Pennelope Jimenez

Babe Name:	Pennelope Jimenez
Profession:	Centerfold
Ethnicity:	Latin
Country of Origin:	United States
Province / State:	CA - California
Place of Birth:	San Diego
Date of Birth:	July 26, 1978 (32 years old)
Playmate of the Month:	Miss March 2003
Eye Color:	Brown
Hair Color:	Brown
Height:	170 cm - 5 feet and 7 inches
Weight:	57 kg - 125 lbs
Measurements:	34D-24-35
Fake Boobs:	Yes
Career Status:	Retired
Career Start And End	Unknown - Unknown
Shoe Size:	Unknown (U.S. & Canada Women Size) ?
Tattoos:	none
Piercings:	Navel
Fan Club Address:	Pennelope Jimenez c/o Playboy Enterprises, Inc. Playboy Photo Dept. 680 N. Lake Shore Drive Chicago, IL 60611 USA
Extra text:	Appeared as a temporary Barker's Beauty on "The Price Is Right" during the 2002-2003 Model Search. She also appeared in the film The Scorpion King.
Social Network Links:	Myspace

I'm Camp

I'm going to camp tomorrow. Unfortunately, this is not a sexy prospect.

With the exception of work making it impossible for the past couple of years, I've been to Woodcraft camp every year since I was 6. I love everything about it - the songs, the campfire, the tents, the activities, the meals, the large amounts of tea, everything. Everything ever about camp.

There's usually a lot of sex at Woodcraft events. National Woodcraft, anyway. For those of you who don't know much about Woodcraft, it's split up into districts, which are self-governing. Like the Scouts, only better. Occasional events happen for certain age groups, such as DFs (16-to-20-year-olds), which are national events. Our district is very insular and, as such, I remain the only one who ever attended a DF event. In fact, I went to more than one. I've actually lost count of the amount of DF events I went to. It was a lot. And there was a lot of sex.

This is hardly surprising. A load of liberated 16-to-20-year-olds put together in a residential setting (whether tents or a large house with rented rooms) - it doesn't take a genius. There's that time when we found two of our number naked in a sleeping bag together and I had to hold onto the wall to stop myself from falling over as I was laughing so hard. There's the time that one of my friends was going to have sex with a guy and his girlfriend - the girlfriend refused, but my friend and the guy had sex anyway. There's the duct-tape-used-as-bondage-tape incident. There's the fabled four-person orgy that happened at the event after I left. There's the girl stripping off because one of our number was leaving and he'd never seen her naked. There's the time we shone torches at a tent so we got a silhouette of its inhabitants having lots of sex. And there's the time I snogged my crush. But she was very drunk at the time so it doesn't really count. Plus, it didn't go any further than that.

I never had sex at DF camp. I was just one of those people that didn't. But it's OK, I never got sex anywhere else, either.

My district's camps aren't like that. There have been the occasional inter-member relationships, but they've never gotten very far. In fact, everyone in our group who's had a long-term relationship has been with someone from "outside". I can think of a few camps where kissing has occurred (also not involving me), or more often random licks of cheeks (our variant of a pulling game, perhaps?), but no actual sex.

Last year's spring camp was something else I didn't go on, but Robinson brought his girlfriend along, and they shared a tent, so maybe it happened then. I wasn't there so I don't know. And there was that time when we shared a campsite with a district from Bradford. Hairy Friend shared a tent with a girl from that district for one night. I was also in the tent, mind you, but Glod knows what might have happened if I wasn't. Hairy Friend was, however, dating one of my sister's friends at the time, so maybe it was a bit of a blessing that that didn't go anywhere either.

But it's quite nice to know that sex isn't going to be happening. I loved DF camps, because they were so incestuous, with lots of alcohol and the occasional spliff, but mostly they were full of music, jokes, games and fun. My district's camps are always like that too, minus alcohol and drugs, and of course the sex, but still they're a lot of fun. It's wholesome, healthy, and frivolous fun, with activities, games, songs, and of course, interesting conversations at night. With no expectations of any sort of sexual performance, a lot of the pressure is taken off, and although that is - in some ways - a bit of a shame, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Now somebody make it stop raining.

Labour

I got an e-mail today rejecting my application to a job I interviewed for last week. This is neither a surprise, nor a disappointment. The only difference between it and all the other rejections I've gotten is that I interviewed for it. My father, who is an actor, identifies with being rejected for stuff (with the number of auditions he's had), whereas my mother, and Nanna, have been more affected by this, and more sympathetic. Overly sympathetic. It's too much. What none of them seems to realise is that I don't actually mind.

Yes, I do have a terrible fear of failure, and I don't cope well with being rejected. It makes my already-low confidence plummet and initiates self-doubt - more so. But I'm slowly coming to realise that that's mostly to do with girls. When it's jobs, yes, it can be disheartening, but at the end of the day, it's just a job. With me, specifically, I can't think of any job out there that would actually be perfect for me - I mean, every job has its downfalls, sure - but for some people (in fact, realistically a lot of people), they have a vague idea of what it is they want to do. I don't.

