Innocent Loverboy

Love, sex and interminable pop-culture references

Author: Innocent Loverboy (Page 1 of 30)

If you don’t fuck around, how will you ever find out?

January 18, 2026 / / 0 Comments

[Inspired by, although not officially a part of, a prompt from Laurie Penny’s “write like a person” project on their Substack. I found this prompt too tantalising to resist…]

Hear me out on this one.

I would like, gentle readers, to cancel the following phrase:

“If you have to ask, you’ll never know.”

I say this, obviously, as somebody who has been the recipient of said phrase a few times. I try to avoid saying such things to anyone – the same is true of things like “that’s tough” or “serves you right”. I’ve been against these phrases since primary school; I rarely got them, but every time I did, I was incredibly upset.

The reason I’m so strongly against “if you have to ask…” is that it genuinely makes no sense. I’ve heard it from people who have taken offence to something I’ve said, and that’s when it was usually deployed… the reason I asked, of course, is because I wanted to know what I said was offensive! If I need to apologise, I’d like to know why!

Example #1: “It’s a performance school and amateur dramatics club that [my sister] attends.”

She didn’t talk to me for hours afterwards and I got an “if you have to ask…” from her after a while. In the end, I had to relate all this to my mother, who also had no idea. As it turns out, my sister had professional aspirations to the stage and had a crush on her dance tutor. My use of the word “amateur” – true though that may have been – was what had upset her.

If she’d just told me that, I would have known.

Example #2: “You’re allowed to like the porn you like, but why do you like [specific subgenre of porn]? You don’t want to do that in actual sex. It’s kind of weird.”

Okay, fair. I shouldn’t have said “weird”. But I had felt secure enough in our relationship to ask my girlfriend this; it was, after all, the first time we had been watching porn together. I hadn’t been able to say much so far, because I’d been busily licking her out for the past half hour.

Secretly, I think, I was a little jealous. I knew that she had done [specific thing that happens in subgenre] with a former sexual partner. None of my other girlfriends have had any former sexual partners, but I was dealing with this quite well. Exploring the topic in porn I took as a suggestion there was something I couldn’t give her.

Anyway, after sulking at me for while, she deployed the “if you have to ask…”, which further threw me off. Ten minutes later she said, completely out of the blue, that she had no idea why she liked that porn; it wasn’t even something she wanted to do, and it just scratched a particular itch.

If she’d just told me that, I would have known.

Love shouldn’t be a game of Mao

I may be innocent, but I’m not genuinely an idiot. If I’ve upset someone and I want to apologise, then I’m going to need to know what I’ve said. If I’m asking, I want to be told. Why ask if you don’t want to know the answer?

A seven of spades playing card. Image from Shutterstock.
Seven of spades. Have a nice day!

Humans – scratch that; all animals, really – are curious creatures. We want to know things. The average adult human can ask around thirty questions a day (young children do so much more), only about half of which warranting an answer. Questions are a way one gets to understand the world, or the people that inhabit it. “Why?” is the eternal one. It’s one that needs an answer. Nobody really asks “why?” without expecting a response.

Yes, some of the things you are going to say may not be what people want to hear, but “what did I do wrong?” isn’t a rhetorical question. It’s one that deserves an answer.

In the card game Mao, you aren’t allowed to ask the rules. A huge amount of enjoying a game of Mao is trust. New players may be thrown by older players seemingly inventing rules as they go on. One has to trust that there will be a codified set somewhere. There is. It’s just part of the game.

Life shouldn’t be like that. I managed to upset the girlfriend I mentioned above once by asking her to marry me. It’s fairly evident that didn’t, of course, marry her, but at the time, I was somewhere between thrown and distressed by her response. I managed, after many tears, to ask her what I’d done wrong.

“If you have to ask, you’ll never know.”

Then how am I going to learn?

One doesn’t simply finish school at 18 and have, by that point, learned everything. Every day is an opportunity to learn something more – I’m 41 in a couple of months’ time and I’m still expecting to not yet know some really interesting stuff. Many of the most engaging eighty-year-olds I know still don’t themselves.

Withholding information from people because you “just think they ought to know” is just cruel. If I ask you why, assume I am going to want to know. In fact, if I ask you why you may wish to assume I don’t know. I myself like to answer questions – I’m not keen, however, on guessing.

Let’s all be a little kinder, shall we, and recognise questions and answers as the way of sharing knowledge and information they are intended to be – and not, as many seem to assume, as veiled attacks?

Because, after all, if I have to ask, then yes, I do deserve to know.

Orgasm Count 2025: A Year In Confusing Orgasms

January 6, 2026 / / 0 Comments

You’d think, wouldn’t you, that this would be obvious, right? I’ve been doing it every year for ages and I’ve even got a special code for it, and I never fail to record them in my diary and I still forgot to do this post? I have no excuse – it’s not like I haven’t got the time for an orgasm count, or even that this is particularly difficult content to write. I simply overlooked it.

