The word was displayed on the screen in huge, bold white letters. In the background some stock footage showed an idyllic, empty beach. There came a whoosh as a wave made its way across the vista.
“Sun,” said a sultry female voice, possibly for the benefit of partially-sighted viewers, but I suspect not so.
Where’s this going? I wondered.
SAND
You and me both, Anakin.
I’ve never been a fan of sand. I mean, I used to own a sandpit when I was a very young child, and I’m sure I’ve built sandcastles in my time.
But I’ve never really liked it. I find sitting on beaches, in particular, incredibly boring. I once went on holiday near a beach, and left Robinson et al. there while I went into the town to find a postcard to write (and a plastic bag to protect my Walkman so I could actually listen to something).
Gone off on a tangent there. Fantastic.
Whoosh, said the sea.
“Sand,” said the sultry female voice.
I think I might know where this is going…
SURF
This one blindsided me. I was genuinely expecting SEA. Maybe someone decided that SURF was more enticing. I’ve never been able to surf.
The stock footage aptly shifted to a picture of some large, cresting waves.
Whoosh.
“Surf.”
If this isn’t going where I think it is, I daresay I shall scream.
SEX
Called it.
…”and sex,” said the sultry woman. I could practically hear her grin.
The scene cut immediately to a montage of clips from sex scenes which I didn’t recognise then and still don’t, the whoosh replaced with generic electric guitar riffs.
“Babewatch,” she continued, “with Exotica Erotica. Here at 10:30pm, only on L!VE TV.”
This was exciting. I was already well aware of Exotica Erotica, but it had only really ever shown bog-standard softcore erotic thrillers like Mirror Images, Animal Instincts or Indecent Behaviour. The best stuff we got ranged from Leaving Scars to the Emmanuelle series, and even that bore the Exotica Erotica wraparound.
But this trailer suggested that there would be new stuff. Perhaps beach-themed stuff. I could get down with that. I’d even shrug off my dislike of sand if there was sex involved. From the second I saw, it looked like the first sex scene featured took place in a beach hut, which piqued my interest. On account of the fact that the episode that night was yet another repeat of Sins of the Night, I assumed the new stuff was forthcoming.
But, gentle reader, that’s not what got my attention.
As a teen, my attention was grabbed by the word “SEX” in huge letters on a television screen. The indication that something as humdrum as a day on the beach could be linked to something as desirable as sexual intercourse was what really got me. And so, every time that trailer came on, I would immediately sit up, paying the closest attention to every whoosh of the sea, huge white text and soft female voice.
Waiting, with no small amount of glee, for the SEX.
AKA: “Did I Really Waste My Birthday Money On This?”
My apologies, first of all, for taking two years to do this one. That is to say that this flick was released (if you can call it “released”) two years ago and I didn’t know it existed until very recently. I should pay more attention, or something.
Anyway. It’s been more than a decade since Surrender Cinema made anything. The fact that this film exists at all is a marvel – considering that the first Femalien was made in 1996 (and largely considered one of their best) and followed by the poorly-received Femalien 2 (1998) and archive footage re-release Femaliens: Seduction of the Species (2017). This is, in name at least, the fourth in the Femalien series, almost a quarter of the century after the first one came out.
Fuck me, I’m old.
As this excellent review by Jason Coffman says, this is an entry in the Femalien series which doesn’t carry the Surrender Cinema label (or that of its predecessor studio Torchlight, or successor Twilight) – rather it was released under the banner of Full Moon (its parent company), and more specifically as one of Charles Band’s Deadly Ten, a collection of low-budget horror movies which are Full Moon’s usual fare.
It also has nothing to do with Femalien. The plot itself involves a planet named Thanagar (DC are getting a lawyer), on which a research team have landed; they are joined, eventually, by delegates from the high council of Altaria (Pokémon are getting a lawyer). While the researchers’ professor Dara’Tel Quenthosz (Denise Milfort) starts going mad with power, things are thrown into a spin, and it’s up to those who have retained their sanity to sort things out.
I’m aware this sounds like an MST3K movie plot. The question on everyone’s lips, I’m sure (mine, at least), is that most prescient: “where’s da seks @???”)
