Innocent Loverboy

Love, sex and interminable pop-culture references

Soft Porn Sunday: Cassidey & Daniel D. Anderson

If you look at the list of softcore features from the ’90s (go on, do it), you’re more than likely to come across many – if not most – of them billed as “thrillers”. In fact, the erotic thriller genre really peaked in the nineties; there were multiple variations in how believable the thriller aspect was (there is a throat-slitting scene in Mirror Images II with the least realistic fake blood I’ve ever seen), and also massive variations in the number of sex scenes.

In the early noughties, less and less erotic thrillers were being made as studios started to become more interested in erotic sci-fi, but the genre persisted, and that’s why there are still things like

Appearance: Naked Secrets (2006)
Characters: Belinda & Chase

Naked Secrets is an odd beast. On the surface, it looks like a fairly standard “missing woman” thriller – Matt (Frank Mercuri) is looking for his missing wife Laurie (Lacie Heart), aided by his coworker Chase (Anderson). Dig a little deeper, though, and there’s a darker aspect – Laurie has been vising an exclusive spa, catering for female clients and fulfilling their sexual fantasies. Matt and Chase can’t get in, so there’s… that…

Into this mix comes Belinda (Cassidey – who is also the porn star Paizley Adams), who ends up having sex with Chase because of course she does, she’s played by Cassidey, she doesn’t need to have any clothes on to make an impact.

I mean.

Anyway, this scene starts with the soft porn candle, although it has clearly also been to the health spa as it has changed shape – it is also not alight, so why is it so prominently in shot at all? Did we have to have something to pan over before getting to the sex part?

Candle, clothes and cushions. Hey, magic three!
Necessary cameo. The candle is the Stan Lee of soft porn.

The sex itself takes place on the sofa, and the first noticeable thing – candle notwithstanding – is that there is an age difference between Belinda and Chase (and presumably also Cassidey and Anderson). Before you start coming for me, I’m just going to point out that I noticed it. There’s no further commentary on that.

I’m lying. Here it is: softcore will have multiple actors of varying age. Some (Shannon Tweed) kept making it until their 40s; some (Amber Newman) made a lot and then moved on to other things; some (Jason Schnuit) are timeless. One of the jobs of the casting director (in this case, Robert Lombard… in 4,027,204 other cases, also Robert Lombard) is to make the pairings believable. When it comes to apparent age, although there are some gaps, most of the scenes I’ve seen appear to have participants of roughly similar ages.

In this scene there is a very apparent, noticeable and deliberate age gap: Chase is an older man; Belinda is young and hot. I know it’s there for a reason, but I had to stop and think for a second. Couldn’t quite get into the scene without adjusting myself a little.

The scene doesn’t have this problem, because it starts with very enthusiastic fellatio! Wasting no time there, fellas!

In fact, most of this scene is enthusiastic. The soft porn blowjob lasts for 45 seconds, and it mostly consists of head bobs (which is what a real blowjob looks like; soft porn blowjobs usually look more like a very slow kiss, so this is different) before moving to sex in the astride position. This isn’t actually a mix or a cut – we see her mount him, which is also pleasant.

I'm bringing sexy back. I mean, she's got a sexy back. Is what I'm trying to say.
She performs fellatio; he performs “the grasp”.

Belinda rides Chase for a while, which is also done with a fair amount of gusto – fast and bouncy, but believable – and, at this point, we get to see Cassidey’s face (she’s beautiful!) and famous butterfly tattoo (which is her trademark). Anderson is reacting fairly well, both facially and with positioning of his hands, so clearly Chase is enjoying himself just as much as Belinda is.

There’s a break in the action for a little breast-kissing during which Belinda makes a curious “ooh” noise (yes, seriously). Chase gets in on the noise-making himself when she starts to ride him again, although the noise he makes is more like “ow!” than anything else – painful much? – and the sex, as energetic as before, is now accompanied by some moans from Cassidey, which adds something.

You can see the butterfly tattoo if you tear your eyes away from her face and hair!
Hair holding. See, I do notice things.

Throughout the entire preceding scene she has been holding her hair back with one hand. Maybe she’s into that? In any case, it’s one of those details which have just been added in for ILB to notice, so of course I’m mentioning this.