This time last year I was in a rather sombre mood. Nothing was particularly wrong; it’s probably the fact that nothing was perfect, either. In 2025 a few things actually did go wrong, but then again, I did have a few perfect days.

I have written a paltry 28 blog posts in 2026. Granted that does average out to more than two per month, or one every two weeks, but that’s hardly anything when you consider that I’m a blogger who used to write at least one post every day. 2024 Escape Velocity would have been more than 40 posts, which doesn’t seem that difficult! I could have – nay, should have – done more blogging, and less worrying about not blogging! Brilliant. Story of my life!

The fact that my most popular post this year was based on somebody else’s interpretation of somebody else’s idea both gives me an idea of what people want to read and reminds me of the recycled ideas in The Machine Stops. How much that actually tell you about me, I’ve no idea.

It’s my job to tell you about me, SO HERE WE GO…

Finally, The Actual Orgasm Count

Once again I’m about to attempt to decode my handwriting, which is so awful it’s becoming a Cain’s Jawbone-style logic puzzle as opposed to simple reading. In order to make it slightly easier to decrypt, I shall defer to my own super secret secret squirrel code, to whit:

☆ – 69. This is the number of orgasms that I’ve had this year. Yes, really. 69. You couldn’t have made this up – let’s have a cheer!

Maths tells me that’s an orgasm per day on 18.9% of the year. Is that good for a 40-year-old man? I genuinely have no idea. But, still. 69! Nobody’s going to take that sort of wanking victory away from me!

🙂 (not an actual emoji; it’s a sideways =)) or, more often, ☆! – 22/3; 17/6; 21/7; 7/11 (the date, not the shop); 12/9, 4/12. These are the days on which I had an orgasm which was, in some way or another, remarkable. I didn’t generally add notes as to what I found exceptional about these wanks… apart from…

FX: Three dramatic chords.

28/9 – This was an absolute record-breaker, earning itself no less than four modifiers, each appended with an exclamation mark and with no further explanation than: Satisfying! Leana! Plentiful! BOING!!!

X2 – 15/2. You’ll be shocked to find out that this is nothing to do with the PlayStation title from 1996 which is a sequel to 1992’s Project-X. It’s simply the one day on which I had two orgasms – both routine, neither one spectacular, but both giving me the relief I needed. You’ll realise from the date that this was the day after Valentine’s, but I’m not sure what that indicates…

Where are the new codes for 2025, you unoriginal, repetitious talentless hack?

Screencap from Disney's "Encanto" (2021).
Oh… Mirabel didn’t get one. [squeaks]

There aren’t any.

This wasn’t deliberate. Stopping short of trying to describe the minutiae of every orgasm I’ve had – my diaries are never that resilient and there isn’t enough pen ink in the world! – it would be a knightmare to even attempt to do that, or even thinking up new codes!

Apologies if you were looking forward to this bit…

I really wasn’t.

Then, all things being equal, it seems a very appropriate way to end this post.

With a heading? You can’t do that.

Netflix and Chill

December 30, 2025 / / 0 Comments

It’s been a difficult month.

That’s why I haven’t been writing much. December has not been easy, despite the fact that it started well enough. My annual about page update and a couple of blog posts aside, it’s been all quiet on the ILB Front for a while. This is some sort of an explanation why.

Simply put, whatever my focus may be at the time, ILB has always been a sex blog – explicit without being rude; sex-positive without being proselyting. I don’t need to be actually having sex to write about it (and, as it stands, I haven’t had sex for about a decade now). I have plenty of sex with myself, of course, and in many ways that is the extent of my sex life – I am completely okay with chatting about sex on the internet, and on account of the fact that I’ve been doing that since 2007, I think that should be relatively self-evident.

Jill the Plumber from the adult Flash game of the same name by Hard Core Toons.
She’s here to check my pipe.

Just before Christmas a workman came to replace a pipe in our boiler system. From basically that time we have had no central heating or hot water. I tried a few methods to compensate (blankets in various places; heating water in the kettle… I even turned on my broken and dangerous space heater once, all the electricity in the flat went out…), but nothing has really worked. Yesterday he came back, with a sidekick in tow, and they spent a while taking things apart. We had about an hour of heating before the system overloaded, water pressure maxed out and everything fizzled out.

I’ve just gotten over a chest and lung infection and I’m already feeling once again like icicles are forming inside my bloodstream. That’s how cold it is.

The amount of temperatures hovering just above zero have more or less put the kibosh on the vague “get back in touch with your sexual identity, you blithering idiot” aim I set for myself a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been having sexy thoughts and the occasional dirty dream – because of course I have, it’s me – but gone are the morning erections, the implications I’m prone to picking up in innocuous conversations, and even the excitement in anticipation of porn, and more porn to come. In fact, a couple of days ago I began to feel sick at even the thought of having sex. I turned off my PC and read a book for a while before looking for something to stream… hence the mention of Netflix in the title of this post.