What I do want to do is have some sort of job which allows me time for blogging - which hasn't been a problem before, so I don't envision it being any sort of problem now - and one which allows me enough money to move out of my parents' house - which brings the issue back to girls. Not that I try, particularly, but I imagine it would be a lot less difficult to appear attractive to girls if I lived on my own. Plus, if I had a place of my own, any ladies I happen to bring home (to discuss the finer points of global politics over a cup of Joe, obviously) wouldn't have to eventually meet my mother, and that means that any chances of successful romantic endeavours are at least multiplied by five.

This leads me to ruminate that what I should have done, of course, would have been to move into a tiny studio flat while I was still a TA. I wasn't earning much, but it would have been just about enough. Not doing so was a spectacularly dumb move.

In any case, being rejected from a job is, for me, much worse than being rejected by a girl. I've been rejected, I think, maybe twice. That's the number of times I've actually asked anyone out. When it 'happened' with TD, Rebecca and even Soldier Girl, it just sort of 'happened'. Not successfully asking anyone out isn't a good track record. And with a girl, I'm putting my heart and soul totally on the line. Plus tying them to the line, twirling my moustache and cackling while dangerous-sounding ragtime plays. Only in this case nobody comes and saves the poor heart and soul. Being rejected is a cruching blow and as a result I don't ask people out. I know, what a loser, right?

Anyway.

As long as asking for jobs doesn't carry the same gravitas as asking people out, I'm kind of okay with my situation as it is. Not having a place to attract sexy ladies is a constant niggle, as I said in paragraph three, but then again, the fact that the shelves on my bookcases aren't in perfect alignment is a constant niggle. Not having a job makes me seem lazy, but it's not for lack of trying - plus it means I have time to talk about sex with chocolate over Twitter and watch Ghostbusters on my family's digital box. I honestly don't mind it.

But if something does suddenly come along, I'd like to think that it would help iron out the kinks a little bit.

I'd also like to think I wouldn't hate it, either.

Fadeout

I masturbated last night. Gosh! Single guy in his twenties, masturbating? Terrible, I know.

Rather unusually for me, though, this was the second time I did so in the same day. I usually only do it once... not because I can't orgasm again, silly, but because I often don't feel the need to. Unlike sex, where the urge is there just to keep doing it again and again (and again and again and...).

It was also unusual insofar as I was lying on my back on my bed. This is the position in which the heavy breathing becomes apparent, but I mostly switched to this position because I was feeling cramped on my chair and wanted to stretch my limbs a bit. So I flopped back onto the bed. My head hit the duvet and I continued. I can't remember what I was thinking about. Humph.

Anyway, I came. I can't even remember where I came. There was some in my belly button, which I cleaned with a wet wipe. That's immaterial, though.

What does matter is the fact that I came to about five minutes after I had an orgasm.

I blanked out, almost completely. It wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't a particularly exceptional orgasm either. It was nice, but then again, they're all nice. Being the second in a few hours, it wasn't particularly big. But something to do with the combination of ejaculation and (presumably) the combined sleepiness from a few days of not feeling particularly restful deprived my body of the need to move. I was vaguely aware of where I was, and I felt a few sensations... the softness of the duvet beneath my back, the cold air on my bare legs, and my penis still clutched in my right hand, pulsing gently. But all thoughts were gone, most self-awareness was gone... and most importantly, the annoying buzzing headache that I'd had all evening was gone.

I was not there, but I was enjoying being not there. It was very peaceful.

Eventually I realised that I was lying on my back, not doing anything. It took me a while to reclaim the use of my limbs, one by one... and then, steadily, I returned to reality.

But removing myself from it for a while was a good experience. I just wasn't exactly awake for it, that's all.

Soft Porn Sunday: Shannan Leigh & David Usher

As some of you may know, I'm not averse to a little acting, including playing Robin Hood at various points, and recently I've been involved with the production of a conceptual net-based game show similar to Knightmare, set in a mediaeval-style underground world. As well as doing some of the writing, I acted in the pilot. I have, however, just found out that, despite auditioning twice, I haven't been cast. So, in acknowledgement of my total failure, here's a Soft Porn Sunday with a somewhat mediaeval bent.

Appearance: Virgins of Sherwood Forest (2000)
Characters: Serena & Horatio

Okay, I'll admit it: I love Virgins of Sherwood Forest. It's incredibly cheesy and doesn't work as an adventure film, a comedy film, or a Robin Hood film. But it works well as a concept, and it also works incredibly well as a softcore film, managing to pack eight sex scenes into one and a half hours using a plot that's not exactly too flimsy. It does have the typical cop-out "it was all a dream" ending, but then again, that's also an act of mercy after it seems like there's no way out of the scenario they place themselves in.

The acting's pretty decent too - I mean, it's not great, but Dave Roth (who plays Robin Hood, in addition to a rock star, Alvin, in the "prologue" set in modern times) is a fairly credible actor, and makes for a likeable Robin. Gabriella Hall is okay, Amber Newman is good enough too, and the viceroy (who doesn't have any sex, as he is an old man) - played by Burke Morgan, who is roughly the same age as my dad - is a very credible performance. John Lopez' Friar Tuck is genuinely funny as well, if you can get past the American accent.