At 01:48 we get a mix to the position that I was expecting – doggie style – which both allows Belinda the chance to get bumped and ground (grinded? Ground sounds wrong. Never mind.) and highlights the amount of body hair that Chase has (he brings gorillas to mind). At 02:04, she shoots him a sultry, lustful look: it’s brief, but it’s hot. A series of quick cuts shows us his face (he looks like he’s concentrating a lot), hers (she looks fine), and both bodies – with, again, the noticeable age difference.

At one point, there’s even a bit of dialogue, which is

Belinda: Yes! Come on, baby!
Chase: Uuuuuuurrrrhhh…

Scintillating, I know.

There isn’t much more to say about the rest of the scene. It’s more of the same; sex in a variety of positions performed with a lot of energy and enthusiasm from both actors. Belinda moans and is sexy; Chase grunts and is there; the sofa gets fucked on; the soft porn candle gets its paycheque for the cameo appearance, and the scene ends when Matt knocks on the door. The whole scene is almost four and a half minutes, which is a healthy length for a sex scene in this genre.

Cheese and tomato. (This has nothing to do with the screenshot. I'm just hungry.)
“Oi’th got thome hair in mah mouff!”

Hot as this scene is (and it is; it makes me hard, at least…), one wonders exactly what it would have been had the music been different. Throughout, it is a soft, synthy thing with occasional percussive beats, whereas I’m more used to energetic sex like this being accompanied by electric guitar slams and drum lines! Maybe it wouldn’t suit the overall tone of the film – after all, it’s a thriller and not Passion Cove – but what we’re given is not the soundtrack I’d be expecting.

Minor quibble. It just might have been hotter, that’s all.

Overall, though, I really like this! It’s lengthy, dirty, sprightly and vibrant, and a worthy addition to my library… so thank you, kind reader SA, for suggesting I do this one!

QuoteQuest: Good Job!

A good blow job is fucking art. It’s like playing jazz piano blindfolded for an audience you’re desperate to please. It’s improvisation and communication and skill and practise and a whole lot of love.

girl on the net

I’m not sure if I’ve ever even had a good blowjob.

Okay, stop sharpening the knives. This genuinely isn’t a slight on any of the nine people who have given me blowjobs over the years – I was grateful, in many ways, for every single one. The issue, I’m sure, is with me; my penis appears to be selectively sensitive. It reacts well to masturbation and it likes sexual intercourse, but it doesn’t seem to do much when being sucked.

Or I’m suffering from iron fist. Maybe that’s a thing.

Or maybe I haven’t ever had a good blowjob. That’s always a possibility.

Whatever the reality is, the idea of blowjobs appears to be something that almost universally appeals (although the first time I heard of blowjobs I ran to the toilet to be violently sick). I’ve seen it written somewhere (and forgive me for not remembering quite where!) that those with penes like being blown because it makes them feel like they’re in porn.

I’m not sure about that. There are a lot of blowjobs in porn, but then there are a lot in real life, too. Porn blowjobs tend to involve a lot of spit and quite possibly gagging. I’m not fond of the hacking cough that results – I mean, not in every porn scene, but quite a few…

…which brings up the other question. Power dynamic. Is there one? Male-gaze porn irregularly tends to depict the one getting the blowjob as fully deserving: either being hot enough, or desirable enough, or having done a good job at work or something. In these ideas, a blowjob is a reward: it reinforces the idea that men are dominant, and that women are, apart from anything else, the gatekeepers of sex, and if they choke a bit on the 9″ dick that all men apparently have, then so be it.

I’m hyperbolising a bit here. I don’t even watch that much porn. Blowjobs in softcore always involve a lot of hair, perhaps for obvious reasons.

Yet I’ve also seen a lot of people – of all genders – saying that they like giving blowjobs. Again, they like the concept, and (as GOTN’s rather excellent quote suggests) it’s difficult to get one right, so if they do, they have done a good (blow)job. I’ve talked to people who tell me that they feel like, when giving one, they are the dominant partner; they have, to an extent, control.

My friend Louise, who has given a lot of blowjobs, says this:

I like giving blowjobs simply because it gives me control. It’s a way of gratifying the boy without having him guide the whole experience. I get to call the shots, and I take my time doing it! Oh, and I like the taste of cum, which helps…”

louise

Which is fascinating. Like all aspects of sex, it must vary according to time, place, situation and/or individual. Louise, to her credit, adds that her entire aim in giving a blowjob is to get the recipient to orgasm without any extra stimulus (her nickname, Swallow, is probably the clue there), and that she is nigh on successful every single time…

…but that’s one person with one fixation. There are almost eight billion of us; we can’t all give perfect blowjobs.