I can’t think of anything to blame but the cold.

So that’s what I’m doing.

Yesterday afternoon I more or less forced myself to masturbate to orgasm, with the excuse that I was alone in the flat and had some time to myself. While this was, on the whole, a good idea – it certainly felt great and my orgasm was plentiful following days of not doing so – it still felt like there was something missing. Whatever it was. There was a vital piece of the whole process absent, and even my labyrinthine brain couldn’t figure out what it was. I’d been wanking and I came… so what was the issue there?

And yet, hours later, I went to bed solid as a rock, something both unheralded and unyielding.

This morning both workmen came back to check my pipe was leaking correctly. It isn’t – there’s still a variation in pressure. The central heating is back on (although it is still very chilly in my corner of the lounge), but intermittently. It’s almost like a binary switch. Stop, start. Stop, start. Stop, start.

I suppose that’s as good an analogy as I’m going to get. My sexuality is like my flat’s plumbing; it, too, is repetitively stop-start. There’s even a disconnect between the top and bottom halves of my body – my fingers are like ice; my penis a red-hot poker. While the re-appearance of hot water affords me the luxury of having a shower, the thought of taking my clothes off in order to do so is nothing short of terrifying. Would one do so, I wonder, in an Arctic floe?

More so lies the question: do I want to have sex with myself? It certainly felt OK. Not right. Not really. But OK.

It hasn’t been an easy month, and in reality, it hasn’t been an easy year overall. This is the time to look back and reflect, and the more I look at 2025, the more I see it as a milieu of the occasional bright spot in amongst a grey mulch of nothing much else.

Possibly the word “meh” has never been so accurate.

But still.

Forward we move. However cold that might be. We cannot avoid, so we carry our cold with us.

And if anyone has any woolly gloves, that’s be great, cheers.

To All The Fucks I Had Before

December 20, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Sometimes, the individual moments all come back to me.

I remember Rebecca tentatively unrolling a Sum41 condom over my dick as it steadily grew harder and larger. Louise laughing at me in the pool both before and after sex in her car. Alicia pushing my head back down after I’d licked her to orgasm, so I could do so once again. Lilly running her hands through my long hair talking about how much she liked it. Screaming with pain as I got a charlie horse while doing snowdrop in the doggie position, and then trying to style it out as a moan of pleasure.

And, of course, there are plenty more. I (consensually) brought the Seamstress to orgasm a fifth time even though she said she couldn’t do any more after four. Got a red handprint on my arse after Catherine spanked me a little too hard when I wasn’t expecting it. I specifically remember Jill practically floating on the ceiling after the “we have forgotten about the neighbours” sex during Eroticon, although I also fondly remember the cheese triangles I’d eaten during the event directly preceding it. What a day.

There are, of course, always these little flashes. Little gold nuggets of sex history that return to you in lucid, horny, or even sleepy moments… whether you’re blindsided by them on a lazy Thursday afternoon, or appear in an imaginative flight of fancy during a train journey, or in your mind’s eye when commuting on the bus.

But, of course, they aren’t all there is to do with sex. Sex is both simple and complicated at the same time. It manages to be both beautiful and terrifying in its complexity, and yet seems so easy to do, especially once you’ve started. Given the increasing number of small children that have started appearing alongside the couples in my friendship group, it seems that rather a lot of people are finding it quite easy, as well.

However – and this is what I was thinking about last night, so the reason for this post – that’s not all. Sometimes I find myself thinking about how sex can become something of a routine. You’re in a relationship so it’s de rigueur that you’ll be having sex every night, or every x times a day, or whatever your average is. Of course, you may love sex and the fact that it happens so regularly, and to be honest, that’s ideal, more power to you, go ahead and fuck.

I’ve always been the most excited by the bits before sex happens. Those little moments when you’ve passed the point of no return, and it’s definitely going to happen; the only question that remains is how long it’s going to take before it does. When it’s the first time with someone new, of course, that can be even more of a turn-on. I’ve always found the dichotomy between the comforting familiarity of my penis inside a warm body and the thrill of a journey into the unknown!!! to be a particular moment of joy.

But that’s not what this is about either.

Sure, sex is great, and excitement is great (if it pays off – spent excitement on a let-down is never too fun). But the best sex I’ve had – the very best – has always been the sort of sex that makes me feel the same way as I did the first time.

Whether it’s the second time we’ve had sex, or the seventh, seventeenth, forty-seventh, or hundredth (I’m sure it’s happened several hundred times by now), if I’m still getting the tingly feelings of anticipation, excitement, or wonder before we have sex, amazed though I am that anyone would even begin to think about having sex with me (never mind actually doing so!), then that’s the best kind of sex.