But the real shining star of this film is Shannan Leigh. Like everyone else, she plays dual roles - a wimpy assistant director with huge glasses named Nina in the "prologue", and Serena in the main film. Insofar as the plot goes to explain, the Sheriff of Nottingham has been finally defeated by Robin and his band of Merry Men (which, thankfully, the film gets a bit right - including Little John, Tuck and Alan Dale - and an odd one named Co-Chon, who they could have named Will Scarlett or Merry Andrew, but never mind), leaving the Viceroy in charge of Nottingham Castle. In comes Serena - the Sheriff's evil, horny, large-breasted sister - who quickly assumes the post of Sheriff. And evil she is - playing the part with a casual ease. A genuine form of malevolence, she is scheming, devious, calm and cunning. Her first sex scene happens shortly after her first appearance, and it is - without question - my favourite scene. Ever.

I'm not sure I can exactly do justice to this, but I'll try, in list form, to explain why I like this:-

- Plot. After ascertaining who Serena is, the viceroy leaves to clean out the Master Bedroom. A background servant prepares to leave, too, but Serena seductively commands him to stay. He reveals his name is Horatio, and Serena replies with, "Charmed. You know - I've had a long ride. Would you mind...?", offering him her foot. Evidently, his job is to give her a foot massage, which he does, before they get a bit carried away. I like this because it's a bit of harmless banter, and it gives a reason for the sex.
- Characters. I've already talked about how good Shannan Leigh is, but she is incredibly good at this. And, even though David Usher's only job in this film is to have sex (twice), he does well too. Both are attractive (Leigh staying hot throughout), and even the costumes are good. Okay, so I'm not at all happy with Serena's costume having a zip. But Horatio's is genuine mediaeval garb - slacks, loose top, sash - which adds a nice touch. It's a pity not all the costumes are like that.
- Setting. Awesome. This happens on a balcony of Nottingham Castle. Yes, it's not the real Nottingham Castle (I lived there for three years... Nottingham, not the Castle), but the setting is good, and there are huge panoramic views of forests and hills behind them. It's not necessary, but it's a very nice touch - and they make good use of the backdrop too, Serena at one point leaning up against a barrier while Horatio licks her.
- Music. Absolutely phenomenal - not because it's much good, but because it genuinely fits. It really does. Every time there's a change of perspective, or action, the music adapts to suit it swiftly.

So, we get foot massage, undressing, licking, kisses, and then sex. The first bit happens with Serena holding onto the balcony with one hand, having sex while standing up as Horatio supports her. And that's hot. But the second position is even hotter. After more kissing, they turn around. Serena places her hands on a table (causing the objects on the table to fall off, another nice touch), and steadies herself as Horatio enters her from behind, his foot on a chair for support.

This is the best few seconds of a scene I can think of. The thrusting movement of Horatio, the way the music works to time sforzando notes with every pelvic thrust, the looks on their faces (especially Serena's with the way she opens her mouth and the look in her eyes), the camera angle and the sense that they are reaching climax... it all works. It works in a way that very few scenes do. And there is a very definite climax too, with a massive thrust from Horatio, at which Serena bends her arms, and it is very definitely all over.

Serena has sex twice more in this film, but whatever position she's in, she always manages to assert her authority, which can't be easy - she even sleeps with Robin at one point, but something about Shannan Leigh's actions make it seem as if she is the one essentially in control, and that's very sexy - confident, assertive lady. But it's this first scene, with the servant over the table on the balcony, which really make the film for me - because it just contains all the elements that make it an exemplary sex scene. One of the best, ever.

If you want to watch it, I recommend seeking out the whole film (I bought it on DVD, which is a bit extreme; maybe you can rent, stream or torrent it) as there aren't any version of this one scene online that really do it justice - you need the context and while thing to really enjoy it to the full. Serena is, after all. Plus, you get seven other scenes too!

I am who I am...

Ten years ago, when I was 16, if you had asked me if I liked being me, I would have said no. Becoming increasingly disenchanted with the world around me, losing the majority of my boyish enthusiasm to crippling depression, no real idea of where I was going in life, increasing academic pressure coupled with the expectation that I'd do well, thus heaping more on, and the constant formation of romantic relationships around me, none of which actually involved me.

Fast forward ten years, and where do you find me? Single, unemployed, destitute. Living in my parents' house with very little to look forward to, barring the odd social occasion, many of which I can't actually afford. Small things aggravate me, large things slow me down. Nothing has stopped me completely, but that doesn't mean that it can't.

However, I have one thing on my side... I like being me.

It took me years to work this out. But I like being ILB. I settled down into bed last night at about 1:30am, and felt warm, slightly smiling to myself. I am [my real name], and I am ILB, and I can be contented with that, I thought. Random thing to think at 1:30am, but then again - why not think that?