I’m probably not the right person to ask. I’ve never given a blowjob, and I’ve never come from getting one.

But if you were to ask me about giving oral sex instead… sign me up for that one!

QuoteQuest

Discs of Blunder™

Wow, May went by quickly.

Whoosh.

That’s May going by.

I missed out completely on Masturbation Month. I’ve got plenty to say about masturbation, but I just skipped my chance to say it. Bad blogger, ILB. Very bad indeed. It’s Pride Month now, so maybe I’ll have a chance to say something about that.

Despite the positive message of May, it’s not like I did a lot of masturbation during the month. My initial aim – and I would have gotten a blog post out of this – was to set some time aside for masturbation every day. Make it some sort of event, rather than a furtive spur-of-the-moment thing – and, possibly, getting back in touch with my body while doing so. (I’m having a lot of body issues right now, so anything helps, really.)

However, as it turns out, this wasn’t the case. I’ve been at work – and I’m aware that I was lucky to get work, what with the current economic uncertainty, so I’m not going to turn that down – and there was a lot to be done around the house. I’m also not comfortable with masturbating with my girlfriend watching.

(I made them come with my fingers the other day, but that’s something completely different…)

They started a temp job today, however, so I thought I’d make up for lost time. And out came the Discs of Wonder™.

They have seen better days.

Several of the Discs – including one on which was the scene I particularly wanted to watch – appear to have given up the ghost. One has had a little of the mirror side flake off, so my drive doesn’t read it; a couple make whizzy noises but the computer fails to recognise them. Some load up well enough, but then some of the scenes glitch the while thing. Some make VLC hang halfway through. And then some have just decided it was their time, and peacefully expired.

Only a few of the Discs still work and they were mostly the ones on which the scenes are not things I’d choose to watch (and, realistically, frustratingly, not the one scene I own which I really wanted to. I’ve been trying to conjure it up in my head during my infrequent wanks recently, and now I actually have the Discs out I can’t find it!). I spent about half an hour this morning checking which ones loaded, which didn’t, and which had content I actually like…

…with one hand. All while hard and stimulating myself with another hand.

In the end, of course (and predictably), I finished while a scene autoplayed from one of the folders I have on my hard drive… making my efforts, effectively, moot. Glad for the orgasm nonetheless, I cleaned up, and put the Discs away, but closer to home for easier access.

Because, you see, I have no reason to put them away right now.

I have the rest of the week free and all of May to catch up on.

SO HERE I GO!

It’ll Never Work: ILB and his 53-X sex machine

In my early years of secondary school – say, years 7 to 9 – I spent many waking night hours trying to divine different ways to have sex on school property. Quite a number were simple – holes in the ground, under the table in a classroom, on the field in the morning mist, etc. – but some were more complex.

And then there was one which was downright bizarre.

When I started secondary school, I didn’t really know what sex looked like. After year 7 biology, I was at least aware of the missionary position (previously, I had been envisioning something similar to anal sex), and therefore, that was what my fantasies involved. I was even less aware of the time it took to have sex and was surprised at how brief it was – again, I was envisioning falling asleep inside someone and staying that way for the whole night – but, in my young head, that all made sense.

But what if you didn’t have to stop having sex? What if you never wanted to stop? Could you, hypothetically, have sex for as long as you wanted, without having to eat or sleep or exercise or do anything else at all, if you had the right equipment?

The right equipment

So here’s what I invented.

The 53-X was a box roughly the size and dimensions of a sideways kitchen ‘fridge, although bigger (obviously; it had to have two humans inside it), laid sideways on the ground, like a coffin. It was also mounted on a concrete pedestal around the back of the Science Block, but that wasn’t particularly important.

There were two sections of the 53-X, mounted atop each other. The bottom section was for those with vulvas; they would lie supine on a kind of memory foam, which would mould itself around their body shape, making them feel comfortable and relaxed. The pelvic area would be slightly elevated; the 53-X itself would also provide sustenance if you wanted it to. It was completely self-contained, although not constraining.

