Love, sex and interminable pop-culture references

Author: Innocent Loverboy (Page 2 of 21)

Dream Job

“It’s strange, us standing here in this garden,” said my pretty former colleague, “when we could be going on a date… or something.”
“Yes, I agree,” I concurred. “It is strange.”

Small pink dahlia, yet to fully bud, growing out of a gravel path.
From the garden. Hold me closer, tiny dahlia.

It wasn’t the only thing that was strange. After all, this was a former colleague who I talk to on WhatsApp about two times a month and have met in person all of once since we both left the workplace at which we met. I also didn’t recognise the garden; they may have put it in since I left, but a cursory Google search tells me they have not.

What was also strange was that she was asking to go on a date with me, and she’s attached. I’m also married, and although I’m not always in these situations, I very much was in this case. Yet I just seemed to take this in my stride. Were we heading towards a relationship, despite everything?

Also, what happened to the place I’ve been working at for the past couple of years?

“So do you want to?”
“Do I want to what?
“Do you want to do it?”

I couldn’t give a straight answer without destroying the ambiguity of her question, which I quite liked. I also saw the pattern emerging: I’ll get the opportunity to have sex with the girl, but then something will happen to prevent it actually happening. This is how these things go. I decided to tap out of the situation, knowing deep inside that I could return to it later.

“Sure,” I said without elaborating. “But first I have to find [the name of another pretty former colleague who also started and finished at the same time as me, thus completing the trio], and ask her something…”

And I set off through the maze of corridors I didn’t recognise, swarming with members of staff I didn’t know and clients who I’m fairly sure were never connected with the company at all. Occasionally I entered a room to ask her whereabouts. Nobody knew, nor did they recognise her name. But of course they should have; she worked there. We all did. We were a trio.

Okay, I said to myself, this isn’t working. Let’s get back to the garden and see if [my first colleague] is still there. I’ll suggest that we can go on a date, and then maybe we’ll get to cuddle at some point. I can still be married and do this; where’s the harm?

If this sounds ethically dodgy to you, let’s bear in mind that I was, at this point, an hour late to get back to the room I worked in, and very aware that I was bunking off in order to flirt. Due to the fact that I couldn’t get back to the garden anyway, it looked like this was going the same way as they all do.

Zounds, it’s a dream, isn’t it? It’s a bloody dream; just wake up and then maybe you can reset to the start, and take a different path like a gamebook…

And then I suddenly needed to go to the toilet, so I woke up anyway.

And that reminds me, I idly thought as I clambered back into bed. I need to message her and ask how things are going at her job. It’ll be the end of her second year there and she might be looking to move on…

Just before I drifted back to my next dream, however, I had one more conscious thought.

That was weird.


“Do you know what I’m going to do?” she said. “I’m going to spread my legs.”
“That’s a bit early,” I replied. “I thought you were waiting until you were married. Or has that gone out of the window now you’re 16?”

Her boyfriend shifted uncomfortably. There had been plenty of stories about them deliberately not spending time together ‘just in case we have sex’. A year or so later, of course, I had no such qualms. I both admired their steadfastness and was baffled by it in equal measure.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” said the Floof. “I mean I’m going to do it here. Now.”

I looked up into the sky and indicated the summer sun beating down on us. Our picnic had quickly devolved into inane chatter and we were now just killing time before church. Spread legs were a new topic.

“I think people are watching,” I pointed out in mock scandalised tones. “Why don’t you do so in your bedroom tonight instead?”
“No, I want to do it now,” she insisted. “I want to know what it feels like for a boy.”

I rolled my eyes. Zounds, was it this again?

Much as I liked the Floof, she did have some ideas about gender which I found a little outdated. She was, after all, the one who always wanted to hug me, but not when I was crying because ‘boys don’t cry and I don’t know what to do in that situation’. She wrote me a letter once in which she assumed that ‘when we’re young we all think our daddy is the strongest man in the world’. At one point, she also clearly thought I was gay. No reason, she just did.

One of the things that she had brought up – and one I genuinely hadn’t thought about before – was that boys always sit with their legs apart, whereas girls never do. That was the way genders sat, and since she didn’t believe trans or NB people existed, they didn’t get a mention.

