very little consequence.
But I've always seen it as something particularly special. I'll agree that not every kiss needs to be, but since every time I've kissed someone it's been someone I care about deeply, the act of pressing one's lips against someone else's holds a special significance for me. And since rediscovering how pleasurable it can be, I want it more and more and more, and I was struck suddenly, this evening, by the almost instant urge to kiss - to slide my tongue into her mouth, to taste her, feeling her teeth, her tongue, the inside of her cheeks - to savour, to pleasure, to love.
When I kissed her on my second date, I opened my eyes briefly. And I saw, apart from the freckles on her cheek, her eyes closed, her hair falling down over her shoulders. She looked happy, contented, blissful. And it was the kiss, the kiss that did it.
I've nothing against my cousin and her fiancée kissing, not even in the swimming pool. If they want to display affection, why not? We are, after all, on holiday. But I want to. I want to as well. I miss it and I have the urge. Such an urge...
Saturday, August 13, 2011
I'm a sex blogger... get me out of here!
If anyone's read I'm The King Of The Castle by Susan Hill, they may remember a house named Warings, a huge dark mansion handed down through generations, with lots of small pokey rooms and some huge banqueting halls and vestibules which aren't really used. Like a version of Dickens' Satis House, except not burned to the ground. Well, this house is a bit like that.
It's huge. I think I'm in the smallest room. I've certainly been given one small enough to not really justify the amount of space. I've propped my netbook up on the bedside table (Lord forbid they give me a desk) and used the only chair - small, straight-backed and wooden - to sit on, so I have a semblance of a workstation. Not that I intend on doing any work. Writing blog posts and wanking to soft porn isn't work.
Not that I intend to do much of either. My computer being in the state it's in, although that appears to be fluctuating between on and off at the moment, watching soft porn is tricky anyway, but even if I did manage it, it's even more tricky since there's no lock on my door here, and the latch is broken, so I have little choice but to have it basically wide open. And my smallest cousin is in the room next door. He's 11 and I don't wish to be blamed for his corruption, especially as he's alert enough to pick up anything more than a gnat's whisper and bright enough to work out what sort of sounds constitute soft porn music.
Insofar as things to do are concerned - barring illicit self-indulgence in the smallest room (by which I still mean my room; the toilets are bigger than this, with their marble basins, &c.) - there are a number of things various members of my family have brought relating to sports. Of course, I hate sports. I just played bowls with my grandparents and started wondering what the point was after the first throw. I was pretty excited about there being a squash court, but mostly for the cavernous echo it elicits, meaning that when I went in there and sang Oh What A Circus! last night, it felt like I was on Broadway. And although the swimming pool is... well, it's a swimming pool... it's basically a square of water. The novelty wears off.
So I may have to strike out on my own.
This place has lots of grounds to explore. If you can find your way out of the house. I've done it twice so far, both by accident (and I've played Luigi's Mansion, so you can imagine how experienced I should be.). The trick, I believe, is to keep going down flights of stairs. I've actually no idea, geographically, where we are - besides knowing I'm somewhere in Sussex - but we appear to be in the middle of a wood, somehow (proof of this: I can see a tree outside my window, in the small patch of sky not obscured by roof in the wonderful view from said window). This may be the cue to grab my camera and disappear for a few hours taking pictures of trees. Hey, if I'm lucky I may end up somewhere interesting, like a forest glade full of faeries or a Goblin camp, but probably not. Well, unless I wish really hard.
Still. I'm on holiday. I just wish it weren't so damn boring by the time it's halfway through the first full day. At least I know my sister isn't enjoying it much either... she's resorted to writing her dissertation already.
It's huge. I think I'm in the smallest room. I've certainly been given one small enough to not really justify the amount of space. I've propped my netbook up on the bedside table (Lord forbid they give me a desk) and used the only chair - small, straight-backed and wooden - to sit on, so I have a semblance of a workstation. Not that I intend on doing any work. Writing blog posts and wanking to soft porn isn't work.