The top section was for those with penes; they would lie prone, the foam on the lid, also moulding around and holding their body in place. Mechanics in the design would enable the genitals to connect; effectively, you could penetrate your partner, stimulants would keep you both sexually aroused, and the 53-X would hold you both in place for as long as you wanted.

There was also a satisfying sci-fi hiss when it opened or closed, accompanied by a dry ice smoke effect. Because of course there was.

You could stay in the 53-X for as long as you wanted, and while in it you would not stop having sex. Hours. Days. Months. Years.

FOREVER!!!

To my teenage brain, this was the hottest thing imaginable. Voluntarily (or involuntarily, I had a dream once about the 53-X being used as a punishment), one could get strapped into this machine and actually spend an incredibly long period of time having sex, which of course was completely taboo at the time and something I’d never, ever, ever get to do.

I also never imagined using the 53-X myself. It was always one of the faceless masses. I was just its inventor… although why I hadn’t been given a detention for inventing this sex machine in a school full of underage teens I wasn’t quite sure.

I’d work that one out later.

Why am I talking about it now, then?

Ah, that’s the big question, isn’t it? I last mentioned the concept, vaguely, twelve years ago; I’ve never touched upon it since.

The other day, with some work colleagues, we passed by my old school. It’s not in an area I go to much any more, and I hardly ever see it. But, as I looked out of curiosity, I spotted – among the jumble of new buildings and coloured fencing – the exact spot where the 53-X would have stood. Pristine. Untouched. In exactly the same state it had been when I walked across it all those years ago.

Its rightful place, waiting for it.

Not that I’d ever actually build it.

But isn’t that what science fiction is for?

Truth will open, truth will out

Six days after the first time I had sex, everyone found out.

To many people, though, this wasn’t the first time I had lost my flashing V. The year beforehand, the rumour had spread that I had had sex with Louise, when the truth itself was much more complicated. When it boils down, however, to “I didn’t actually have sex with her, but she asked me to start a rumour that I had“, it doesn’t seem too complex, but at the time it was.

To this day I still genuinely don’t know if any of my (former) classmates believed, at the time, that I did sleep with Louise – although I did sleep with Louise, three years later – or if any of them still do; I was never too clear on the matter.

This time, however, it was real and completely undeniable. No longer was I vague or coy, nor was I ashamed: I was a sexual being and I’d had sex, and I was going to be having some more, and although it came out in a relatively random way, I wasn’t going to not answer things any more.

“So are you seeing her tonight?”
“Yes, I am! I’m going up there right after school!”
“This relationship’s really going somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m so pleased! It’s going really far, really fast!”
“What do you mean… you haven’t slept with her, have you?”
“Well, yeah, but that’s to be expected, I mean, we’re in a relationsh…”
“Wait, what?”

By the time the door opened and we made our way into the English classroom, everyone in the class knew I had done it. (And this time, everyone believed it.)

Their reactions ranged from polite, confused befuddlement to absolute horror (which didn’t do too much for my poor self-image). One friend, who had expressed amazement and hastily reassured me that it wasn’t because I was physically abhorrent and she couldn’t understand any anyone would have sex with me (that was Lightsinthesky’s take), eventually came out with what I assume everyone was thinking:

“But I thought you were against sex before marriage?”

I’ve never been against sex before marriage.

“No, I’m not aga…”
“You were, but not any more, right?”
“No, I’ve never been…”
“Because now you’ve had sex and you’ve changed your tune, right?”
“No, I’ve never been agai…”
“But you’re a Christian!”
“Yes, I am, but that…”

At which point our teacher entered and everyone shut up.

It’s not like the signs hadn’t been there. As early as year 7 RS, when I’d stood up in front of the class and said verbatim that I had no problem with sex before marriage (as it was an expression of love and marriage didn’t need to be necessary), and then written the same in my exercise book (my teacher countered with “can you love someone and not marry them?”, which is one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard a teacher say), it had been fairly clear to which mast my colours were nailed.

I barely remember what our teacher said during that A2 English lesson. What I do remember, vividly, was the fact that all eyes were on me throughout, as if I were about to spontaneously combust or something. For the first time, I found myself enjoying the attention.