Appearance:Femalien: Cosmic Crush (2020) Characters: Marion Ovudo & Jeetz Axelrod
As opposed to the first two films in the series – and, yes, it feels odd to write that – there genuinely isn’t a lot of sex in Cosmic Crush. There’s plenty of nudity (some of the characters may as well not have any costumes in the wardrobe), but very little actual sex. It’s a part of the plot (insofar as the Thanagarian Pleasure Pod, yes that’s a thing don’t question me, is a part of the plot), but the majority of the sex is implied – light petting and a little foreplay and then a quick fade out. For a while, I was wondering if I had bought a cut version of the DVD!
One of the actual sex scenes happens fairly early on in the film, however. Our main character, Marion (who’s on the mission because of her father or something, I dunno), begins the film in a relationship with Jeetz (who’s on the mission because he is). The opening scene, which is ostensibly about the team making a bumpy landing on Thanagar, cuts to Marion and Jeetz every now and again. They can’t help with the landing because they’re…
…busy.
Doesn’t look like the most comfortable place to have sex, really.
Our first inkling of what they are up to comes just after an entreaty to “hold onto something!”, so I suppose they are doing so (in fact, I suspect that line wasn’t entirely serendipitous, but you never know with this sort of thing). It’s a very quick shot, of course, but it leaves no doubt as to what they are doing.
A few cuts between crew later and we are treated to a slightly longer, slightly more explicit snatch of sex scene. Marion (Janson) is riding Jeetz (Borresch) in a little sleeping cubby that seems to be designed particularly for people to have sex in the astride position. I fail to see how anyone could actually sleep in one, but then again, I’ve had sex in a cubby two metres tall by one and a half wide and then fallen asleep in it, so maybe it’s not impossible.
Baby, I can see your halo. You know you’re my saving grace…
To the film’s (and the actors’) credit, the sex here is pretty good. It’s certainly energetic, with lots of bounce. Borresch might have this sort of semi-inane, semi-manic grin on his face throughout, but Janson is giving a good performance, even throwing out some piercing softcore moans (a departure from the norm, since Surrender hardly ever used anything except music for their sex scenes) at points. Throughout one shot, she even appears to be artistically lit, which probably isn’t intentional but I’m going to pretend it is.
The scene could end when Marion bumps her head on the roof, but it doesn’t. She shakes it off, smiles and then just carries on shagging. Good for you, honey.
The entire thing is underscored (as is the whole scene, including the bits in the cockpit with the crew) with some electronic thrash metal, which I suppose is meant to indicate the hazardous landing, but it works quite well for the sex too. It’s not exactly in time with it, but then it doesn’t really need to be. Since the sex lasts about fifteen seconds, anything else would be jarring.
But then that’s the other thing: fifteen seconds. If that.
Marion has just hit her head and is recovering from something she really should have foreseen.
On paper, this all sounds good. The “busy workers oblivious to people having sex nearby” trope is certainly one of my favourites, and it helps that this whole setup establishes some of the characters and basic scene. Janson herself is incredibly pretty, and she’s certainly thrown herself into this rôle (I could give or take Borresch, but Jeetz is one of only two male characters in this, so I’ll allow it).
What it doesn’t excuse is how brief this is. It’s even the longest sex scene in the film, given its propensity for more inoffensive nudity and sex implication as the machine trundles along.
Do you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?
I’ll point this out here and now, though. I’m being unfair. I bought this DVD on the assumption that it would be a full-on softcore flick on account of the fact that it’s called Femalien and it’s by the same company. There’s no indication that it would have been one otherwise. It really shouldn’t be called that – Cosmic Crush on its own would have done. But it doesn’t advertise itself as softcore, being as it is one of the Deadly Ten.
I’m not owed, in my hubris, any sex scene that I just assumed would be there. And I suppose, essentially, that I’ve learned a lesson here.
“I had a sex dream about you last night,” I said through the haze of sleep early this morning, “but I can’t remember much of it. Still, it was a sex dream about you, and that was nice…”
I had bigger things on my mind. This morning we were supposed to be going to the council to register our intent to marry this summer. The appointment’s been booked for months, and it was unceremoniously cancelled with no prior warning an hour and a half before it was meant to have happened.
Neither of us would have got up so early if we’d known, but then again, this council has always been incompetent. Maybe the local elections in May will elect a new one. That’s very unlikely, though.
It was important, whatever we were doing (or, as it turns out, not doing) this morning, to tell them that I’d had a sex dream about them.