Not that I intend to do much of either. My computer being in the state it's in, although that appears to be fluctuating between on and off at the moment, watching soft porn is tricky anyway, but even if I did manage it, it's even more tricky since there's no lock on my door here, and the latch is broken, so I have little choice but to have it basically wide open. And my smallest cousin is in the room next door. He's 11 and I don't wish to be blamed for his corruption, especially as he's alert enough to pick up anything more than a gnat's whisper and bright enough to work out what sort of sounds constitute soft porn music.
Insofar as things to do are concerned - barring illicit self-indulgence in the smallest room (by which I still mean my room; the toilets are bigger than this, with their marble basins, &c.) - there are a number of things various members of my family have brought relating to sports. Of course, I hate sports. I just played bowls with my grandparents and started wondering what the point was after the first throw. I was pretty excited about there being a squash court, but mostly for the cavernous echo it elicits, meaning that when I went in there and sang Oh What A Circus! last night, it felt like I was on Broadway. And although the swimming pool is... well, it's a swimming pool... it's basically a square of water. The novelty wears off.
So I may have to strike out on my own.
This place has lots of grounds to explore. If you can find your way out of the house. I've done it twice so far, both by accident (and I've played Luigi's Mansion, so you can imagine how experienced I should be.). The trick, I believe, is to keep going down flights of stairs. I've actually no idea, geographically, where we are - besides knowing I'm somewhere in Sussex - but we appear to be in the middle of a wood, somehow (proof of this: I can see a tree outside my window, in the small patch of sky not obscured by roof in the wonderful view from said window). This may be the cue to grab my camera and disappear for a few hours taking pictures of trees. Hey, if I'm lucky I may end up somewhere interesting, like a forest glade full of faeries or a Goblin camp, but probably not. Well, unless I wish really hard.
Still. I'm on holiday. I just wish it weren't so damn boring by the time it's halfway through the first full day. At least I know my sister isn't enjoying it much either... she's resorted to writing her dissertation already.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
HNT: clhb
I'm genuinely surprised and pleased with how this one came out.
It's an HNT because I'm in it. You just can't see me that well because I'm concealed behind a misted-up mirror. But be well aware that I was fully naked when I took this - hooray nudity!
I'm back on holiday tomorrow. I'm not expecting this one to be as fun, but it should have its fun moments. Mostly when I'm on Twitter. And I'll be on Twitter a lot more, because I'll actually have an impetus for being antisocial if my family get too much. But at least this one should be cheap. And my camera will get another workout!
So... see you later!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Orgasms, self-induded denial thereof and subsequent realization of the same, holidays and, on
I spent seven days in a YMCA in Penzance, Cornwall, in the company of my unofficial brother whose sister I almost married, a short German/Italian hybrid with incredibly long hair and an asexual art teacher who is obsessed with history and tells Hitler jokes.
Don't worry. It's a lot better than it sounds.
I spent a large majority of my holiday snapping things with a new camera. This new camera, I must add, is something that I got as a present from someone sexy, presumably so I can take naked pictures of myself with it. But instead, I'm using it for holiday snaps. How subversive. Hound Tor, Penzance, Mousehole, castles, stones, ruined villages, restaurants, churches, beaches, cliffs, hills, forests, gardens, FUCKING STONEHENGE... they all went in my camera. The amount of times my trigger finger went off may account for the fact that 47 and I almost saved the UN. We didn't quite get there, but we were close. I got to use the same finger on my light gun, see.
We tripped. A playlist lurched bizarrely through various selections and genres of music in a mixture of intents and languages. 47's car valiantly took hills with a worrying amount of groaning. We took bends as if corners, letting out a pleasing "wheeeee!" with our voices as 47's poor girlfriend held onto her seat for dear life. And we ate. I made food. Lots of food. And despite feeling healthy, I have certainly gained a lot of weight in a mere seven days. The salad wraps that I perfected making for everyone probably being cancelled out by the side order of chips and cheese I got with our last meal - the side order that was larger than the main course. I knew I should have ordered the garlic bread.
I didn't orgasm.