Hating myself would be so easy. After all, how many archetypes do I fill? The nice guy who never gets the girls? The fall-guy? The clown? The comic sidekick, the second banana, the underappreciated genius, the geek? My temperament doesn't allow for any bravado that isn't false. I have very little force and I don't like to persuade. Physically, I am weak. I pale, in terms of sexual attractiveness, into relative insignificance, when compared to other boys, even over media such as the Internet. Hugs? Yes. Sex? Oh, please. I'm not that kind of lovely. And am I funny? Am I talented? I may well be. Nobody knows, because nobody came to my last gig and therefore I didn't play it.

But, despite all that - maybe because of all that - I like being who I am. Mostly. I don't think anyone really likes being who they are all the time. We all have something we'd see in the Mirror of Erised. But I'm coming to see me in a much more positive light. I have daydreams about a sex blogger comic book series, where I appear as one of the main team players, compete with halo and 1337 skills. And it's not such a bad life, after all, even if you are stuck at home, when you have friends over the Internet you can talk to. When someone says something to me on Twitter, I feel loved. And that's a hard feeling to come by. But it happens.

I don't like the situation I'm in. I think we are all aware that I would work much better being in a totally different setting - but then again, the one I'm in does allow for a lot of thought, self-deprecating humour, devastatingly witty banter and outright lies. And if there's a gap that needs filling, I'm willing to fill it. Because of the person I am, the person who I like being...

...who shines with light - albeit maybe just a little too brightly.

J-spot

I have this friend. She's been my friend for years. And years and years and years. I have even mentioned her on this blog once or twice. I have recently come to the conclusion that I have rather mixed feelings about her, and I am about to share them. Here goes.

I don't have a crush on her. I don't think I have the facility to crush at the moment. I might, but I don't know. I've only been single (again) for about four months and, although that's an appropriate enough fallout period, I haven't done that thing I used to do of falling very passionately in love with someone at the drop of a hat, and then pine longingly for them for long periods of time while not doing anything. It's odd, really, that I'm not doing that. I think I may be broken somehow.

But, crush or not, every time I see her, I wonder what she would be like in bed. I want to experience it. I know that she is 26, like me, and that she has never had what I'd call a "boyfriend". My mother thinks she might be gay, but I don't think she is - I know she used to pull lots of random boys at university, and she had sex with one boy on a journey once (although she does say he wasn't very good, and she never did it again). What is confusing is that she is certainly attractive, intelligent, and lovely to boot - not a common combination - and yet she doesn't have a boyfriend.

Maybe she is just too shy to make herself appear available, like me - or perhaps unwilling to approach anyone she finds attractive, like... er, me.

It's odd, though, that I only think of having sex with her when I'm with her, like on pub nights or social evenings. I don't think of her in a sexual context any other time and I certainly don't masturbate thinking about her (as we've already ascertained, when I wank there has to be a defined situation, and it usually involves ficticious people, rather than myself, or even anyone specific). But when I see her physically, I am very aware of the fact that she is a young lady, in possession of, well, lady parts. I am aware that she knows how to use them, and I am aware that she has. Once.

But what surprises me about myself (especially considering how long I've known her) is that I am suddenly, for want of a better word to describe it...

...curious.

Doovdé

I don't have any money at the moment, but I am quite adept at scavenging, when the time is right. And when I say 'scavenging', I'm not talking about food or clothes or things I need to survive. I'm talking about pretty, shiny things that make me feel more like a geek. Like a DVD player.

As some of you may know if you've been paying attention, I broke my DVD drive while trying to review a porn film a while ago, so from that point the only time I've managed to watch any form of DVD (and in this case, it was one epiosde of Fawlty Towers) has been when my parents explicitly wanted to watch Fawlty Towers, and I have the DVDs. We have two televisions downstairs with DVD players attached, but I can't really go downstairs without someone growling at me. So I really needed a DVD player in my room, if not a new DVD drive for my netbook (of course, I can't play games that run via CD-ROM any more, either).

Anyway, we're clearing out the attic. It used to be my sister's bedroom, then my studio for music, and now a room heaped with piles of junk. And when I say "we", I mean "my parents", by which I actually mean "my dad". He's quite good at this clearing-up-stuff lark. I tend to hoard things instead, in case they might Come In Useful. He's the opposite. However, instead of throwing something away, he decided to present me with...

"Does it work?" he said.
"I don't know. It's not plugged in. Does it have a remote?"
"I don't think there was one. Can't you use your fingers?"
"Well, I suppose I can. Thanks, Dad."

And I took the dusty, old DVD player and plugged it into the SCART socket on my TV.

I then proceeded to watch Kamikaze Girls, a film that Robinson got me for my birthday. It ran perfectly, and I enjoyed the sensation of seeing a film I haven't seen before via DVD. There wasn't any way of fast-forwarding, rewinding or arrows - and there wasn't any menu or select button - but it ran the film, and that was fine.

Anyway, the real question here is: does it run soft porn?
"Simple," I thought (if you can count anything I do as 'thought'), "I'll just put a soft porn DVD in and see if it runs."