As a boy who had, in his own sixteen years of existence, had his legs in all sorts of positions when sitting, I was a little confused by this. In her very long elucidation of the subject she had also mentioned that, the more confident the boy was, the wider apart his legs would get.

Yes, you read that correctly.

The amount of male confidence is in direct correlation to the distance between their knees when in a sitting position.

this is what the floof actually believed

Much as I didn’t agree, once she’d said that, I couldn’t unsee it. While I could get the concept that external genitalia made it slightly more comfortable to sit with one’s legs slightly apart, there were clearly some rowdy boys at school who were keen to show off their manly confidence by taking up as much space as possible. There was one guy in my class who seemingly spent most of his time trying to do an impression of a croquet hoop.

I’m genuinely surprised they didn’t start walking like that, doing the waddle that cowboys in westerns do.

“Anyway,” said the Floof, “boys do it, so I’m going to.”

At which she unsealed her legs, spread them akimbo, and immediately experienced some kind of transcendental experience. Her eyes shone with an immediate realisation of a better world, all the other light in the immediate vicinity dimmed in comparison to her pure radiance, and an exclamation mark appeared in the air above her head.

“Hey!” she trilled. “This is really comfortable! It’s no wonder boys like to sit like this. I’m going to have to do this more often!”
“Not in church, I trust.”
“Well, no, not right in front of the minister. I mean, what would he think?”
“I don’t know. Probably that you’re getting comfortable, I suppose.”

At which point a rounders ball came out of nowhere and hit her right between her thighs.

“AAAAAAAAH! MY FANNY!!!” she yelled, in a way I’m sure her minister would have not approved. “That does it! This might be comfortable, but I’m never opening my legs again!”

But, considering the fact that she later married the boyfriend and now has two children with him, I’m fairly sure she did so… eventually.

Soft Porn Sunday: Kathleen Kinmont & Anthony John Denison

It takes all sorts to make a meme. With the bigger, more prolific ones, the level of community engagement is often somewhere between good and stratospheric. Quick and easy content though they may provide, I always enjoy contributing myself, and they certainly helped me through the past couple of years, which were difficult in so many ways.

My own meme, on the other hand, has decelerated to the point where I genuinely thought, at one point, that it would come to a complete stop. Scrabbling through the digital ether to bring it back today, I chanced upon a scene I’ve never seen before, as recommended by helpful reader SA. With acknowledgement to him, then, let’s dive into…

Appearance: The Corporate Ladder (1997)
Characters: Nicole Landon & Matt Taylor

I haven’t actually seen The Corporate Ladder, but both the trailer and synopsis feel familiar. Maybe I actually have seen it and forgotten… or maybe it’s just yet another business-themed thriller that’s exactly like everything else. This was, however, made by Playboy, so it’s a fair assumption that there will be some amount of nudity at some point.

Ah, there’s an affair. I see.

Nicole kissing Matt's neck
I really hope that photo frame has a picture of a spoon in it.

Kathleen Kinmont plays Nicole, the ambitious young assistant to rich advertising executive Matt (Tony Denison, using his full name for this, as opposed to using ‘Tony’ for his more recent work and his one appearance in Charmed). She is helping his career while also helping herself to a bit of Matt. He’s married, of course, with a baby on the way, but The Corporate Ladder is a Playboy movie, so we all know where this is going to end up.

There’s some stuff about murder as well, and insofar as I can tell, someone does actually fall off a ladder at some point. So it has that going for it.

This is a sex scene between Nicole and Matt (their first) and the most obvious thing I’m getting from it is how loud it is. Their lusty moans and hesitant dialogue such as

We’re not doing anything. You’re doing it.

Nicole, who hasn’t quite got a grasp of what pronouns mean

are done at such a volume that I had to turn it down on my VLC player and rewatch the first thirty seconds at 50%. Even then, the sound effects are very prominent – there isn’t any music either, which makes them more so.

Nicole stripping, standing in her underwear
This is Nicole’s “Victoria’s Secret” catalogue audition.