I will admit that there were some bits that I had to miss out. The fact that the dream also involved walking down the long corridor in the YHA I stayed in at age 17. Or that it barely involved them at all and the sex bit was the only bit with them in it (it was, however, the best bit!). Or the position we did it in (probably an impossible one), how long it lasted (not very long), or why it had to end so quickly (my mouth inexplicably filled with water during sex and I had to run to the bathroom to spit it out).
I missed all those bits out, although in my head I was already planning a tweet about it.
Wow, it’s been a long time since I last took part in Five Things. Again, it’s a meme I’ve been aiming to keep up with; it’s just something that falls off my radar every now and again. The cue for this week, however – favourite places – was certainly something that rang a bell for me.
Before I go deaf like Quasimodo, let’s do the meme.
I’m tempted to put my blog down as one of my favourite places, but I’m not sure if you can count this as a place! Anyway, I’ve chosen to categorise these, so here are:
1) My favourite place to holiday is…
The city of Bath. I’m not quite sure why I like Bath so much; I have no connection there via friends or family, but I always feel at home there. It’s a beautiful city, there’s always lots going on, easy to get around (because it’s so small!), and I’ve both visited and even worked there a fair few times. I keep wanting to go back and even made a special trip there once just so I could visit the thermae.
I was once fully intending to move to Bath as soon as I could. Sometimes I wonder what happened to that plan….
2) My favourite place to eat is…
Anywhere, obviously, and I’m very fond of eating at my desk. I have a few favourite restaurants – the Italian place at Victoria Station, The Diner in Camden (where I once spent a lonely hour eating dinner alone in the middle of Eroticon), the local Indian my uncle seems to keep in business by himself – but my favourite place to get food is the tiny eaterie just around the corner from me called La Baguette. It’s not really anything more than a sandwich shop – it has tables, so looks like a café, but I’ve rarely ever sat there. However, I am a simple ho, and can’t ever resist one of their sandwiches, so although that’s not my favourite place to eat food, it’s my favourite place to get it.
And now I’m going to need to go there for lunch, aren’t I?
3) My favourite place to read is…
In my parents’ lounge. Their place, SH, is lovely. It’s small, well-kept, warm, and – importantly – quiet. Despite the fact that it’s only a street away from the last house they had (the on I grew up in), it’s still much more peaceful. There you can’t hear the shrieks and cries from the local primary school, nor can you detect the rumble of the big A-road that goes through our London borough (you can hear it from here – we’re right next to it!). Sitting in a comfy chair in their quiet, warm room is the perfect place to get lost in a book, or indulge in some handheld gaming… as long as my dad doesn’t have the TV on.
4) My favourite place to masturbate is…
In my computer chair.
This is how I learned to masturbate, at university in front of my computer. I don’t often need a lot of stimulus to get hard (although it takes me a while to get off!), but I find that – rather than using it to help – I’m using visual media to enjoy masturbation more. I can get into a situation or story easily enough, but there’s only so much actively engagement I can take! People have used their talent in acting or writing or directing or… whatever… to make arousing media, which I’ve paid money for, so why not enjoy it!
I can also masturbate lying down, or sitting on the toilet, but I don’t find those as easy (in fact, my back pain and disability mean that I can’t lie supine for very long). My computer chair is comfortable (enough – although I need a new one!), and because it’s what I’m used to, it’s what works best for me.
Not that I haven’t masturbated elsewhere, of course!
5) My favourite place to be is…
Part of the cue and I genuinely don’t have an answer to this.
I like to be with my friends and really miss the weekly pizza-and-movie nights we used to have. I don’t mind where we are, to be frank… it’s just that I like to be with them! That’s where home is, right? With the people you love?
Let me know your favourite places. I’ve been inspired by this!
Why do you write like you’re running out of time? Write day and night like you’re out of time? Every day you fight like you’re running out of time Keep on fighting in the meantime…
I like books, and I like log cabins, so I ought to be in this picture.
I am a lazy blogger, but one of the things I like to turn out is a good meme.
Some of the memes I find difficult to write as I have little to no interest in the subject(s), but I have been trying to do this meme every week, even if sometimes I find the questions hard to spin out answers for. This one should be easy, though, since it’s about writing. I’ve written stuff.
1. When you need to get serious, good writing done, where do you go?
I do practically all my writing at my desk, so I don’t really have a place.
What I do have to have when I’m writing is an atmosphere – preferably a silent one. I don’t write well when there’s noise, and as a lexical person I can’t write alongside songs. If I want to have anything on, it would have to be classical music, but I prefer to write in a silent, calm room.