I didn't even masturbate. I think I just forgot all about my libido. I do have an overactive libido, I'll admit to that. It's not something I need to be ashamed of, really. I write a sex blog, for the love of Glod. It just wasn't particularly active during the whole seven days. Why? No idea. Not the foggiest. It's not courteous, nor is it even socially acceptable, to masturbate while you're staying with someone, and in a YMCA sex doesn't exist. But still, sneaking off in the night to submit to your human desires is merely tallying with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs... wherever you do so or whoever you're with. I just didn't do so. I didn't really want to, and at some points when I did (and there were some, of course there were) I was too tired... too busy... feeling too uneasy... to begin to attempt to carry out the deed.
My libido's thought process probably went something like, "well, he's on holiday, it'd be difficult for him to express any sexuality while it's happening, better shut down for a week." Or to put it more succinctly, "No."
It's not a new thing. I've gone a whole week between orgasms before. It's just... well... I was about 15 and hadn't had an orgasm deliberately. So, essentially, it was something I needed to re-familiarise myself with. Although I didn't think about it... much. I didn't lie awake wondering why I wasn't indulging in self-pleasure at every waking opportunity. I lay awake wondering about other things, like where my skill at bowling went and why I was so shit at Dance Dance Revolution! when I usually dance pretty well on a floor. I didn't think about it, I didn't do it, I didn't orgasm. I had a great time. The two probably aren't related.
I felt my libido recharging as 47 drove me closer to orgasm. London, I mean. London. We returned today and although the playlist was still shuffling its way through the songs, the car wasn't banking in such an exciting way and everyone looked ready to fall asleep at some points. Except maybe 47. Thankfully. I certainly almost drifted off a few times, and the time when I was wide awake was mostly spent on Twitter via my faithful BlackBerry. Bits of my sexual self awakened and sniffed the air hopefully. But I had to wait until I got home to properly browse through Twitter and the blogs before I could re-assert myself as a sexual being. So, erm, I did.
I had a large orgasm.
That is, alas, all it was. It was a large orgasm and I made a mess with it. I even took a picture (yes, with the new camera - it needed to lose its virginity somehow). But although it was a good orgasm, it wasn't the world-shaking, earth-moving, bone-shattering bucketload of pleasure I was thinking it might be. I'm starting to think that maybe I forced myself into it, and that's not conducive to the best kind of orgasm.
Still, I've been on holiday. I've saved up a lot. There's nothing to stop me trying again...
Don't worry. It's a lot better than it sounds.
I spent a large majority of my holiday snapping things with a new camera. This new camera, I must add, is something that I got as a present from someone sexy, presumably so I can take naked pictures of myself with it. But instead, I'm using it for holiday snaps. How subversive. Hound Tor, Penzance, Mousehole, castles, stones, ruined villages, restaurants, churches, beaches, cliffs, hills, forests, gardens, FUCKING STONEHENGE... they all went in my camera. The amount of times my trigger finger went off may account for the fact that 47 and I almost saved the UN. We didn't quite get there, but we were close. I got to use the same finger on my light gun, see.
We tripped. A playlist lurched bizarrely through various selections and genres of music in a mixture of intents and languages. 47's car valiantly took hills with a worrying amount of groaning. We took bends as if corners, letting out a pleasing "wheeeee!" with our voices as 47's poor girlfriend held onto her seat for dear life. And we ate. I made food. Lots of food. And despite feeling healthy, I have certainly gained a lot of weight in a mere seven days. The salad wraps that I perfected making for everyone probably being cancelled out by the side order of chips and cheese I got with our last meal - the side order that was larger than the main course. I knew I should have ordered the garlic bread.
I didn't orgasm.
I didn't even masturbate. I think I just forgot all about my libido. I do have an overactive libido, I'll admit to that. It's not something I need to be ashamed of, really. I write a sex blog, for the love of Glod. It just wasn't particularly active during the whole seven days. Why? No idea. Not the foggiest. It's not courteous, nor is it even socially acceptable, to masturbate while you're staying with someone, and in a YMCA sex doesn't exist. But still, sneaking off in the night to submit to your human desires is merely tallying with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs... wherever you do so or whoever you're with. I just didn't do so. I didn't really want to, and at some points when I did (and there were some, of course there were) I was too tired... too busy... feeling too uneasy... to begin to attempt to carry out the deed.