I was still replaying the conversation/revelation a couple of hours later, when on the coach to Birmingham. I was sure that they’d all still have questions (for me; nobody thought to ask Lightsinthesky, or my token black friend, both of whom had lost their flashing V the year prior), but right then, I was unavailable for comment.

Because I was on the coach, on the way to Birmingham.

For more sex.

Soft Porn Sunday: Shannon Tweed & James Brolin

Take a step back, and breathe.

Okay, now come closer. You can’t hear me from all the way back there.

Am I clearer now? Good.

I felt like I needed to give you the time to parse the title you have just read. If, like me, you grew up in Britain during the ’90s, you’ll know exactly who Shannon Tweed is, most likely due to the existence of Channel 5. Her extensive back catalogue steadily made its way onto UK TV, and as it did, Tweed completists were religiously setting their VCRs to record every Friday night.

That is to say, I certainly was.

You may also know James Brolin… that is to say, Golden Globe-winning, Emmy-winning, has-a-star-on-the-Hollywood-walk-of-fame, married-to-Barbra-Streisand James Brolin. Yes, this is actually him. His Wikipedia entry seems to omit the fact that he did soft porn. I wonder why.

Appearance: Indecent Behavior II (1994)
Characters: Dr Rebecca Mathis & Liam O’Donnell

Now it’s my turn to take a step back and breathe to get over the fact that I had to use the American spelling of “behaviour”. I’m never, ever doing that again.

At the very least, I am aware of this series, and to my knowledge there are four Indecent Behavio(u)r films (although the fourth one was later retitled Human Desires), and from what I’ve seen – or at least what my memory tells me I’ve seen – they are all very similar. Tweed is the star, but this one also contains Nikki Fritz and Rochelle Swanson, so at least there are a few bonus names there.

Boooooooooooobs.
This is Soft Porn Sunday, so I’ve got to put some boobs in somewhere.

Like the rest, IB2 is an erotic thriller, with the erotic parts serving to fluff out the thriller parts. In fact, in essence, IB2 is more of a whodunnit; reporter Shoshona (Elizabeth Sandifer) investigating people before getting hecka murdered. The suspects, such as they are, include Tweed’s character, sex therapist Rebecca Mathis, and that’s where she comes in.

The trope of “sex therapist not having a lot of sex” is one that has seen its fair share of days in the sun, and it very much shows here, with Rebecca’s sexual awakening amounting to two shower scenes plus one sex scene with Brolin. To keep the punters happy, or something.

The scene itself

Popular though she may be, I’ve never really gotten on with Shannon Tweed’s sex scenes. There may well be nudity, but there’s very little movement. Lots of close-ups, dimly lit sets and often just the merest hint of implied sex rather than the bump’n’grind of more recent stuff.

Light. Lots and lots of light.
Rebecca, Liam and the Time Vortex making a cameo appearance.

This scene is a good example, actually. The first half-minute shows us nothing more than Rebecca and Liam (Brolin’s character) in a fairly extensive kiss in front of a curiously bright light, and at thirty seconds we cut to a shot of Liam’s chest, with Rebecca’s hand… sort of caressing and then deciding not to?

By this point, the scene seems to have been set up already. Holy light notwithstanding, everything’s quite dim; the focus is deliberately soft, and we also have the classic ’90s erotic thriller music underscoring the whole thing: slow, held synthy chords; slide guitar every now and again; occasional wind chimes and a clave hit thrown in every now and then for good measure. It’s slow and sultry and would suit the scene were I at all interested. By 00:34, I can tell where this is going.

00:35 is the start of what I assume to be sex, although with all the camera changes it’s difficult to tell. Undoubtedly Tweed is making the noises, although that’s also questionable, as they are relatively sparse. Some bits definitely are – there are a few shots of Rebecca in the astride position and something which may be a stab at doggie – but nothing lasts very long.

Sex. Just not much of it.
I took a screenshot to make this last longer. It’s two seconds otherwise.

Deliberately, I assume. Every two seconds or so there is a mix shot to a different angle, occasionally featuring extreme close-up; for a while, this is more like a montage than an actual sex scene. It’s very odd.

At around 01:05 – which is more than halfway through this this scene clocks in at two minutes exactly – we do at last get a shot of what I recognise at being a sex scene. Liam is on top of Rebecca and they are undoubtedly having sex at this point – but, again, this fades out. This carries on for the rest of the scene, too, as they film various brief shots of sex in various positions but them mix out to more chest kissing or somesuch!