It also helps if I have a drink and/or snack with me. Usually tea, of course.
2. Where do you look for inspiration to write?
You can’t wait for inspiration… you have to go after it with a club.
A lot of my writing is based on things that have happened to (or, more commonly, around me). I’ve got a good long-term memory, which manifests in posts about things that happened in sixth form or thereabouts – which you will probably have noticed if you’ve been following my blog for any amount of time. So, if I’m really stuck, I’ll plumb the depths of my memory.
It doesn’t always happen like that. Every now and again I’ll come across something related to sex, love, dating, etc. and I’ll make a mental note: sometimes the best content comes out of nowhere!
3. If you could add anything to your office what would it be?
I don’t really have an office. I write in my living room, because that’s where my desk is.
I could benefit from: – a much tidier room – a clearer desk – a repaired light (the bulb has blown) – a clear side table
But I think I need to attend to all these myself; it’s not really something I can add!
I also need a remote for my DVD player. There’s only so much you can do with play and stop.
4. Are you an app calendar/planner kind of person, or do you still prefer a physical planner?
Raised eyebrow here at the use of the word “still”.
I am very much the kind of person that prefers something physical, and I am pretty much wedded to getting a new academic year diary every August. It’s comforting to be able to handwrite something in, it’s an easy reference, it doesn’t rely on battery life, and – apart from anything else – I can use it to log my wanks.
I’ve had a number of ‘phones that have a planner function – I’m using Android at the moment, which has a few built in, and the BlackBerry had a really good one – but I’ve never used one for anything more than morning alarms and “Doctor Who is on” reminders…
5. When you jot down notes, do you use pen and paper, or put it into an electronic device (eg. tablet, smartphone, etc.)?
As above, I much prefer pen (or pencil) and paper, and in fact I have a pot of random pens and a pad of Post-It notes for that very purpose.
Every now and again (because thanks, brain) I get an idea somewhere that isn’t practical – on the Tube, at a party, in the middle of a conversation at work – and I’ll have to resort to using my ‘phone. Even then, it will be nothing more than a couple of keywords, and I’ll still e-mail it to myself, so I’ll have a backup reminder.
It’s also cute that you think I jot down notes. I just open the compose window and go, you know that.
Bonus: March 15 is National Shoe World Day, a holiday that illuminates the need for quality footwear for millions of people around the world who go without. What quality pair of shoes would you pick to gift to someone?
It’s very difficult to buy shoes for me, because I’m a staunch vegetarian and don’t do leather (or silk, so I have to check fabric shoes as well). I have one pair of breathable rubber black loafers for work, one pair of multi-layer fabric trainers for the gym, and one worn pair of my favourite shoes – Converse All-Stars – for everyday wear.
I originally bought these because they’re not leather… and I’ve never looked back.
While I’m tempted to go with Converse for that reason, I realise this isn’t too practical as they are susceptible to rain, wear out quickly, and are tied by shoelaces, and not everyone can tie shoelaces. I’m finding it increasingly difficult to do so as my disability catches up with me.
What I would gift, then, is something practical, hard-wearing, easy to put on (slip-on loafers or fastened with Velcro) and – of course – vegan. Since my local branch of Shoe Zone recently closed down, it’s hard to find that sort of thing any more!
It was a very sleepy Monday. For reasons unrelated to each other (but I suspect “it’s the middle of the term and there aren’t any holidays in sight” was probably a big factor), none of us had had a restful weekend. Nobody wanted to be in school, and you could tell that the staff felt largely the same way. Nevertheless, I tried to make the best of it.
“Hi, Ant.” “GET YOUR EYES TESTED!” shouted Ant at maximum volume, and he stormed off.
Tuesday was a little better, although the weather was proving to be muggy and uncomfortable. I spent most of my breaks in the library, anyway, but it was still a relief to get inside. Ant came by at one point, and I raised a hand in friendly greeting.
“I TOLD YOU TO GET YOUR EYES TESTED!” he yelled in my face before walking off in a huff.
On Wednesday, I was sitting with my friends in the dining hall when Ant came up to me from behind.
“HAVE YOU HAD YOUR EYES TESTED YET?” he caterwauled into an ear that hadn’t worked properly ever since. “I have, but my astigmatism is very mild,” I replied pleasantly while he stood there giving me a frown so hard it was very clear he wished me nothing but a slow and painful death. “Am I ever going to find out what this is about, or have you just started this and don’t know where you’re going with it?”