My libido's thought process probably went something like, "well, he's on holiday, it'd be difficult for him to express any sexuality while it's happening, better shut down for a week." Or to put it more succinctly, "No."
It's not a new thing. I've gone a whole week between orgasms before. It's just... well... I was about 15 and hadn't had an orgasm deliberately. So, essentially, it was something I needed to re-familiarise myself with. Although I didn't think about it... much. I didn't lie awake wondering why I wasn't indulging in self-pleasure at every waking opportunity. I lay awake wondering about other things, like where my skill at bowling went and why I was so shit at Dance Dance Revolution! when I usually dance pretty well on a floor. I didn't think about it, I didn't do it, I didn't orgasm. I had a great time. The two probably aren't related.
I felt my libido recharging as 47 drove me closer to orgasm. London, I mean. London. We returned today and although the playlist was still shuffling its way through the songs, the car wasn't banking in such an exciting way and everyone looked ready to fall asleep at some points. Except maybe 47. Thankfully. I certainly almost drifted off a few times, and the time when I was wide awake was mostly spent on Twitter via my faithful BlackBerry. Bits of my sexual self awakened and sniffed the air hopefully. But I had to wait until I got home to properly browse through Twitter and the blogs before I could re-assert myself as a sexual being. So, erm, I did.
I had a large orgasm.
That is, alas, all it was. It was a large orgasm and I made a mess with it. I even took a picture (yes, with the new camera - it needed to lose its virginity somehow). But although it was a good orgasm, it wasn't the world-shaking, earth-moving, bone-shattering bucketload of pleasure I was thinking it might be. I'm starting to think that maybe I forced myself into it, and that's not conducive to the best kind of orgasm.
Still, I've been on holiday. I've saved up a lot. There's nothing to stop me trying again...
Saturday, August 6, 2011
HLB
What does H stand for, apart from being the last letter in the name of my best female friend?
Does it stand for Holiday? I'm definitely on that. I'm staying in a YMCA. It's fun to stay here. I'm with 47, who also has an H in his name, and his German girlfriend, whose name... doesn't contain an H. And a friend of hers, who - I suppose - was brought along to prevent me from being a third wheel. But in all fairness, she is genuinely lovely, and I don't mind being a third wheel if it's along with Her. So all is good.
We have had a good few H outings on our Holiday. On our nine-hour drive here, we had a brief FUCK YEAH STONEHENGE! moment, where 47 uttered the immortal lines in his typical restrained, relaxed style: "THERE'S ONLY FUCKING STONEHENGE, RIGHT THERE!". We also visited Hound Tor, which is basically a collection of rocks, and the Minack Theatre, at which we saw Cyrano de Bergerac, which is French. We saw Land's End, and got our picture taken outside the First and Last House. We also visited some gardens today, naturally called the Heligan, causing me to utter, of course:
Gone! Gone, O form of man! And rise the demon, Heligan!
They didn't get it.
I am of the opinion, however, that H also stands for Hale, Hearty, Happy and Healthy. Am I all of those? Well, I certainly think so. It seems so.
I am less exhausted than usual; my trusty BlackBerry - which has recovered well from its temporary half-life - is getting me up early enough to take advantage of the complimentary breakfast, although I'm not raping everything available (or even scoffing a coffee and Snickers)... I'm having muesli, toast and some orange juice of a morning. Lunch has become more of a brief affair, rather than gorging myself on the nearest cheese available, and dinner - caramel slices notwithstanding, natch - has become good, wholesome, home-made stuff, couretesy of a local Morrison's and the culinary "skills" of yours truly - so by that I am also fulfilling Helpful. And hey, my friends enjoy the food, so that's something at least.
And unlike at Woodcraft Camp, which I am forsaking for this, the side of things that relate to Hygiene are going well too. There's a shared bathroom, which I don't like BUT I have taken a shower on time AND AM PLANNING A SECOND... I'm applying sunscreen and balm for the after-effects of forgetting my sunscreen. I'm wearing a hat that makes me look cool, shades that make me look like douche, and shorts that make me cold. I'm going on long, strenuous walks that take twenty-plus minutes to complete, helping with the whole "dammit ILB lose weight" continuum. And I feel healthy. Healthier than I have felt so far at home this year. I feel... in health.
