Love, sex and interminable pop-culture references

Author: Innocent Loverboy (Page 18 of 31)

Tap tap tap

The last time I wore an engagement ring, I couldn’t stop tapping it against things.

I’ve still no idea what it was made of (white gold, I am assuming) or how much it cost (although, given what I’ve found out since, it was probably about £69 – nice.), or even where it is now (Rebecca kept both when she ended it all), but I loved it, and I loved wearing it… and it made a short, sharp, metallic tap when it hit a surface.

Okay, let’s give this some context. The last time I was engaged I was seventeen and in the sixth form. I’d managed to go from “completely undateable” to “betrothed, intended, affianced” in the space of about two months, and I was having sex, which surprised everyone, since I’m not particularly shaggable either. The sixth form block was a very modern one, too – a new build with plenty of metal bannisters, plateglass windows and toughened plastic surfaces.

And I had a nervous twitch.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. It heralded my arrival if I was coming up a flight of stairs, trailing my left hand along the metal and bouncing my ring finger every half second.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. It reverberated through the classroom during quiet study time as I would carelessly drum my hand against the veneer surface.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap… tap… tap-tap-tap-tap. In a little rhythm while humming the theme tune I’d written for Stephen King’s IT. Accompanied by a pleasant flump (om the book) when we were all giggling at the appearance of a clown in Othello who has to inform musicians that Othello is in no mood for levity.

Tap tap-tap-tap-tap, tap! tap! to the tune of “Shave and a Haircut” whenever someone said something witty. Tap tap tap tap tap rapidly when everyone else in the room applauded. A sharp rap! if my IBS had stopped me from talking and I needed to get someone’s attention. Rhythmic taps to accompany myself if I was singing.

Bell rang? Tap.
Door opened? Tap.
Laughter? Tap.

And then, when I got bored, I’d take my ring off and fiddle with it. A tiny golden fidget toy, for the engaged boy in your life.

I’ve been wearing my current engagement ring for over a year now. It’s much simpler – an unembellished band of silver which shines less, costs less, and (this is the important bit) looks exactly the same as the one my fiancée is wearing. I don’t even wear it all the time – it comes off when I get home, and then back on when I go out…

…but it’s only just now that I’ve realised I don’t really tap it against things.

I fiddle with it, of course, and I play with it – threading it through my fingers and all. But that’s more of a sensory thing. Any small noises made by my ring are unintentional – a clink against a coffee cup; a thap as I place it down and it comes to rest on top of my passport. Drudd if it comes into contact with cardboard, an almost inaudible shh as it slides onto (and off) my finger), tip if it comes into contact with the little Doxy keyring I have in my pocket.

But I never tap.

Except for the day before yesterday. It was the end of my first week at my shiny new job and I was, and this is the technical term, BORK’D. On my grateful way out, I used both hands to heave the gate open and make my way out onto the street.

My ring came into contact with the handle.

Tap.

And I felt more powerful than ever as I started home.

#FiveThings / #KOTW: Clothes

Since I’ve been struggling to think of things to write, I’m once again grateful for the existence of Five Things. MPB has been unwell for a while, which means that the meme appeared to have stalled for a while. It’s back tomorrow, and there’s an accidental crossover with an upcoming Kink of the Week, so I can be a massive troll and take part in both memes before the link parties open.

ILB, you crafty little rascal.

Anyway, so, clothes. I can do that. I wear clothes.

1) My Look

I don’t really have what could be termed a ‘look’. Throughout my life I’ve stuck to casual wear as often as possible – ranging from tracksuits to combat trousers. I wear T-shirts most of the time, as well, as opposed to shirts – which I wear to work – and I’ll generally put on the first thing I can find, without making some sort of attempt to co-ordinate.

I also don’t tend to source my clothes from any particular place. I hardly ever buy any – I sometimes get a few for Christmas. Some of my favourite clothes have been in my possession for as long as I can remember, and some I’ve owned since I was 14!

If you’ve met me at Eroticon, you’ll probably have noticed that I turn up in a flannel shirt. Rose once tried to talk me out of wearing it to Erotic Meet, so I didn’t. I tried to stop her, but she overpowered me!