[NB: This last statement was used as the basis for ABC’s Lost, a few years later.]
“It’s because you can’t see,” hissed Ant – which I can’t fault him for; that’s the usual reason you should get an eye test. “I thought I could, unless I’m actually dreaming and this is all an illusion…?” “No, I mean you can’t see. Ugliness. You can’t see that she’s ugly.” “…Who?”
This was a genuine question on my part. He could have been referring to Ann Widdecombe and wouldn’t have been wrong, either.
“You know who I’m referring to. That girl… the one you sit opposite in Science.”
‘That girl’ had a name, which everyone knew, including Ant, who had been in the same classes as her for five years.
“Oh,” I said softly. “But I don’t think she’s ugly.” “Well, you need to get your eyes tested, then,” said Ant. “Because she is. And I heard you fancy her, so you need to…” “…get my eyes tested,” I supplied. “But your information is wrong. I don’t fancy her. I just want to have sex with her.”
Okay, maybe I didn’t say that last bit. But it wasn’t false. I didn’t fancy this girl and I never had, but we had been friends for a long time and I really, really, really wanted to have sex with her. I’d been having dreams about the subject since year 7.
“Sure you don’t,” retorted Ant sardonically. “I heard otherwise. You’ve had dreams about kissing her.”
My dreams were more about how well my penis might fit into her vagina, but I wasn’t going to say that either.
“I have,” I admitted, “but you always dream about crazy stuff. I’ve had two dreams in which I found out I was Jesus. In the first of those, I used my divine powers to turn into a dinosaur.” “You what?” “And in any case,” I ploughed on, “you’ve had strange dreams yourself. You told me about that one you had about Britney…” “I HAVE MANLY NEEDS!” Ant screamed like a banshee, and without another word, he turned and steamrollered off, right into a wall that had been there since we started and you may think he might have noticed.
There was a pause.
“What was all that about?” asked Einstein as we carried on with our lunch. “I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “Maybe he needs his eyes tested.”
“What’s up?” asked Lightsinthesky, once the hustle and bustle of the younger students had calmed down. The little recess in the corridor, which housed the door to the library, was always a good place to have a conversation without being overheard.
Or so we thought.
“I’ve been having too much casual sex lately,” said Music Man blithely.
Everyone laughed – although not unkindly. Attractive though he may have been, Music Man hadn’t had any casual sex. In fact, none of us had. The first of us to have any sort of sex was still yet to happen, although – by this point – we were all of legal age. Music Man just said random things like that. We loved how random he was in any case.
“Who’s been having casual sex?” asked our careers advisor, opening the door to his office (which also opened onto the little recess). It was always a gamble whether or not he’d be in there – although it was pleasing when he was; he was always up for a chat about musical theatre, a shared interest between both of us. I’d also allowed him access once to a BBC contract for my work experience placement in year 10, something he was very excited about.
“Music Man,” we all said, pointing to him. Our careers advisor cocked an eyebrow. “Well, make sure you use protection,” he said. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. I’ve got to finish getting ready for the weekend.” “Paris again, is it?” I asked innocently. “Amsterdam, actually,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me…”
He retreated into his room and locked the door.
“I can think of one person who really is having casual sex,” grinned Lightsinthesky as we finally made our way into the library. “Actually, that reminds me,” I said quietly. “What, casual sex?” “No! The office! If he’s in it I can’t have my session with Eleanor!”
Which was entirely true. Eleanor, who was a year older than me, was my unofficial counsellor thanks to a youth outreach programme they had started offering the sixth form. We’d been using our careers advisor’s office as a space since he was hardly ever there and she had a key.
“Why, what is it you’re doing with Eleanor every week, anyway?” asked Einstein. “Oh, you know…” I said. “Music Man’s been having too much…”
“CASUAL SEX!” shouted Lightsinthesky, at which everyone in the library looked around.
It had been a difficult week. Illnesses, money worries, body image and projects that only get finished at the last minute. Yesterday afternoon was a hodgepodge of excitement and exhaustion. I couldn’t focus; I couldn’t think. Time for porn.