Do I miss people? Of course I do. I miss everyone. I miss all of you, and that's why I'm borrowing 47's netbook to write this post. I miss Catharine, and am keeping in touch every morning and evening, again through 'phone-related marvels. I miss Lady P, even though I am closer to her homeland than I think I've ever been before. I miss everyone I read or talk to. I miss Robinson, Hairy Friend, Mane, WoodieBBW and all of the others who are doing the mad camp thing that I'm missing in order to do this. I miss you if you are reading this. I really do. I even miss my sister, in small doses.
But am I having fun? Am I writing this post to tell you I'm having fun? Am I happy, hale and hearty, helpful, humorous, and healthy? Am I fully hyped-up on H?
I am. Oh, I am. Oh yes oh yes oh yes.
Does it stand for Holiday? I'm definitely on that. I'm staying in a YMCA. It's fun to stay here. I'm with 47, who also has an H in his name, and his German girlfriend, whose name... doesn't contain an H. And a friend of hers, who - I suppose - was brought along to prevent me from being a third wheel. But in all fairness, she is genuinely lovely, and I don't mind being a third wheel if it's along with Her. So all is good.
We have had a good few H outings on our Holiday. On our nine-hour drive here, we had a brief FUCK YEAH STONEHENGE! moment, where 47 uttered the immortal lines in his typical restrained, relaxed style: "THERE'S ONLY FUCKING STONEHENGE, RIGHT THERE!". We also visited Hound Tor, which is basically a collection of rocks, and the Minack Theatre, at which we saw Cyrano de Bergerac, which is French. We saw Land's End, and got our picture taken outside the First and Last House. We also visited some gardens today, naturally called the Heligan, causing me to utter, of course:
Gone! Gone, O form of man! And rise the demon, Heligan!
They didn't get it.
I am of the opinion, however, that H also stands for Hale, Hearty, Happy and Healthy. Am I all of those? Well, I certainly think so. It seems so.
I am less exhausted than usual; my trusty BlackBerry - which has recovered well from its temporary half-life - is getting me up early enough to take advantage of the complimentary breakfast, although I'm not raping everything available (or even scoffing a coffee and Snickers)... I'm having muesli, toast and some orange juice of a morning. Lunch has become more of a brief affair, rather than gorging myself on the nearest cheese available, and dinner - caramel slices notwithstanding, natch - has become good, wholesome, home-made stuff, couretesy of a local Morrison's and the culinary "skills" of yours truly - so by that I am also fulfilling Helpful. And hey, my friends enjoy the food, so that's something at least.
And unlike at Woodcraft Camp, which I am forsaking for this, the side of things that relate to Hygiene are going well too. There's a shared bathroom, which I don't like BUT I have taken a shower on time AND AM PLANNING A SECOND... I'm applying sunscreen and balm for the after-effects of forgetting my sunscreen. I'm wearing a hat that makes me look cool, shades that make me look like douche, and shorts that make me cold. I'm going on long, strenuous walks that take twenty-plus minutes to complete, helping with the whole "dammit ILB lose weight" continuum. And I feel healthy. Healthier than I have felt so far at home this year. I feel... in health.
Do I miss people? Of course I do. I miss everyone. I miss all of you, and that's why I'm borrowing 47's netbook to write this post. I miss Catharine, and am keeping in touch every morning and evening, again through 'phone-related marvels. I miss Lady P, even though I am closer to her homeland than I think I've ever been before. I miss everyone I read or talk to. I miss Robinson, Hairy Friend, Mane, WoodieBBW and all of the others who are doing the mad camp thing that I'm missing in order to do this. I miss you if you are reading this. I really do. I even miss my sister, in small doses.
But am I having fun? Am I writing this post to tell you I'm having fun? Am I happy, hale and hearty, helpful, humorous, and healthy? Am I fully hyped-up on H?
I am. Oh, I am. Oh yes oh yes oh yes.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Holidays!
I go on holiday tomorrow! The first of... ah well, that would be telling! I'm meant to be packing now! But before I do anything, I may as well do the TMI Tuesday that's been doing the rounds...