Whether it’s planned or not, whoever it’s with and when, where, why and how it’s happening… they all matter. But if I’m excited about you, and if it’s a long-term relationship I can be after years, then that sex is always going to be the best.

Every single time.

ILB’s Top Sex Bloggers List – 2025

December 1, 2025 / / 0 Comments

It’s the first of December.

Go back a few years and this is the date where various “top sex blogs/bloggers” would tend to appear – individual bloggers had their own (some probably still do!), there was one on the since-maligned sexual content aggregator Kinkly, and there was a list of 100 – sometimes regarded as THE list – initially by Rori Sweet, who handed it over to Molly Moore.

Rori Sweet's badges for the 2009, 2011, 2012 and 2014 lists. ILB didn't make the other ones.
Rori’s badges were usually colourful and decorative.

Having been on the list myself – yet never quite making the top ten – last year I floated with Molly the idea of running the list myself. Our mutual agreement ended with the consensus that, whoever runs it, a list of one hundred sex bloggers simply isn’t viable.

Blogging, as a medium, has started to fade. Nobody can really, hand on heart, say otherwise. During GOTN’s Patreon hangout last night, the topic came up, and while she struggled to come up with names, I tried to write some down myself. It took me about an hour of searching both the web, and my memory, to compile a list – and, even so, it was a mission to come up with ten, never mind a hundred!

ILB's badge for this list.
Yes, I know it’s not great, but this is the sixth draft and it’s all you’re getting.

But still, I present here a list. This is inspired, of course, by THE list formerly curated by Rori and Molly, but it is not a continuation of the same. It’s just some active blogs I like, and hopefully, that you’d like too. For the purposes of inclusion, I set myself a rule: the blogger has to have posted at least once in the past year. Yes, once. That’s the bare minimum, I think. With that in mind:

ILB’s List – Active Blogs

1. Emma from Love, Emma
The reason I’m so fond of Emma is that she has a frankly enviable workrate. Her content is frequent, and varied – from love to sex to toys porn, she writes about it all. I read through my blogroll pretty much every day, and there’s usually new content from Emma. Her voice comes through in these posts… and it’s a very knowing one, too!

2. Sundial from Going Down with Sundial
Still something of a newbie, although not so much any more, I’m fairly sure we’ve all read some of Sundial’s stuff over the past year. Her blog is a good example of how quality writing can outshine personal preference – I’m not into open relationships, ENM, BDSM or threesomes myself, but her writing is presented with so much flair that it’s impossible not to love.

3. Christine from Light in Grey Places
I first met Chrissie at Eroticon, and was so taken with her I was delighted to see her again the following time. Her blog is a completely unique one, openly sex-positive with a focus on discourse through her Christian faith. Her posts aren’t frequent, but they’re so in-depth and carefully researched that you lose hours reading them! (And, no, I’m not just saying this because I’m a Christian too!)

4. Amy Norton from Coffee & Kink
Amy comes and goes, but she still manages to get posts out there, which is always admirable. At first glance you may be forgiven to assuming C&K is primarily a sex toy review blog, but a few clicks through and Amy’s world becomes a diverse, rich and fascinating one. My favourite post, which I sadly didn’t bookmark, was one about the threesomes she’s had, which genuinely made me laugh!

5. Ash from Sexilicious Ash
I’ve been following Ash for a while and I’m always fascinated by her adventures (and her photos are good too!). Back in the heyday of regular blogging memes, her TMI Tuesday entries were full of interesting titbits – and for someone with my naïveté, learning about a life I’d never lead was a useful thing for me! Ash hasn’t posted recently; I hope she will soon.

6. Robyn from Robyn Eats Everything
Almost quit blogging within the past year but didn’t quite get around to doing so. I am very pleased, because I adore this person and everything they do. Robyn may not be as active on their blog (although they are on social media), but there’s a wealth of flirty, funny and filthy past content on there, and reading through it is a good way to spend an afternoon. Or any time, really.

7. David from The Big Gay Review
Big though I may be, I’m not gay, nor am I into review blogs since I’m not a huge sex toy fan, so why do I like this? Simply because David is an incredibly talented writer. His reviews are fun, but my favourite posts are the little series of ‘sexy thoughts’, random musings on sex and sexuality from his own unique perspective. (Sex blogs used to be full of that stuff, and it’s always nice to find some more…)

8. Bacchus from ErosBlog
Bacchus has been blogging for so long that there’s always something new to find on “the sex blog of record”. Whether it’s a joke, a story, an image, a thought, or just a porn star with a pretty smile, it’ll be there somewhere on ErosBlog!

9. Cara Sutra from Cara Sutra
Can I really call what Cara does a blog any more? Even years ago, what she did was more like an online magazine, but she remains a blogger, with a well-maintained repository of content there. I will admit to feeling slightly overwhelmed by Cara’s site – there’s so much there I get lost sometimes! – but I admire her and her work ethic, and having met her a few times, I’ve always enjoyed her company.