The problem here is my dad. As I may have mentioned before, my dad is an actor, and the net result of such is that he spends a lot of his time at home - and if I want to watch soft porn with any form of sound (and it's no fun without sound), then it needs to be at minuscule volume, or with headphones. High-resolution video capture fed through the speakers of a TV might not be the best idea. Yes, my dad may not exactly do much apart from sit in the kitchen listening to BBC Radio 5 Live, but it still makes me worried that he may switch off the inane sports-related banter for a while and hear something that he'd identify as soft porn music (although if he knows what soft porn music sounds like I have no idea - nor do I want to know).

"I'm going out for a while now," my dad said this morning. "I'll be back in a few hours; you've got a driving lesson, haven't you?"
"Yes, Dad," I said automatically through the door, my code for, "I'm not out of bed yet, so go away."

I have, in fact, got a driving lesson, but that's neither here nor there. The minute he'd left the house, I practically slammed Emmanuelle: Queen of the Galaxy into my new old DVD player. And, of course, it ran perfectly.

Something which I hadn't factored in when considering watching soft porn on my TV is the fact that, with the lack of a rewind or fast-forward button, or even skip scene button (something else this doesn't have), you can't skip to anything - meaning that I can't just jump to the sex scenes. Which does render most soft porn slightly useless. Even with films wherein they make some effort with the plot, no spool function of any kind necessitates sitting through the obligatory banal theme song, which usually features as its backdrop some lady getting dressed (because that's sexy, apparently).

So basically, if I want to see one particular scene and it's in a film I own on DVD, I'm going to need to make sure my dad is out of the house, and then sit through the entirety of the film until the scene comes up.

Having said that... while it's a pain... it's still a point in the right direction.

And it whiles away the hours.

Reasons to be cheerful

At the end of the day, when I undress, I wait until everything else is off, and then step out of my pants with one leg. I then kick the other leg violently, so my pants fly upwards in an arc. I catch them, and immediately whirl them around in the air speedily, before slam-dunking them into the laundry basket.

Small pleasures keep me happy.

The Subconscious Scribe

If I seem fidgety today, it's because I am. I woke up this morning from a dream in which one of my friends (I won't say which) wrote me a letter.

Please fuck me, the letter said. I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me very, very badly. I need it, I need you inside me. I can't bear it any more, when you touch me, even the lightest touch, because I want more. Fuck me... now.

As with most of my sex dreams, I didn't end up having sex with the person in question, and with the one that involved RS, I did manage to have sex, but felt incredibly guilty about it afterwards. Maybe we did. I can't remember - it was a dream, after all. I kind of remember lying on top of her, but I don't recall penetration.

However, nobody's ever said that to me, even in letter form. Some people have said similar things to me, or said things that infer those things, but nobody's ever said that to me, pretty much verbatim. I guess it's the forceful nature of the letter that turned me on. Or maybe it's just my body reacting to me not having had sex for four and a half months, coupled with the fact that it would have been our three-year anniversary yesterday. Or maybe it's just dumb circumstance.

I know sex dreams are the body's way of dealing with the sex drive in a healthy way - but why this friend, and why these words? And why was I so turned on by it? Answers on a postcard...!

Open all hours

Please excuse me writing this in a post-orgasmic haze. Hopefully this tea and Camembert will wake me up. Hopefully. If not, Star Wars might.

So, to business. I just masturbated with the door open, and I think that's the only time I've ever done that.

I like having my door closed. Even when there's nobody else in the house, I like to keep my door closed. It sets a boundary up and, even though there is a lock, even if it isn't locked people have learned to knock before entry. I usually say "yes?" even if the door is locked, on the hope that somebody will attempt to walk in and open the door at the same time, and knock themselves out on the door.

That hasn't happened yet.

But today was different. I was getting my usual mid-afternoon horniness coming on and hadn't had an orgasm for a while. I wasn't too busy, but the door was still open. I reflected, and went downstairs to talk to the cat. The conversation went something like this:

ILB: "Willow?"
Willow: [stretches]
ILB: "Is Dad here?"
Willow: [looks disdainful]
ILB: "I want more of an indication than that. Is Dad at home at all?
Willow: [licks self]
ILB: "You know - that guy. 'Mahar, I know lots of trivia, I'm an actor, mahar, I'm Dad.' Him."
Willow: [blinks]
ILB: "Yes or no?"
Willow: [loses interest, goes back to sleep]

It occurred to me afterwards that I could have just looked around the house, but asking the cat was a much more interesting way of doing things.

Once I'd ascertained that Dad wasn't here, I snapped open some soft porn with the door open. I eventually constructed a storyline in my head, since I was just flicking randomly through various tubes and couldn't find anything I knew would stimulate me enough (and with the lack of a CD or DVD drive, my usual repository is inutilisable). The storyline made me ejaculate. I laid back on my chair, eyes half closed, and breathed heavily, and audibly, until my orgasm subsided. Blissful.

I made sure all my limbs were still functioning, cleaned myself up a bit... and then closed the door.

I quite like this idea of room-access role reversal. Not that it's at all interesting...

...but it's different! And that's what matters!

Beatitudes

Currently looking through the Bible, using verses to debunk the current rumour that the Rapture will come on May 21 (although I see no reference to May 21, 2011 in the Bible, so I'm going to assume it's not going to happen then), and I came across these. I haven't read them for a few years, but they still resonate with me.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

(Matthew 5: 1-10)

Makes me feel a little better every time I read it.