This isn’t to say that Kinmont and Denison can’t act, because they can. In fact, the first 40 seconds are a very good example of how to do a seduction scene (even if it does move quite quickly). Nicole is undressing Tony from behind; his resistance is token, and her manipulation of his hand (the “you’re doing it”) to his own crotch is a nice touch. At 00:42 exactly, however, there is a jump cut to something completely different.

Because suddenly there is music. And suddenly there is Nicole doing a kind of awkward striptease in front of what looks like a collage of Year 6 work on a classroom wall. Eventually she gets around to taking the rest of Matt’s clothes off, of course, but quite a lot of time is devoted to showing Nicole in her undergarments (white bra; white knickers; white stockings), because… well, because Playboy, I guess.

Nicole, wearing a white bra, looking downwards
Nicole, surveying her prey… sorry, I mean, her boss.

There is, of course, the classic “we’re having an affair so let’s do it on a table” trope in play here, and it’s during the lead-in to this we finally get a shot of Nicole’s breasts. I mention this because she appears to take her bra off no less than three times between 01:19 and 01:27 (maybe it’s the same shot from different angles. No, that’d be too “director-y.”). But she’s an attractive woman, so that’s nice to see.

Nicole lying on top of Matt, very straight and stiff
I wonder if all those women in the background are there to make sure this passes the Bechdel Test.

At this point there was a bit of movement on her part so I did have to wonder if they were supposed to be having sex by now, but no; the next shot (which I think I may have seen on a planking website) clearly shows that Matt still has his pants on. There’s certainly a lot of kissing going on, and what might be loosely termed frottage, but no actual sex happens until…

…actually, I can’t tell.

What happens next is a serious of jump cuts between 1.5 shots of various… things happening. Some of them are sex; some are just undressing and some are random mucking about. There’s no actual sequence to it, and that’s clearly deliberate. The final 24 seconds do, to their credit, show continuous sex in one position, so if that’s what you’re looking for, it’s in here somewhere!

Nicole having sex with Matt, with a huge grin
Nicole preparing to play the lead in the next “Joker” movie.

For all I’ve said here, this isn’t a terrible scene. It’s short, and one couldn’t really call it a traditional sex scene. The setting (his office) is a little drab, and the music is uninspired – it doesn’t really lend itself to the old grey whistle test. I’m also not overly fond of Denison’s performance as Matt (he looks a bit gormless), but then again, he isn’t really given much to do here. The focus is on Kinmont as Nicole.

But it is shot well, and the seduction bit at the start is steamy, and the end bit is all right for what it is. Nicole also has this seemingly permanent grin, which I suppose serves its purpose. In the context of the rest of the The Corporate Ladder, I suppose this sort of scene is almost a necessity in establishing what’s going on here.

It’s not an all-time great, for sure. But it will do.

Belly Button Love

Settle something for me, gentle readers.

There were doubtful murmurs at work yesterday when I mentioned that there was something inherently sexual about a belly button.

“It’s just a dip in your tummy,” said one colleague.
“There’s nothing really sexy about it,” said another.
“It’s not like boobs, or a bum,” said a third.

“But it’s what’s left of your umbilical cord tied into a knot,” I pointed out. “There’s a link to the maternal womb there. And you’re born as the result of sex, so there’s a clear link there.”

Colleague #2 recovered first.

“That’s all well and good, but that doesn’t really scream ‘sexy’ to me.”

My mental Rolodex started flipping at this point. How do I answer this without revealing too much? Do I mention that porn actors shave their midriffs so as to accentuate the smooth areas around their belly buttons? Maybe that I know more than one person from the sex blogging world that has admitted to masturbating themselves to sleep thinking of a belly button?

What about people who get a piercing there? I know lots of people who have – mainly cis women, but not only. Isn’t the point of that to show it off a little?

Krista Allen as Emmanuelle in "Emmanuelle: Concealed Fantasy" (1994). Her belly button is in shot.
Krista Allen has a wonderful belly button and never hides it.

And what about models? Don’t they often show their midriff during their work?

“A belly button is the central point of a person’s body,” I settled on. “Lots of people use their midsection to be sexually attractive. Models do it and actors do it – we’ve all seen David Gandy topless…”

Some of my colleagues started looking into middle distance at this point.