10. Violet Fawkes from Violet Fawkes
Like Cara’s site above, I find myself sometimes adrift in Violet’s content, but it’s most certainly good content. Her writing usually focuses on sex-positivity with a self-acceptance focus; while it may initially seem like there’s a lot of this online, there genuinely isn’t that much! Violet’s honest, wholesome and self-affirming writing really helps you believe what you are reading.

Honourable Mention: Girl on the Net
You’re here so I’m assuming you’ve already read this. GOTN is my (and realistically probably a lot of people’s) favourite sex blogger, for reasons so numerous I’m not going to have space to go into here. I couldn’t write a list without mentioning her, and the reason I’m not giving her a number is simply because she already made #1 on The List back in 2014… well, that, and she defies convention, really.

ILB’s List – Legacy Blogs

Ask me to name sex bloggers and I’ll probably end up going back into the past. I have a few legacy blogs on my radar – ones that were written, and have been either abandoned or deliberately ended, but one can still find in situ. If you haven’t read these, they are all worth a look; if you’re the author of one, HELLO!

11. Leah from Leah Lays London
This was my first “favourite sex blog” back in the day. Leah, a sweet and sexy young lady, had carte blanche to seek out and sleep with as many people as she wanted, and set about laying London. Her escapades are steamy, hot and presented with the kind of indivisible glee that I find very difficult to resist.

12. Bitchy Jones from Bitchy Jones’ Diary
Bitchy was mentioned by name in GOTN’s hangout last night and I could have sworn her blog was still where she had left it… which, of course, it is. Another example of a BDSM-focused blog which I like even though I probably shouldn’t, I enjoyed reading through this once again, even though it’s been years!

13. Scarlet from Scarlet the Harlot
Scarlet was a good friend for quite a time and, though I completely understand why she has kind of moved on from this era of her life, in the earlier days she was quite well-known. Her posts are sensitive and heartfelt and she has a genuinely pure soul, despite any indications to the contrary…

14. Rose Monrou from Sex with Rose
Rose is, and probably always will be, my best friend in the sex blogging community. More than six feet of beauty, Rose wrote 44 pages of content in her time, so she definitely deserves a place here. If you ever get a chance to meet her too, you should… she’s not someone you’ll ever forget!

15. Robin from The Life of a Little Sex Addict
This is a curious one and no mistake. Is any of it even true? I wondered back then and still do, even though I hope it is. Robin was never particularly open with her identity, or even her location… but that didn’t matter, as her posts are direct and filthy! Some of them are brief and, fair enough, her grammar isn’t fantastic, but this blog is a guilty pleasure that I am freely admitting to here.

Honourable Mention: Cheeky Minx from Love Hate Sex Cake
I’ve always liked Minx and the stuff she does, and we’ve had a mutual appreciation thing going on for a while now. She hasn’t, sadly, posted since 2021, but her blog contains her wistful musings and photographic self-portraits in abundance. Her writing manages to be yearning, yet somehow sorrowful, and her inner beauty shines through in a way to match her outer one.

And that’s the end…

It took me a good few hours to write this and read through all the blogs I’ve mentioned here – extant or not. Tempting though it may be to go on an angry rant about the decline and fall of the blogging medium, and blame it all on monetary gain or grinding commercialism or the Online Safety Act, it just seems pointless right now.

I fully intend to keep blogging for a long as I can. In my older years I have slowed down a little, and this year (in particular) I have been quite lax in posting. I’m most certainly not going to make escape velocity this year… but then, I don’t need to do that to validate myself. Blogging has always been something I enjoy – I’m not out here doing it for clout or self-congratulation or monetary gain – and that’s why I read other blogs. I enjoy reading them and getting a little insight into the minds behind the words.

That’s the reason that I made a list. I wanted to share what I’ve found with you. Gentle Readers. I hope that, by following the links here, you’ll discover something new, and hope that sex blogging, despite all the pitfalls we have suffered recently, can never truly die.

Soft Porn Sunday: Kim Yates & Brucio D’Luria

November 23, 2025 / / 6 Comments

I’ve never really been too sure as to how I feel about Kim Yates. As much as she is a very attractive lady, and her acting is sound, I’m not entirely sure whether or not I’m very much of a fan. Admittedly, she has done less that a lot of her contemporary peers (although more than some – for her co-star here, Brucio D’Luria, this is his only credit outside of his “other” name Bruce Lurie), and maybe it’s the scenes themselves that aren’t to my taste. Let’s see if this one can change my mind.

Appearance: Nightcap, Series 1: “Forbidden Lust” (2000)
Characters: Kim & Tom

I don’t really know Nightcap either. Having a look on IMDb seems to suggest that I should, with a stacked cast including Tane McClure, Nikki Fritz, Stella Porter, Regina Russell, David Christensen and “good ol’ Jason Schnuit”.

All the hits, darling. All the hits.