Review: Man Trap

Okay, I'll admit it. I'd never heard of Joybear Productions until last week. Yossarian seems to like them, and I trust him (for some reason), and I'm well-disposed towatrd them at the moment since they sent me a free copy of their latest film, Man Trap, to review. Free porn always gets a thumbs-up from me; free porn which breaks my DVD drive less so. Nevertheless, after some clever (read: opportunistic) thievery (read: polite asking) from my mother, I managed to watch Man Trap. Herewith the review.

Man Trap is presented as a pseudo-documentary, almost Panorama style. A journalist named Oliver McDowel, played by Oliver McDowel (wildly original casting there), is interviewing a demure older lady named Kelly Rafelle, who is the founder of a service named Man Trap. This service uses girls to catch cheating men by setting up honeytraps, leading to Kelly being awarded the title of "Queen of Relationship Interference 2011" by - get this - Break-Up Magazine.

I don't like this premise already. Only men cheat? What? And you set up your husband/boyfriend to have sex with another girl? Following this by breaking up with him? For future reference, Joybear, I've been cheated on. Several times. By the same girl. And I forgave her, and worked on the relationship. Christ, people seem loose in porn these days.

Anyway, deep breath...

So. Man Trap tells various stories in flashback style, with a little narration by Kelly. Each story consists of a long sex scene which pertains to something the Man Trap service has done. That's the entire film, and I guess this is a hardcore porn film, so you get what you've paid for.

Scene one focuses on a married couple, who got married despite investigation by Man Trap. It seems an odd scene to open on, and due to the fact that Man Trap didn't get involved anyway, it does beg the question: why play the sex scene through at all? It's irrelevant. It's filmed well - lots of sensual undressing, many kisses, lots of oral, standard penetration and a convincing female orgasm - but it doesn't lend much to the plot.

Scene two is more relevant: a photoigrapher having sex with his model (who is actually a plant by Man Trap). I'm not a fan of the aggressive dialogue provided here, but there's less undressing time, more oral, and some sex. As Kelly then goes on to explain, this led to some exploration, as scene three shows his improbably attractive wife, who is apparently a TV presenter, having lesbian sex with the same girl (including an oddly-shaped vibrator being used on her breasts and vagina), while her husband takes pictures. Because that's what happens, apparently.

Scene four is an example of "entertainment" provided by Man Trap - a female pianist plays some classical music, and them joins another girl who oil up a guy tied to a chair, then suck him off blindfolded, and have sex with him in a threesome. I guess that counts as entertainment.

Scene five tells a story: a woman, who is an animal lover, has a husband who have been spending a lot of time with a gay fitness instructor, but he's not gay. In fact, he's just getting fit in order to do a show to raise money for their dog, who has - get this - dog leukaemia. His wife is ashamed that she thought he was cheating with a man, and they have sex. Lame dialogue, and then yet more oral, penetration and clit-slapping (for some reason).

And the final one, scene six, has a Man Trap girl having sex with a random guy by a swimming pool, followed by him stealing her numbers and details, because - shock - he is from a rival company.

As you can probably tell if you've read this far, I've done nothing but recount the scenes. But that's all that I feel I can do. I'm not a big fan of hardcore, and when there are six scenes in a row, they need to be special to interest me. But they all follow the same hardcore conventions, even the lesbian one: lots and lots of oral sex, unbearably long close-ups of penetrative sex (where's the rest of the body, guys?), loud fake moaning, and the inevitable money shot. It's the same damn formula six times in a row. I watched it all the way through...

...and I was bored.

I know, maybe I'm not the target audience. But the premise - sexist as it might seem - is pretty okay. The acting's not great (and the "twist ending", which I won't spoil here in case any of you watch it, is no surprise at all), but then it's not supposed to be. It's a sex film - you're watching it for the sex. And were this a softcore film, it would work. It totally would. Some of the set-ups for the scenes aren't too bad. Soft porn would fit in well.

But it's not softcore. I hear there is a soft version, but that just means the majority of the sex is cut out, like the soft version of Pirates. And the hardcore bored me - there was too much of it to be totally engaging. And where was the music? There was hardly any, except for a few repetitive strains in the background. I want music to my sex, dammit - have the classical pianist keep playing!

I'm sorry, Joybear. I really am. I tried to like this film, I really did. But it just didn't grab me. I like sex, but there was too much of it - and as it was all so formulaic, I knew exactly what was coming next. But I felt a bit let down. I guess I didn't exactly know what the film was supposed to be like, as I'm hardly a hardcore expert, but a bit of variety (and better music!) would have been nice. And so I feel like I do with so many mainstream films these days: the concept's fine - as is the initial premise. But the contents - pretty boring.

Sadly, I don't have much else to say.