“…and belly dancers do it as a part of their routine. Shakira shows hers all the time.”
“You’ve got a point there.”

“I’m still not convinced,” said Colleague #1. “Maybe it’s one of these things that I’m just not seeing.”
“Or maybe that’s just ILB,” said Colleaque #3.

Well? Is it just me, gentle readers?

Fiction: Dinosaur Boy

164 million years ago…

“You’re sure this is safe, right?”
“Safe? Oh, it’s not safe. Of course it’s not safe. We’re surrounded by dinosaurs. But we’ll be all right. I just wanted to be out here for a while.”

I lay back on the bed of ferns, grass having yet to exist. The heat of the day was scorching; the air thick, like breathing soup. Closing my eyes, I could hear the chittering of insects and distant call of dinosaurs looking for a mate. Everything around me I found completely intoxicating. Take me away here and I’d make the most beautiful fossil.

“I don’t understand why you even wanted to leave the pod,” he said nervously, tugging at a loose leaf as he sat by my side. “There are carnivores here. Wait too long and we’d be attacked by a Tyrannosaurus or…”
“Wrong time period, baby. In this era, the top predator is Allosaurus. And they won’t come here, into the open prairie. Even if they do, we can take shelter in a herd of sauropods. Diplodocus is pretty good. No natural predators.”
“But how would we get back to the pod?”
“It’s not going anywhere without us now, is it?” I let out a sigh. “We can take our time.”

I’d had the foresight to bring my sunglasses. It was bright, because of course it was. With them on, I could watch a Rhamphorhynchus winging its way through the wild blue. I hadn’t decided on wearing anything else, though, so I wasn’t. The pod was clean enough and we were the only ones here.

I will have to admit to the fact that my breasts look amazing with sweat dripping down them was one factor in doing so. He looked less comfortable naked, but still good. He’s always been a little awkward, whatever he’s in. Or out of.

“Aren’t you learning anything?” I asked dreamily. “Isn’t that what the institute wanted us to do?”
“Well, I learned that dinosaurs did a dawn chorus. That’s kind of new information.”
“They evolved into birds; what did you expect them to do, sing Uptown Funk?”
“You’re such a dick, Louise.”

Dick. Now there’s an idea.

“Look, there’s a Brachiosaurus,” I said, pointing one out. “Largest land animal ever. No predator’s going to come anywhere near a Brachiosaurus. We’ve got all the time we need. Now come here, and let me show you something.”

He hesitated, but we both knew where this was going. I could have sworn he’d been ready from the moment we stepped out of the pod. I’d even been wondering how good he felt under a brilliant Jurassic sun.

He let out a little “oof!” as he positioned himself between my glistening legs, making me giggle. I cleared my throat as he let out a silly shuddering gasp as the head of his cock teased my slit.

“Go on, you know you want to. When are we ever going to be here again?”
“You wanted to show me something?” he whispered as he slowly eased himself inside me.
“I lied,” I grinned. “But this is good too.”
He started moving his hips, perhaps a little too gently. I met his thrusts with little hip rolls of my own, though, at which he let out little grunts of pleasure. I’d been right, of course… he did feel good. Very good. Just the right size and shape to fill me up. I gave my inner muscles a little squeeze, at which he reared back.
“That’s good. Do that again.”


As he got faster, and I felt more and more full, I arched my back, my heaving breasts pointing skyward. He buried his face in my shoulder; I let myself enjoy every second, making my own noises now, our combined yelps and screams joining the soundscape of the dinosaurs’ roars and calls.

“Fuck, Louise! This is so…”
“…uh huh?… ooh!… what is it?”

And that was it. There was no going back any more. I felt him twitch as his cum started to fill me up. That’s the good stuff, and in that moment, it’s all I needed.


In the climate I was much sweatier than I would usually be, even after sex. He looks for all the world like he’s just stepped out of a shower, and from the look he’s giving me, I may well have too. We traipsed back through the prairie, stopping every now and again, before getting back to the pod.

I could practically feel his relief as I closed the pod door. I knew he didn’t feel completely safe. The decompression spray helped us to rinse off everything that covered us, and from somewhere, he found a towel to sit on.