I opened VLC and started browsing the folder I’ve helpfully named “Don’t Look Here!”. What should I watch? All my favourite scenes were there in alphabetical order. It shouldn’t have been difficult to choose one – specifically since I hadn’t had an orgasm in about a week and now had a couple of hours to kill. My finger hovered over the Shannan-Leigh-in-Andromina scene and…
…and…
The problem with this was that, for the last two weeks, I’d mostly been eschewing softcore in favour of harder stuff. It was easier (and more unfamiliar, which made it better, since I love discovering new stuff) to spend a while on Chaturbate than it was to spool through the several-hundred-strong scene count I’ve got on my HD and/or my Discs of Wonder.™
I’d even started delving into the murky depths of genuine hardcore porn. I’ve always been fond of Laura Angel, but right now I’m a bit of a fan of cute, nerdy starlet Leana Lovings (although that’s Emma‘s fault, so blame her); in fact, I’ve even invented a new mark to put in my diary when it’s Leana I’ve been watching when I come. (Is that creepy? I think it’s creepy. I don’t know… I just don’t…!)
Yesterday afternoon, however, I waivered. I’d just come home from a rather intense job interview, during which I slipped and fell in some mud (before doing the entire interview with my brand new suit and coat covered in it (and still managed to get the job!)). My entire intention was to work off all the stress of February with softcore, and yet ILB of February hadn’t been watching softcore.
What had I become?
Okay, fine, I thought. I’ve got time. I’ll watch a few things. I opened some tabs, and then closed them again. I cued up a few videos, and then hit pause almost immediately.
Flappy ILB is not good ILB. My brain was shattered into little pieces, my heart was pounding, my memory spinning, and worst of all, my penis was rock hard and I wasn’t doing anything about it, which was my intention when sitting at my computer to begin with!
In the end, I chose a scene completely at random. No skipping, no closing it after the good bit, no cinematographic criticism in my head. Just a scene. I just needed to watch a scene – good old clean, glossy soft porn. My gateway drug and my first great love.
And I had the biggest orgasm I’ve had in weeks the instant the scene ended.
…
There’s a lesson here somewhere. If only I could work out what it is…
Say I love you, girl, but I’m out of time Say I’m there for you, but I’m out of time Say that I’ll care for you, but I’m out of time Said, I’m too late to make you mine, out of time
An appropriate picture since I’m the King of Cake.
Wow, okay, it has been a while since I did a blog post.
Time has not been on my side. I have spent two weeks caring for a fiancée with incredibly debilitating COVID-19 (worse than when I had it; I just slept most of mine off). The art project I’ve been doing has been pretty stop-start as a result of this, and although it started well, I genuinely don’t think I’m going to finish it before the deadline. I’m also still looking for a job and, every now and again, have a trial day somewhere that fails, or get given a start date somewhere that ghosts me.
I genuinely want to blog – it’s one of my favourite things to do, even here partway through year fifteen. However, with everything going on at the moment (even though it seems like I have a lot of free time, I genuinely don’t), blogging has had to fall on the back burner.
It’s fitting, then, that one of the few snatches of time I’ve got to knock out a post is on a Tuesday, when there’s a handy meme to get the fires burning. I don’t know if there’s a theme with this one (it appears to be “savour”, as evidenced by the image), but it genuinely allowed me to get my geek on.
1. What did you last savour and when?
Three Batman-themed OREOs. Just now.
OK, I will explain. There are now OREOs with Batman’s face on them, to tie in with the upcoming release of The Batman. They don’t actually taste any different from normal OREOs, nor do they cost more. But I am a gullible fool, and yesterday I was having a Batman marathon thanks to a box set I got for Christmas, so in the evening I saw a pack and bought it.
J’onn and his one true love.
I’m still not going to get over the fact that they’ve never made Martian Manhunter OREOs. I mean, he’s the superhero who actually manages to savour them.
2. Athletic, mind-blowing sex or slow, sexy romantic sex, what do you want right now?
Can’t slow, romantic sex also be mind-blowing?
In any case, having not had sex for about six or seven years now, any type of sex would be good for me. I’ve put on a bit of weight and lost the use of my left arm since, though, so I’d be a little nervous about not being that good any more!
(Is my excuse, anyway. I’d probably just get her to orgasm via oral and then see what happens.)
3. You are being interviewed and asked to comment on sex work. What do you have to add to the discussion?
Nothing that hasn’t already been said, although I have plenty to say about sex work.
I was once stopped by a madam in Soho who offered me girls, and when I politely declined, boys. She also said that I didn’t actually have to have sex – she could offer massages with or without happy endings to savour – but I again politely said no, thank you, I was in a bit of a hurry anyway, but thanks for thinking of me.