Maxine's Munch

Despite the slightly maudlin discussions about any possible future (or lack thereof) of the CCK shop, and the earlier absolute flattening of the Yes2AV campaign, last night's CCK social was one of the best I've attended, and I did leave feeling rather buoyant, having taken in:-

- a large amount of chocolate porn and the sulky catfights resulting from the same
- the greatest amount of glee I've ever seen derived from a sex toy catalogue and fomulative plans for a blog, growing from a planted mental seed
- usage of Twitter leading to a rather marvellous gatecrasher
- vociferous pro-AV discussions across the board (example quote: "what, so everyone I know on Facebook and Twitter accounts for less than 30% of the electorate?")
- lots and lots (and lots) of cider (or, in my case, water)
- getting all intellectual and casually namedropping Kinsey in a discussion about sexuality
- @tajasel tapping away at her netbook, managing to juggle being social and debating strenuously online with consummate skill
- the occasional, yet quite obligatory, cute overload
- end-of-night discussions about a girl fondue

Evidently a good night. I did have to budget for it, though, as my overdraft is currently getting a pounding not dissimilar to something I saw on RedTube recently. £17.78 was my figure, but evidently I managed to fail at this, going over that by £1 because I forgot about service charge. Still, I paid it... because when your waitress doesn't object to discussions which involve holding up pictures of a large rainbow dildo, not paying serivce charge isn't exactly an option, really.

Porn Kills

I was asked by Joybear to review their new film, Man Trap, and naturally I accepted, even though I was a little sceptical of the title. I was right. The man it trapped was me.



I should point out here that the drive I use for watching DVDs isn't properly integrated into my computer. It's attached to my netbook via USB and works sporadically at the best of times. It plays DVDs, fine, and CDs too, and I've had no problems with it in the past. Sometimes I've needed to reattach it a few times, sometimes I've needed to eject the DVD and start again, but mostly it works.



So I put Man Trap in and it didn't work.



The above sentence is an abbreviation of about three hours, but it also conveys perfectly what those three hours consisted of (interspersed with short bursts of frustration, during which I went downstairs to watch the BBC News election coverage). Man Trap wouldn't play. it went into the drive, which then whirred and clicked for a while before deciding that there wasn't a DVD in there at all. The small plastic disc was an elaborate ruse and I'd be better off playing Warcraft or something. (By which I mean the original Warcraft. You'll never get me shelling out to play WoW).



At one point, I managed to get Man Trap playing. It ran for about three minutes and then VLC crashed, following by my drive deciding to stop working and disconnect itself. I took a few notes on the premise and decided to do something different.



I noticed that there was a power jack on the back of the drive at one point and decided to see what might happen if I plugged a power lead into it. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Part of my brain - the whimsical part which doesn't understand the concept of technology - decided that if my external DVD drive were running off external power, it may behave itself. So I plugged a power lead in...



...and my computer screen went totally blank.



It was broken. I had broken it.



I resuscitated my computer the usual way (frantic presses of the power button accompanied by lots of screaming and frantic prayer), disconnecting all the peripherals as I went along. Once I had ascertained its stability, I plugged my external HD back in (although it's turned off at the moment, so no change there). The DVD drive, however, is still unplugged.



Oh, I plugged it back in all right, to see if I could get the Man Trap DVD out. But there was no response. The little LED didn't even go on. I may have broken that too.



So, yes. I may review Man Trap at some point. I'll have to have a proper DVD player to watch it because it's clearly not playing fair or my computer. Both actual DVD players are downstairs where my parents roam, and the extra DVD player that used to be in the attic isn't there any more. I've no idea where it's gone... but it's gone. And then, of course, there's the problem that presents itself when you remember that Man Trap is stuck inside a DVD drive that appears to have shorted out completely.



But... never mind. It's a challenge.

Overload

I was supposed to meet Nimue yesterday afternoon to have a quick coffee and chat - half an hour of that while she sped through London, ane before I headed off to the Distraction Club. Needless to say, this didn't happen. But, y'know, in a good way. I did meet Nimue, and I did go to the Distraction Club. The main difference being that I was with Nimue for an hour and a half, since she was running a lot earlier than expected. And that's a good thing, too, since she was a great conversationalist.

I had plenty of questions about her, but the discussion roamed free, as it is wont to do when you have two geeks and a large amount of coffee. Lurching back and forth like a broken rollercoaster, the talk sped through the relative merits of Harry Potter and the order of the Phoenix, how Paul Park can't write, Flowers for Algernon, and another one she couldn't remember (I left my 'phone on all night in case she did remember and I got a 3am text. I didn't, though). My deeply ingrained love of musical theatre came out when we talked about Lloyd Webber, including a surprisingly deep discussion about Superstar and how I viewed it from a Christian perspective. We talked about relationships - easy enough to talk about when one of you is a serial monogamist and the other is polyamorous and bisexual - and the complicated (yet hilarious) spider diagrams that can emerge when you put a community group together for a while. And we talked about the adult industry, and the shoots she's been doing - granted, we mostly talked about different ways of web design in which to create a website to publish the shoots, but that's an integral part!

Hey, stick with what you know, right?