1. What is your favourite summer clothing item or outfit?
Any of my T-shirts... I have a hell of a lot of T-shirts. As well as trousers or three-quarter-lengths (not shorts, I don't like my legs), shades (if the sun is bright) and whatever I can find to go on my feet.
When I was small, I had one T-shirt which I used to wear all the time through summer (it was a Super Mario Bros. one) and foam flip-flops, but I'm more diverse now. I even have a different Mario T-shirt.
2. Did you or will you take a summer vacation? If yes, where did or will you go?
Three, which is why I started this post in the first place! Yes, I'm going on holiday three times, and they're all free!
The first one starts tomorrow, so I won't be gracing you with my presence for a while. And rest assured, I am really, really, really going to miss you. All of you. Especially you, Lady P, and of course Blacksilk, and Anisa, SparkleDiva and cutieloveheartgirl. This is a road trip with 47 and his girlfriend, and one of her friends! It's... would you believe it... around the West Country - so be afraid, Lady P... be very, very, very, very, very afraid.
The second holiday I'm taking is a week-long family holiday to a huge house somewhere. The jury's still out on if this will be fun or not - I have a huge family. Still, I'm looking forward to the party pieces evening, mostly because I've already agreed to help out on three of them, and I have one of my own to do. Not that I've decided what that is.
The third holiday I'm taking is to a spa hotel with cutieloveheartgirl! I know, scandalous.
And yes, although I (probably) won't be able to blog while I'm on holiday, I will be available to catch on Twitter, so by all means keep half an eye on @innocentlb for your regular dose of nervous sarcasm.
3. What is your ideal weekend away (e.g. city, beach or wilderness)?
Anything, really, as long as it's in a place that's not too difficult to get to, for a nice purpose with nice people! My automatic answer, obviously, is Woodcraft Camp, although our summer camp starts today and I can't go on account of our scheduled road trip! Bah! Although my favourite locale, cheesy as it is, is Center Parcs. It may be manufactured bliss, but it works.
4. What would you pack for a naughty weekend?
Don't tempt me! It depends what you class as a naughty weekend and who it's with! I rarely ever pack condoms (for I have never actually been away with a young lady who isn't on birth control) or sex toys (because I don't own any!), but I have at times packed massage oil and special lube. That's very rare though. Generally I just pack the necessities... you know, books. And if there's any space left, food. And then clothes into whatever corners there are remaining.
5. What item(s) do you never unpack, never take out of the luggage from trip to trip?
My keys. I don't think I've used my keys in the past five years. We have a key-safe outside of my house and nobody's bothered to remove it yet. I take my keys with them, but their only real function is to gather dust and inform everyone, by way of the keyring, of my blood type.
Not going to do the bonus questions. Neither of them would have answers that are particularly pretty. Or sexy, at that, really.
See you in a week, internets! And don't worry... I'll be fine!
I hope.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Nominate Me, Baby
Rori's Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2011 nomination post is up...
...and I'd really appreciate a nomination.
I've nominated a few of you, because some of the sex blogs I like to are of the highest quality. I love all of you, and I love being turned on by at least one of you. But I, despite trying my hardest to update as often as possible, didn't even make the list last year. That's probably because I'm a boy and boys don't write intelligent sex blogs, right? But I made #97 the year before, so it can be done, even by a loser such as myself.
Feel free, however, to nominate whoever you like. That's what the list is for, of course. But if you can find it in your post or e-mail to at least mention me once, on account of the fact that I've poured my heart and soul all over the internet via this blog, I'd appreciate you so much that I may even bake you some cupcakes.
...and I'd really appreciate a nomination.
I've nominated a few of you, because some of the sex blogs I like to are of the highest quality. I love all of you, and I love being turned on by at least one of you. But I, despite trying my hardest to update as often as possible, didn't even make the list last year. That's probably because I'm a boy and boys don't write intelligent sex blogs, right? But I made #97 the year before, so it can be done, even by a loser such as myself.
Feel free, however, to nominate whoever you like. That's what the list is for, of course. But if you can find it in your post or e-mail to at least mention me once, on account of the fact that I've poured my heart and soul all over the internet via this blog, I'd appreciate you so much that I may even bake you some cupcakes.
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