“Right? Back home now? Or do you want to go somewhere else?”
“I don’t know. You choose. Somewhere we’re okay with being naked again. But I think I’ve had enough of dinosaurs.”
“Had enough of dinosaurs? There’s no such thing!”

He gave me a look.

“Fine then, no dinosaurs. I’ve got just the place.”

And as the pod vanished, the Jurassic era continued on outside, no dinosaur in the least disturbed by our momentary intrusion.


Every time I come back from Eroticon, I find myself wondering the same thing for about a week or two afterwards.

I will have just spent the better part of two and a half days surrounded by openly sexual, body-positive people there with the collective goal of sexual freedom and openness of sexual expression. Typically, there will be no-holds-barred talks in which people use words like “cunt” liberally and nobody gives a f… a drat. By the end of the event, we’ll all be worn out, brimming with new ideas and usually a little horny.

How many of us have had sex since the event iself?

I haven’t, of course, but then I don’t. This isn’t really about me, though; it’s about you. Did I hug you at ‘con, or high-five you, or kiss you on the cheek? Did we share pleasantries, stories or a fist bump? Was there mutual recognition or re-connecting, or was there a new connection we shared? Then you were part of my weekend.

And since then, have you had sex?

I wonder.

How was it? Was it uncontrollable – a lustful fountain of fuck, so much pent-up energy being built up and let loose? Or was it careful – slow, deep, firm, and calculated? Maybe even planned? Perhaps the sex you had lasted hours, with plenty of foreplay and aftercare bookending the experience. It could have been the other way around: a random, unexpected shag on the sofa that hadn’t even been on your mind before it actually took place?

Or maybe you haven’t had sex with anyone else, but have done with yourself, concentrating on whatever best serves you with your fingers wrapped around your pulsing cock or thrumming your buzzing clit like a bass guitar?

Part of me wants to know. Part of me doesn’t. And then there’s the little voice in the back of my head telling me, it doesn’t matter, it’s not your place to know.

But still I wonder.

Because now I’ve met you, and I really want to know.

Eroticon 2013: …and then we come

And so the Saturday evening social happened. It was a sequence of events.

I say that because I’m genuinely not sure what else to say about it. I ate too much food; I drank too much cloudy lemonade. Olly was chatty, Amy was sparkling and Robyn looked amazing. That’s what happened; I don’t have much else to say.

I went home via Kentish Town Station, having quite forgotten the farrago of the previous night, on which I clattered down the 100+ stairs in lieu of a working escalator. A helpful young man noticed me struggling with my bag and managed to convince me to let him carry it down the stairs for me – which he did. Thank you for your help, young man carrying bag full of sex things.


In contrast to Saturday, Sunday was a much calmer, more relaxing and relatively chill day. A pleasant surprise was the attendance of my dear friend Christine, whose name badge I had spotted at the Friday meet and greet but wasn’t expecting to see. It made me feel better to see her there, and I found her presence soothing.

Amy‘s session was nice and relaxed. As we should all know by now, I’ve never been particularly interested in adding affiliate links, but there were enough tips in her talk to help, and she was wonderfully composed while delivering it. Michael‘s first session – “Yet More SEO,” as I wrote in my notebook – was quiet but informative, and gave me an ego-boost by putting my site through GTMetrix. I don’t plan to use TikTok (I fail to see what I could do with it), but Sherryl seemed knowledgeable enough about it.

I didn’t take any notes during Michael’s second session. I don’t quite know why this is, but I’m really not keen on Mastodon. Probably mostly because I fear the unfamiliar. In any case, I now know enough about it to take the plunge. By contrast, I’m really not ready to have a Patreon, but GOTN‘s talk about it was so enthusiastic that I genuinely got some ideas about what I’d do with one if I did.

Goodbyes were said; the raffle was drawn. At this point it’s just become a matter of waiting to win the raffle, as opposed to wondering if I will. For my inevitable prize this year, I chose a book of erotica, and then sat with Olly trying to identify if I knew any of the authors.

And then we all went back to the pub.


And so that was it, basically. I ate some more, drank some more and then struggled my way down Kentish Town for the last time. Fair enough, it wasn’t the ribald ending filled with debauchery one would expect. We also didn’t get to play “I Have Never”, which I still want to do at some point…

…but it was Eroticon.