2) Not My Look

I strenuously resist, and will continue to resist, fashionable clothes. Despite knowing people who work in the industry – and I even went to a Viktor & Rolf exhibition once – I’ve never become attached to the idea of being a fashion victim.

Throughout my adolescence and young adulthood I made a conscious effort to not appear fashionable. I wore the most outdated things I could find and, if something suddenly appeared to be ‘in’, I stopped wearing it. Until the age of about 12 or 13 my garment of choice was an oversized Super Mario Bros. 2 tee, often coupled with blue shorts.

I’ve never been cool and have no desire to be, so why try?

3) Rock ’em, sock ’em

In an attempt to placate the vague implications of participating in KOTW.

When I was a child I never wore socks. I once asked my mother why African tribesmen in TV dramas never wore footwear and she said something about having tough feet due to walking through deserts. While I’m not sure that was actually true, I spent years attempting to toughen my feet by going barefoot while playing my adventure games in the garden or alleyway behind my house.

Cartoon of ILB wearing nothing but a pair of blue pants and bright green socks, typing on a laptop.
Green socks.
I’m not even sure if I own any.

Which is ironic, really, because socks are my favourite clothes. I don’t have any special ones – they’re mostly black, grey, or blue. But I like the way they feel – they keep in the large amount of heat one loses through the soles of one’s feet, they are pleasantly soft and comfortable, and the few times I’ve had sex wearing them, it’s always been pleasant…

I’ve also appeared in ES Magazine wearing nothing but pants and a pair of socks! (I’ve tried to tell my family this, but they didn’t believe me.) It’s not a fantastic likeness, though; a quick glance at the issue reminds me that I look more like the bloke on the next page whom GOTN is trying to seduce.

4) My Colour

I don’t have a colour, as such.

Some people do. My fiancée wears nothing but black (yes, I know black isn’t a colour); my youngest cousin favours vibrant colours including bright green hair and yellow nail varnish. My uncle wears Hawaiian shirts. I don’t really do any of those.

Most of my clothes are blue, grey, blue-grey, dark green, or khaki. It’s not a deliberate attempt to do anything, but it does tend to suit my mood. I’m struggling now to think if I’ve ever owned anything yellow. I don’t like red (the colour; I don’t care what I wear), but I once owned an oversized red jumper with a white stripe down the middle.

Which I’ve just realised is the Austrian flag. Fantastic.

5) …and a sex thing.

Basically in order to fit this into what is ostensibly a sex blog.

I’ve very rarely had sex with any clothes on, although it’s occasionally just happened. My favourite trope, despite this, in soft porn is for people to have sex with some of their clothes on – often just their shoes – and my favourite look on a woman is for her to be topless but still wearing blue jeans!

Before I had sex for the first time, my girlfriend and I used to engage in dry sex – that is, the movements (and some of the noises), but with clothes on. It was fun, cheeky, and now that I think about it, probably quite cute.

“Do you know what the problem is?” she said once, as we lay in a tangle.
“No,” I said, worried that she genuinely wasn’t enjoying herself.”
“Clothes,” she said simply.

Five Things
Kink of the Week

Now that we have your attention…

SUN

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

Anakin Skywalker telling Padmé Naberrie Amidala that he doesn't like 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.

It was as close as I was going to get, anyway.

Soft Porn Sunday: Jillian Janson & Tyler Borresch

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.

Brunette with long hair has sex with a man on his back. Her arse is obscured by silver bedding.
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.

Sex in a little cubby. This alt text is sort of redundant, really.
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.

I wonder how long these alt text boxes are. They may well last forever. At some point I intend to find out.
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.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa hey, this really does go on forever aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
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’m just not sure what it is, that’s all.

Dream Stuff

“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.

In hasn’t, in all honesty, been the best of days.

But I had a sex dream about them.

Which was nice.

#FiveThings: Places

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!

Five Things

TMI Tuesday: Writing

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…

Attractive woman somehow able to read books while wearing very dark sunglasses.
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.

Blue high-top casual footwear
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!

Should’ve gone to Specsavers

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.”

Smart casual

“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.

Hard Porn Tuesday

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…

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