I couldn’t fault her sales patter – offering viable alternatives according to the customer’s needs – but I think she was as surprised as I was that I stopped to talk to her!
4. Should sex work be decriminalised?
Yes, and it should have been already.
I’m astounded that it hasn’t been. From what I can tell, criminalisation is dangerous, the Nordic Model is overly regulated, and because there are so many different types of sex work (full-service isn’t the only type – do you count a porn star or an erotic masseuse as a sex worker?), it would be impossible to introduce a law to protect them all.
Decriminalisation is the only way, and it’s only really because of the social stigma that this hasn’t been given a higher agenda. I’m saying this now: if I ever become an MP, it’s the first thing I’m mentioning.
5. Fill in the blank. Don’t…
…throw fruit at the computer. Don’t what? Don’t throw fruit at the computer. Don’t what? Don’t throw fruit at the computer.
Who do they think I am? Some kind of fool?
(If you know what this is, I love you.)
Bonus: Are you bored with people who are successful and unhappy? Why?
No; people who are successful and unhappy are fascinating. It’s interesting to see exactly why people can be emotionally down when economically up, and it’s also a refreshing antithesis to the “greed is good” philosophy of the ’80s and the already-rich silver-spoon élitism of the Tories.
I’m more bored with those who are successful and happy, or even worse, successful and smug about it. Even if (and this is overall not the case) they have actually worked for it, the way they overtly savour their wealth is sickening.
Of course, a lot of the most interesting people I don’t know have no idea what they want to do with their life. There are a lot of cultural riches to be found within the average Joe, and so many more than you will find behind the vacuous smile of someone so often in the spotlight.
As much as I’d like to say so, I can’t – and never have been able to – hate Valentine’s Day. I never quite got the vibe as a single teenager (or single young adult, if you are counting 18-23 as being anything else), in particular seeing websites and magazines continuously saying it was the perfect day to pull, but never being able to pull myself.
I’ve never managed to pull. I don’t even know how to attempt it.
Since I was a very young person, though, I’ve been fond of the phrase “I love you”. It’s very simple, three syllables, but it carries so much weight. I like to use it as much as I can, and even when I was five, I wrote a song based on what I’d heard on Top of the Pops:
Ooh, I love you, baby But only when you’re singin’ true (ooh-ooh-ooh) Singin’ true Is just for me and you…
“singin’ true”, 1990
As a single teenager, I said it a lot as well. Usually choked out through a veil of tears in paroxysms of grief, but I said it. At one point I stood at the edge of an echoey valley and shouted it at maximum volume with the idea that the girl I was saying it to would hear somehow.
Sometimes, with the pretence that I was writing artful poetry an an excuse, I’d write it. I was a fairly angsty poet, for sure, but I very much liked to make a declaration of love:
You are agony, Yet the agony you bring I have to endure. If I’ve decided that I love you Then I have to face the consequences.
“The Pleasure of Agony” (1999)
My first girlfriend didn’t like to say it. She was of the opinion that it was “a bit overdone”, whereas I was always fond of saying it to her. If American sitcoms are to be believed, some couples don’t say it at all, and I made a point of doing so. And in my second, and third, relationships, it was always something I’d say – first thing in the morning, and last thing at night.
When I was single, I used to say it every Valentine’s anyway. Me being me, I would have had a crush on at least one person on every occasion, and they’d be who I said it to. Not out loud, of course, but by myself in a corner somewhere. I felt it a little cathartic to say “I love you”, even if they’d never know or care.
Having someone to tell you love them makes it all somewhat different.
Sometimes I feel like I can’t tell my fiancée I love them enough. I say it a lot – sometimes it’s a simple text; sometimes it’s every other sentence – but I can’t get enough of saying it. I feel love for them, I do love them, but I can’t ever feel like I say it enough. I could say it ∞ times, but it still wouldn’t quite express how much I want to say it.
So today I kept a tally.
Today, I have told them that I love them eighteen times, and every time I meant it. By the end of the day, it will probably reach about twenty or twenty-five (I’ll update this post when I reach a final total!). But I’ll keep saying it. I like saying it. I can’t tell them enough. And, of course, I like to hear it back.
[UPDATE: 27! More than I had predicted, helped a lot by us ending up batting the word “love” back and forth just before bed.]