It looked like Eroticon. It felt like Eroticon. At some points, it very much felt like nothing had changed; as if 2020 hadn’t happened and we were returning to what was promised. At others, it felt so different that I began to doubt my own memory – surely there was more to ‘con than this? Was there something missing, or did I just have nostalgia for something that may not have existed?

But it was what it said it was. Frankly, I don’t even know what else I could have been expecting.

Explicitly, unashamedly Eroticon.

Good to have it back.

Eroticon 2013: …and so it goes.

As I said in my meet and greet post, I was uncertain about going to Eroticon this year. In the end, I did, and although I wasn’t sure if I would, I put a lot of myself into it, and got a lot out of it. Is that a win? Maybe it’s a win. I’m not too sure.

There are a few moments I want to touch on, but let’s do this in a vaguely chronological order.


The Friday night meet and greet was all right for what it was. I was one of the first there (of course), despite having stopped at a barber for a haircut and shave on the way(!); I decided to get a cloudy lemonade and wait, and although it took a while for the steady trickle of people to start coming, come they did. I was pleased to see Molly, Michael and Nick setting up (and nobody needed to ask my name or which colour lanyard I wanted – they knew by rote!), the sparkles on Amy‘s face, the incredible amounts of queer energy emanating from Quinn, and – of course – GOTN. Always a pleasure.

Seeing Olly, however, was a genuine surprise. I haven’t seen him for about five years and had no idea he was coming. He is still a genuine delight to talk to, and we vibed really well. That’s one of the things I love about ‘con – seeing people you don’t expect.


Saturday, for me, was characterised largely by the fact that I woke up incredibly early and got an Über to meet for the first time my dear friend Robyn. Robyn is basically the reason I ended up going to ‘con, as she made a very generous financial contribution that helped with my ticket and I felt like I should ingratiate her into the community (plus, after months of talking and flirting, I felt we ought to meet!). She took incredible amounts of notes in the sessions – I am amazed by her workrate – and, by the time the evening social came around (in which she looked AMAZING – we are talking incredibly stunning here, people), she was contentedly chatting away with people she had never even heard of before. I call that progress!

One of the best moments of entire weekend for me was introducing Robyn to GOTN and laughing at the amount of mutual fangirling that happened. It was genuinely difficult to tell who was more excited!

The Saturday sessions, even though I found it difficult to choose, I all enjoyed. Blake‘s session busted a few myths and gave me some stuff to research. I went to Dee‘s on a whim but really liked not only the content but the way it was presented. GOTN’s first session was great – I’m a little annoyed that I didn’t get to read this year, so this was a chance to pretend I was; plus, Robyn’s husky delivery made me hard, so thanks for that uncomfortable moment, gang.

I wanted to go to Neil‘s session all along and I’m pleased I did, for not only was it informative, he was hilarious! I ended the day with Dr Eleanor Janega‘s session – my one dead cert to attend, as I love what she does. This was a whistle-stop tour of sex history and she is a genuine pro (I wrote “she is a pro” in my notes, so it must be true).


I was fully intending, at this point, to skip out and go home to dump my bag and change my shirt before the Saturday night social. As it turns out, did none of these things. GOTN talked me into being one of the thirteen participants in ElectraStim‘s record-breaking chain. I’ve never experienced electro sensation before, and although I’m a genuine wimp, this was a fascinating and genuinely curious experience. Not altogether unpleasant, either, and I’m pleased to have been a part of something special.

And then we had the Saturday social, which was a sequence of events.

I’ll talk more about this later, I think…

History Lesson

Here we go again
Now I’m not looking back ’cause that pain is dead
If history’s repeating
It’s worth it for the feeling

Earlier today, for no particular reason, I trawled my computer and Facebook photos to find one specific picture of myself. I’m not that much of an egotist (honestly!), but this one certainly speaks to me.

I’m on holiday, standing in front of Blackpool Tower. I’ve got one hand in the air, striking an impressive pose. The wind is blowing back my hair and a bit of the T-shirt I’m wearing. This is the first time I’ve actually worn this tee. I wore it about three times before it mysteriously vanished, lost somewhere in the milieu of clothes I still have yet to be washed.