Even the concept sounds appealing. A rotating cast of regulars, plus sexy guest stars, in a continuing drama series in which every episode ends with hot lovemaking. What’s not to like? And yes, it still managed to pass me by; living in the UK does that. I’ve never seen Zane’s The Jump Off either. We wouldn’t have gotten Emmanuelle in Space were it not for L!VE TV.

Anyway, this episode has a very simple plot, so here we go. Tom (D’Luria) has been sleeping with his best friend’s wife and feeling hella guilty about it. Eventually he explains his woes to series regular Nikki (McClure), and ends up on a date with – and then shagging – Kim (Kim). Wildly original casting there, guys.

Kim Yates and Bruno D'Luria in "Nightcap" (2000).
At least her underwear matches in terms of colour…

One thing I’ll say for Nightcap: it doesn’t mess around with starting off. From what I can see in this scene, either Kim and Tom don’t own too many clothes or they’ve not bothered to show any disrobing. There are only seventeen seconds of foreplay as well – and even that’s nothing more than touching and a bit of body heat.

[ILB is of the opinion that, in real life, longer foreplay is much better. His personal opinion used to revolve around the idea that if you haven’t licked her to orgasm at least once before penetrating her you’re not doing it right. While that may no longer be the case, he still yearns to lick someone to orgasm prove his theory. In softcore, too much of it frustrates him.]

Kim Yates and Bruno D'Luria in "Nightcap" (2000).
I wonder if that’s a real plant? Nah. Must be AI-generated.

Anyway, yes, 17 mere seconds in and Kim magically loses what’s left of her garments and is merrily riding away, with a nice fluidity in her body and acceptable camera work. We also get a wide shot of the room at this point, which looks both functional and like something neither of them could ever afford. Bed without pillows doesn’t look too comfortable, but again, Kim and Tom don’t appear to mind this rather obvious gaping flaw. I wonder if they’re distracted by something.

Kim does quite a lot of sex on top during this scene, and she does it quite well. As I’ve said before, her movements are quite fluxional; there’s a rhythm to proceedings, and she has nice boobs and a well-defined stomach, which both… help?… I don’t have much to say about Tom though, at least initially. Not only is D’Luria a generic square-headed warm body to fill space, the camera doesn’t even seem to like him! We barely see his face here. I’ve had to take a screenshot to prove he exists!

Bruno D'Luria in "Nightcap" (2000).
Tom. To prove his existence and show that he isn’t a deepfake or something.

At 01:16, the scene mixes to Kim in the reverse cowgirl position, so she can ride without looking at Tom’s face, and once again we get similar movements with a few added shots of Kim’s bum. That’s all I have to say about this.

There’s a welcome switch at 02:04, however. For the first half of this scene, Kim has been very much the star, but we get another mix (clearly the preferred mode of transition) to good old-fashioned lusty missionary. This time it’s Tom doing the movements, although he’s just moving back and forth. While Kim manages to keep the audience’s attention throughout (through some clever positioning of her legs), he’s not doing such a bad job, and both do look like they are very much enjoying themselves.

It ends with a fade to black because OF COURSE IT DOES.

Kim Yates and Bruno D'Luria in "Nightcap" (2000).
He’s enjoying himself; she’s practising the can-can.

There’s very little to dislike here. It’s short, but does a lot with its 02:47 runtime. The setting is quite chic, the sex is intense and even the acting – as far as I can tell – is believable. Even the soundtrack is good; I originally found it a little bland, but a drum beat comes in halfway through, which helps to drive things forwards. They’re even making all the right noises.

So, as it turns out, I do quite like Kim Yates. She still isn’t, and probably never will be, my favourite softcore star – but, in this specific scene, she is sexy, she is active, and she shines!

…and I’m Victoria, Malcolm

November 16, 2025 / / 0 Comments

I didn’t remember her bed being this large, or even the volume of her parents’ house, or the fact that it was suddenly a mansion in the middle of nowhere. Despite our years of separation, she was the same as ever. I had no idea exactly why she was putting up with my cartoonish buffoonery, but since she was decidedly DTF, I didn’t really care either way.

“Aaaaaaaaah,” she said, having toked from a spliff about the size of her forearm. (I’m actually quite intolerant towards the stuff, but I wasn’t going to object to her partaking in a massive attack of the chron, on the condition that I got to call it that.) “That’s the stuff.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Didn’t you want to have sex after this?”
“Oh, yes, yes I did,” she agreed agreeably. “But we can’t do that with my parents in the next room. Let’s go to the summerhouse.”
“Oh, good idea!” I ejaculated, despite the fact that I wasn’t aware there even was a summerhouse. Their garden wasn’t even big enough for anything more than a shed.

Scene from "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" (1920)
This is what suburban houses in Oxford look like.