Sex and shadows.
Some interesting shadow patterns on the wall behind them there.

In fact, the chest kissing is what they keep coming back to – quite literally, because it’s the same shot of Rebecca kissing Liam’s chest recycled several times in the same scene! Nice one, movie!

So what is it?

This must, must, must be a deliberate attempt to film a sex scene without showing a lot of sex. There’s no other excuse for it. You’ve got two talented actors here, and an adequate set (well… a bed), but there are so many overly-short shots and insta-mixes that the message kind of gets lost somewhere. What is happening here? Is Rebecca attracted to Liam or not? Is he some sort of beautiful lady magnet or is that just his chest? Are either of them enjoying this? Tweed smiles at some point, but that’s the only indication we get, really!

Would anyone like to sign a petition to have this film retitled Indecent Directing?

School Council

I once told my sister that I liked an American teen sitcom named Student Bodies. It was being shown, although I can’t quite tell why, on CiTV for a while – mainly on weekend mornings – and she managed to find an episode or two on Nickelodeon; she told me, each time, that Student Bodies was on. I always made an excuse so as to not watch the episode.

The main reason that I didn’t watch any of what my sister found was that I didn’t actually like Student Bodies. In fact, I’d never seen a single episode.

I hope you’re still reading, because it’s time for CONTEXT!

I saw about five minutes of Student Bodies when I was in my mid-teens, having just woken up from a dirty dream (although not a wet dream; I didn’t have many of them). I was still in bed, and likely still hard, and the few minutes of Student Bodies I saw didn’t help much, as it featured multiple attractive teenagers… in particular, two with carefully scripted sexual tension (spoiled somewhat by a pun involving them saying “we’ve got chemistry”).

In my teens, this was something I ached for. Something romantic, but both obvious and blasé; something that would just happen, without any of the pain or heartbreak I seemed to be experiencing daily. It seemed so free, so easy, so effortless. This was what I wanted, and these fictional American teenagers were getting it. I wasn’t going to. Ever.

And I was still in my bed, still hard, and still torn between jealousy and excitement (plus, let’s be real, a fair amount of melancholy) when my sister came into the room and asked why I was watching what she recognised to be Student Bodies. I said I liked it, even though I had no idea what it was, and she latched onto that.

I latched onto the fact that I was turned on when I watched it, but she didn’t need to know that. She still doesn’t know. I don’t really want her to ever know.

But, in case you are reading this, sister of mine… I apologise for misleading you. I’ve never liked Student Bodies. But I do like people being attracted to each other, and even fantasising about it happening to me, and that’s what I was into.

Sorry about that.

Hitting the Skin

“Do you still have your glockenspiel?”
“My crystal glockenspiel? I’ve still got it, yes.”
“I keep telling you, it’s not crystal. It’s not even glass; if it was, I’d have credited you with ‘crystallophone’. Anyway, you’ve still got it?”
“Yes. I mean, it’s pretty. It’s a talking point. I don’t play it, though.”
“Did you ever? I mean, apart from that one time, with the teaspoon?”

[CUT TO: Sixteen years ago. ILB has just been sent some very basic MP3 files containing rough approximations of ad libitum tuned percussion lines. As it turns out, although Louise bought a glockenspiel with glittery, coloured metal bars, she neglected to get any mallets.]

“A few times. I mean, I’m not really a musician, so…”
“Neither am I, but I started the band.”
“Yeah. I had to return the xylophone, though.”
“The one you played with the pencil?”

[CUT TO: Sixteen years ago. Louise has just excitedly sent an e-mail to ILB informing him that she is going to rent a xylophone from a music shop. A day or so later, she further messages him to tell him that she has forgotten to pick up the mallets, but would a pencil work?

ILB doesn’t know, but tells her it can’t hurt to try.]

“Did you know I played that one naked?”
“You did what?”
“I’d just had a long wank, you see, and it was hot…”
“…it’s always hot where you are…”
“…and I thought it would be a shame to put anything on, so I just turned my laptop on, and played the xylophone like that.”

[CUT TO: Sixteen years ago. ILB checks the front porch of the house he lives in to find a letter postmarked from South Africa. He finds the sheet he sent to Louise to find her thin, slanting handwriting spelling out her full name. He wonders if she has received the CD yet.]