Buzzing slightly from sexy geek and caffeine overload, I made my way to Mitch Benn's Distraction Club in the evening. This was great, as it was last time around. To be perfectly frank, I enjoyed the music and comedy a little more last time around - but this one had its moments too. During one of the intervals, I started a cuddle orgy in the corner with H and a quite drunk 47 on either side, our two other friends joining in too. Well, I say cuddle orgy. It looked for a while like I was a rapper with two bitches, one either side. I didn't have any bling, though, which may have spoiled the illusion. Still, it was very sweet. Well, kind of.
I went to the bar and spotted Abby Lee buying a drink, said a quick hello to her (having done this, also, the second time I went to a Mitch Benn gig) and shook her hand. Very surreal, but nice. I was also pleased to see that @MsClara appeared to recognise me by face as I picked up my ticket.

In Oxford Circus on the way home the busker was playing Losing My Religion. I had a sudden Glee moment and sang along. H took my hand and we danced to it, before she remembered she was going the wrong way and dahed off to get the train in the opposite direction. I tossed my last 20p into the busker's hat and descended the escalator.

A rather disjointed day, then - perhaps not as disjointed as the aforementioned Order of the Phoenix (which I've just realised I should probably spell Pheonix as Scroobius Pip commands me, although it looks wrong to me somehow), but in a good way. Lots of caffeine via coffee, cake, coke and (mentioning) kink, conversation and movement and music and comedy. And dancing.

Yeah, I can cope with that.

Roundup

Don't have anything specific to write about so I'll just say a few things here.

- Special shoutout to Sexaholic BBW for starting a new website. You'll still have to persuade me more to buy a Mac, though. It's not happening yet.

- Also many thanks to @ladypandorah for being generally lovely and dedicating her 5,000th tweet to me. I hope her scratching took place.

- I'm meeting another blogger tomorrow afternoon! Just having a quick coffee and a chat with her and then I jet off to Mitch Benn's Distraction Club. And then later in the week we have the CCK Social, and possibly Spiritual Space as well; check me out, bein' a socialite.

- This is the first month that I haven't had to move anyone from hero to villain, meaning that everyone on the list has posted at least once this month! Excellent work, fellow sex bloggers - keep it up! (The only one I did move is James, but not because he didn't post - because he said he's leaving for a while. Keep in touch, sinnerman!)

- And finally... I have unassailable proof that I am, in fact, purest of pure and goodest of good. How? Well, I walked past a Nationwide ATM the other day, and as my hand brushed it, this immediately printed out:


Quite the coup de grace.

Dis-may

It's my first First of May without TD. I don't know why this particularly occurred to be, but I sent her a BBM this morning wishing her a happy day. Probably a spectacularly dumb move. However, one truth remains evident to me, one that makes me particularly sad: despite our mutual love of Jonathan Coulton's song, and the Oxford maxim which conveys the same message, we never had sex outside. Sure, we came close to it in St James' Park, but we never actually performed the act outside. I've still never had sex outside, and it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon, either.

One of the things that makes me upset about my relationship with TD is that, sexually, I don't think I did anything particularly 'exclusive' with her. Romantically I'm pretty sure I did - dude, romance is my thing - but in a sexual context, I can't think of anything particularly special. The sex was fantastic - certainly the best of my life, no doubts there. But when I think about it - and, although it galls me to say this, in comparison to what she did with other people - I can't see any particular reason to place any special value on sex with me.

I know she didn't lose her virginity to me. That's something that I'm not particularly bothered about. But... sex in a graveyard? She's done it. Sex on holiday? She's done it. Sex in a bookshop? She's done it. Sex with a member of the same sex? She's done it. Giving a blowjob on a coach? She's done it. Any of this with me? No, none of it. And, to be honest, even if we had done any of these things... it wouldn't be her first time. It would have been mine, sure, but not hers.

And yeah, sex doesn't always need to be unusual or interesting to be exciting. Sex with TD always was exciting. But I still feel a little inadequate when I consider this. Not one of these things listed above I can really count as a naughty sexy thing that was exclusive to "us". And compared to her, I felt inexperienced. And boring.

I know, it sounds like I'm complaining a bit. I'm not. Or at least, I don't mean to. But it's difficult to forget her cheerfully saying to a group of her friends, "hey, I've had sex in that graveyard," followed shortly by, "...oh, and then I had sex with a French girl." Hello? Boyfriend standing right next to you and you're talking about your sexual past? Have you any idea, dear reader, how jealous I was at that point?

At one point, I asked TD to marry me. I may not have mentioned this before. (She said yes, initially, but that's not the point.) Why did I ask her? Well, I wanted to marry her, of course. But something I said to her, before asking, was that I wanted to go further with her. I wanted to have something special with her, something unique and interesting and exciting. I didn't mention sex - it didn't need to be sexual. Our engagement would be that one special thing that I could share with her (along with the rest of our lives, natch), and while it wouldn't be indulging in flagrante delicto on a building site or wherever, it would be our special thing.

Evidently that didn't last either. In fact, it went terribly, and I'm still convinced that was a precipitating factor to her ending our relationship a couple of months later.

I still feel sexually inadequate with her. I always will. I wasn't the one who took her into that bookshop. Hell, I wasn't even the first one to have sex with her in Woodstock. Probably even in the same hotel.

Why does it hurt? It hurts. It hurts so much. So so much.