We made our way through various bits of the set from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari to get out into the garden. The promised summerhouse was a bit like a cross between the TARDIS and the bus from Spice World, insofar as the fact that it was bigger on the inside and happened to be fully carpeted, wallpapered and furnished, including a bed which had clearly been put there for the purposes of having sex.

We lay on the bed for a while, mutually wondering why we weren’t yet doing anything, when we had decidedly come here with the intention of Doing Something. In the end, when no sex had happened, one of us – I think it may have been me – came up with the idea of going back into the house and sneaking up to her room.

This then happened. She was good at sneaking in, cat-like, and entered her room silently. I was a little less successful, by which I mean that I managed to trip over a metal bucket, landing hard on a door to a cupboard full of metal tools which cascaded downwards with a cacophonous concerto of clangs, and although they all somehow missed me, both hands managed to land on top of a brazier which just happened to be there…

It was my swearing which eventually woke up both parents. My blistering hands soothed under a running cold tap, I drew myself an icy bath which I sat shivering in, both hands submerged, when her mother came in, still wearing the dressing gown I remember her owning. She didn’t seem surprised to see me in her house.

“What’s going on, young man?” she asked, to which I couldn’t really give a concise answer.

I mean, could you, given the above sequence of events?

“I burned my hands,” I said, showing my braised red palms.

It was her scream that finally woke me up.

Prēma, ē’uṭā patramā (प्रेम, एउटा पत्रमा)

October 27, 2025 / / 1 Comment

I found a declaration of love lying on the steps outside my block of flats.

Handwritten note in blue marker pen in a mixture of English and a language which turned out to be Romanised Nepali. It is a love letter.

I wasn’t sure of the language, but it translates well from Gujurati. Some of the sentences were clear; others less so. The identity of “Timi”, for example, was unclear. Was it a name, or a pronoun?

I then tried Nepali (due to the clue on the note itself; Google had no idea). This translated “Timi” into the pronoun you.

I don’t speak Nepali. I translated it anyway and then rewrote it into English.

In English, the note reads:

My life is incomplete without you.

I LOVE YOU

My Nepali baby
Your smile brightens my day.
I miss you.

I love you.
You are my everything.
You are beautiful.

The author also adds his name, but I’m going to leave it off as this seems like a private affair.

I was choked. This is a beautiful, simple and yearning declaration of love (in two languages, no less), and yet it was left in the trash, blowing in the wind and forming holes. What if nobody ever received it? What if it was carelessly discarded, along with the author’s love?

Or maybe they are together forever, united by heart. That’s a nice thought.

I can’t begin to imagine, though, where else this goes. That’s not my story to tell. But I am an ILB, and so I thought I ought to do something.

Let’s assume the intended recipient – this mysterious “Nepali baby” – lives in my block. Considering where this was, that’s a reasonable assumption. I’m not going to go around asking every resident if they are from Nepal (that even sounds a little racist, now I say it out loud!), but there’s a communal space just inside the lobby where people leave unmarked mail. And this, very much, is unmarked mail.

I tear a page of lined A4 from my notebook. In my bag there’s a collection of markers, so I choose the thick blue – as close as I can get to the original note – and carefully write my English translation on. It makes a pleasant scratchy, squeaky sound as I do so… transferring his love to my paper.

I have one envelope I’ve been saving for something like this. I cautiously fold both my note and the original and slide them into the envelope. Glue it shut. On the front, in faded blue marker, I write

To my Nepali baby
from [author’s name]

I give the seal a kiss too, just for luck. Leaving my door on the latch, I sneak to the front lobby, slide the envelope into the noticeboard, and walk back to my flat.

I close the door. Click.

I’m not sure exactly what I’ve done, or even if I did the right thing. But, if there’s even a sliver of a chance that this may have a happy ending, then I’m very much going to facilitate it.

Because, considering how the world is right now, we are all due a happy ending.

Hotel Story #2

October 22, 2025 / / 0 Comments

The first time I stayed in a hotel with a girlfriend, I was 18. We had plans to spend an entire Easter holiday period together – that’s two weeks, to my non-UK readers – one week with her family; one with mine. We decided to bridge the gap with a night in a hotel.

The universe didn’t make it easy. Whatever search engine we were using before everyone switched to Google threw up a few answers and we sort of picked the first one which wasn’t too expensive, part of a chain, near an airport or with a resident distraction. I ‘phoned the one-star hotel near King’s Cross and reserved a double room. Not needing to do so, I didn’t give any details apart from my name… a fake name.

I had gone into this with limited cash and the idea that we had to be more or less anonymous. At the age of about 14 or 15 I had had a fantasy about being one half of a pair of young lovers who had a lot of sex even though the police were trying to stop them. Their orgasmic moans were a clue to their location – usually down a dark alley or on a rooftop or something – but they were never caught. Now that I was actually in that situation (even though we were publicly a couple and everyone knew we were having sex), getting a hotel room without anyone knowing so was about as close as we were ever going to get to becoming The Sexing Twosome™ (yes, there was a name, just in case I ever pitched it to TV. Now that I consider it, Netflix may jump on that idea…).