“Should I edit the CD inlay? Have you credited as playing ‘naked xylophone’?”
“I would love you forever if you did that.”

ILB no longer has said CD inlay. But she doesn’t need to know that.

QuoteQuest: Never Really Gone

It will always be a mystery to me how we can’t forget the love that forgot us.

jm storm

It’s been ten years, and yet it still doesn’t feel like she’s gone. Every now and again, it feels like she’s still here – about to walk through the door, or maybe she’s in the bed sucking her thumb, or calling me, asking to be read a story. My love right now reminds me of her, and although she is very different in many ways, if you twisted my arm, that may be why I was attracted to her in the first place.

Many people weren’t sure what to make of her. Lots of people saw a short, angry girl with temper issues and an unchecked violent side; while I can see their point, I saw something else in her: someone both intelligent and attractive, frustrated by social protocol and a world that was holding her back.

Sometimes things remind me of her. I have very vivid, unpleasant memories of her doing things that she knew would upset me, and then getting angry at me for being upset. Sometimes she would tell me she didn’t care, or that she was ashamed of me, or that there was something about me that she found unattractive. She told me to “man up”, even though I hate that phrase.

The bad things – the things that hurt, the unresolved, unexplained things that still leave a mark – come to me in my dark moments. At night, when I can’t sleep, I think of things she said to me. I sometimes let out a silent scream into the unforgiving night; I don’t deserve this, I tell myself, so why does it bother me?

When I dream, I often dream of her. In those dreams, we are still together. We’re probably still in our twenties. In nearly every dream, she is cheating, and gleeful about it. I scream and cry and panic, but she just giggles as she skips away to have sex with someone else. In life, the memories make me hurt. In dreams, the hurt comes from any number of hypothetical situations.

I wonder, sometimes, if she feels the same way about me, whether she acknowledges the intricacies and vague lack of explanation that happened at so many points in our love. Once, I asked her if there was anything without closure for her; she said there wasn’t anything. The same couldn’t be said for me, and for ten years, it has been the lack of a why that haunts me. I may not be a logical person, but I need a reason.

I’ll never get one.

Whether or not I’m forgotten, I don’t know. She moved on to something she always wanted, which I couldn’t give her – she married a Dutchman, got the job she wanted and even had a son. She has, in layman’s terms, a normal life, and that’s something she was striving for. Knowing her, I’m very much of the opinion that she has Completely Moved On, and that if I am in her life, I am little more than a faint echo in the distant past.

But I never will. I can make valiant attempts at it, but I never really will move on.

And so I keep the love in my mind… and with it comes all the hurt.

Why?

QuoteQuest

Sixty

It was a very different world in those days…

“I’m going to the village,” her mother said, which was probably code for something. The village was a fair walk away, and I’m still not sure entirely whether it was indeed a village. If it was, it was a very big one – or a very small town.

“Okay,” I called through the door. It was all I could do, really, as – at that very moment – I was more concerned with her breasts (I had one in each hand) and her thighs (which were wrapped around my head). You probably get the general idea, although I ought to point out that I heard the door shutting at the exact moment I penetrated her.

The sex was hard and brisk, but lengthy and filthy. Over time it varied – in speed and intensity – but it was what we needed. We had, in all honesty, spent a lot of time having sex; we knew what to do to keep each other satisfied. She certainly was, and on account of the fact that nobody else was in the house at the time, she wasn’t afraid to let the neighbours know, either.

I’ve no idea what had been in my juice box that day. But, as I said, it was a very different world back then.

I hit my peak around about the time she hid her third. With a noise somewhere between a sigh and a scream, I shot rope after rope into her.

One.
Two.
Three.

[Pause.]

Four.

Click. That was the door closing. We were gazing at each other – her face was flushed into a pleasant state of red, and apparently I was too – and we were glistening with sweat. It was a warm day, certainly, but that probably wasn’t why.

“I’m back!” her mother called.
“Welcome back!” I trilled while trying to fix my sex hair before making a public appearance. “How long have you been gone for?”
“About an hour?”

…really?

“We just had sex for an hour,” I whispered, slipping back into the bed.
“Mmmmmph.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“Mmmmmph.”
“Yeah, me too.”

That evening, we went for a walk to the village…

…and it took us an hour.

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