We took a train down to London and felt each other up for the majority of the journey. By the time we found our one star hotel, we had decided we probably ought to have sex before going out to find food.

The concierge told us that they didn’t actually have the room I had reserved, but there was a twin room available, so would we like that?
“What the fuck?” I didn’t say. “We’ve specifically booked this room so we can go at it like jackhammers, even though we’d be doing that anyway but we got carried away with this harebrained idea and now we want or sex room!”
After not saying any of this and leaving, my dreams of finally becoming The Sexing Twosome™ started to seem impractical. After all, the suave, debonaire male partner was a dynamic young go-getter with problem-solving skills, and I was an awkward, gawky idiot who had just been put in his place by an aging concierge in a hotel which didn’t even seem to contain lights.

“So what do we do now?” she asked, clearly expecting this awkward, gawky idiot to pull some magic solution out of the air like I’d done the first time we had sex.
“Abuh,” said this attractive genius. “Let’s… uh… I don’t know.”
At which point I noticed the rest of the street we were standing on.

The two star hotel next door had nicer Romanesque columns bookending the entrance, but it had the same vibes inside – dim lighting leading the way down gloomy corridors; uniform grey carpet tiles everywhere, a slightly neglected air, clean though it may have been. (London is full of these. The first part of this story has one particularly memorable one.) After being assured that they were never going to be full, I paid some cash and was handed a huge piece of vinyl with a key attached to it.

I remember walking down the corridor holding hands. It was quiet. Nobody else was around. Everything was calm, but sad. A place of sorrow without torment.

Our room, as it turns out, was actually quite nice. Spacious, airy, bright and with a sizeable double bed… which, as we suddenly realised, was the reason for our presence in this dreary corner of London. We put our bags down; I went to make a cup of tea…

My penis was inside her within five minutes. Half an hour later, with a plastered grin and full of cum, she felt ready to walk again.

We went in the wrong direction, got completely lost, and almost didn’t find somewhere to eat. I think we ended up in McDonald’s, which – as I noted multiple times that night – was also the name of the one star hotel who had abandoned our room.

In the end, we had to walk a little to get back to our temporary place of lusty residence. As we mutually admitted, we were tired, we’d had food, and we’d already had sex. We went back to our room intending to go straight to sleep.

And then we had sex three more times that night.

The police never found us.

Waiting

October 4, 2025 / / 0 Comments

I’ve been
Waiting a long time
For this
Moment to come, I’m
Destined
For anything at all

“Oh, interestingly, exciting news.”

My mother pulled on the brakes and her bike screeched to a halt just before the entrance to the alleyway. It led to the park – this I knew – and I also knew I wouldn’t be able to say anything as we rode down it single file.

“Oh yes? Do tell?”
“Well…”

When I stopped, the iconic plinking sound which accompanied my cycles finished their usual tune (which I can still hear – the spokey-dokeys from Monster Munch were placed on randomly, and since I liked the melody, I kept them on that way), and fell silent.

I cleared my throat.

The problem was – and I realised this a fraction of a second too late – that I didn’t actually have exciting news. At the age of ten, nothing in particular seemed to count as exciting. Getting a new Usborne Puzzle Adventures book was an event. Maybe I’d get a SNES game once a year, for birthday and/or Christmas. Those things were exciting.

But I still hadn’t experienced anything which could be categorised as “exciting news”. My mother’s disappointment when I followed my declaration up with a joke she’d heard before was palpable. I went home glum that afternoon, feeling somehow that I’d cheated myself out of a genuinely exciting event. There wasn’t one, of course, but if I hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have upset myself.

A few years later, as a teenager, I found myself, once again, waiting. The sort of exciting news I thought I might get had evolved, in a way, although I still didn’t know exactly what I was waiting for. Nine times out of ten, of course, it was me waiting to get a girlfriend. I would tease the audience with silhouettes of practically all the girls in my life, keeping them guessing.

I didn’t know, of course, but then neither did the audience. We’d find out at the same time. That would have been exciting.

Age 17 was probably a little too exciting… or, at least, it was at the beginning. Very little of it could be categorised as news, however. I had my coach journeys and my girlfriend and my sex – not to mention the A2s I was taking (in a much better mood than my ASs – and I got better grades in a better mood!). But I still felt, in a way, like I was waiting for something.

I still had no idea exactly what it was. As far as I was aware, I had what I’d been waiting for. And yet, still, I felt like I should be waiting for something. Something which I could tell the audience, or at the very least my mother, was “interestingly, exciting news”.

I’ve since gone through four relationships, had at least ten forms of gainful employment, visited the most distant country of two foreign continents, been seen on stage and screen and read in print, saved at least two lives, and learned more about sex than I ever thought I would.

I’m still waiting.

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