On my face is a rapturous, euphoric expression. At the time this was taken, I was feeling free.

This is, of course, history. I can look at this picture and remember the time it was taken; I can also look at it and see things long since gone. Youth I have long since passed. A tee I loved and lost. A place I no longer go to, in a group I no longer speak to. I’m even noticeably slimmer in the picture than I am now. Should I wish to, I could look at this picture and mourn the past, wishing I could recapture that feeling.

But I shan’t.

There’s a lot of pain in my history. Whether of my own making or not. I have issues with school bullies, the mental anguish I went through with the villainous conductor of the band I was in, and the tedious drudge through 2008 – 2010, doing a course I hated at an institution I despised, the only high points being sex and cuddles with my girlfriend.

I’m not very good at letting go, either. The smallest thing can pitch me into a spiral of traumatic memories and sneaky self-doubt. I’m meant to be working on it – of course I am – I’m just not very good at that.

But I think I’m getting better.

Maybe there’s something that makes the past more of a friend. Perhaps there’s a funny blog post I wrote about it – there are plenty of those – or a pleasant memory attached to the otherwise-hideous situation. The school bullies who ended up as friends. The conductor leading a round of applause for me specifically because of my contribution to the contest we won. The time I cried because of what happened at college while my drinking girlfriend stroked my hair and told me that she believed me.

It requires a lot of effort on my part – filtering out what I want to focus on. Bits and pieces are there; it’s just finding them that’s the problem.

But I’m working on it. And, if I really can’t do it – if there’s far too much else there and history is too much to bear – then there are always alternative realities to slip into.

And there’s always porn.

An Explosion of Heat

What does an orgasm look like?


It’s an interesting concept, albeit one without a definitive answer. GOTN ran a competition about it once, as did Erotic Meet back in the day. One of those things where it varies from person to person. Maybe you have a specific image in your head when you orgasm; perhaps an orgasm looks like something from the outside.

But what does an orgasm feel like?

That is, perhaps, a more difficult question to answer. Like anything, it does change according to the individual – but it is certainly more complex than “do they have a penis or a vagina?”. Sex is deeper than such a binary concept. Everything changes according to situation, method, mood, and even time. Every orgasm is different, so even if you experience a similar feeling each time, it may be more possible to try to describe one orgasm than… well, you know where I’m going with this, don’t you?

I know it’s hot. It’s been getting hotter all week, even if it’s a little breezier today than it has otherwise been of late. Going outside means getting hotter, but there’s no reason I can’t do so inside.

It had been four days since my last orgasm, and although I will admit that’s not a huge gap (and there have been much longer ones…), it’s still sizeable enough to be noticed. I’ve had an odd weekend, to put it mildly, and even wondered if I’d completely lost my sex drive until he made himself known. This afternoon I found myself alone, so after a cheese omelette, cup of tea and a Pokémon film, I decided to put him to the test.

It didn’t take long to orgasm. Usually it takes a while (stamina, innit?); this time, however, it wasn’t a huge task. A bit of Emmanuelle, a few minutes’ fantasising and a couple of sexy words, and I was done. A very satisfying orgasm.

The very moment I came (hitting my wrist, thigh and my ankle, if it matters) was like an explosion of heat. I didn’t just warm up; I flared up. Heat burst out all over my body, more apparent with every beat of my heart. Taking in some deep, ragged breaths, I leaned back and let myself bathe. Basking in my own heat, feeling it emanate from my very core.

Beatriz da Costa, also known as Fire, from DC Comics. Possibly having an orgasm.
Beatriz identifies.

I was a mess. Hair everywhere. Tears leaking from my eyes. Cum all over my hand. Blazing with fire.

I wasn’t even all there. All I felt was the heat. For a while, I was just a fireball.

A few minutes later I managed to gather myself together, clean up with a handkerchief I need to put into the washing machine (mental note for later) and pull myself back into the real world.

Things to do, more cups of tea to make, you know.

I’ve been reliably informed that it’s getting much hotter outside. But who needs it? As I’ve demonstrated so gracefully, with my chair, my porn and my dick… I’ve got all the heat right here.

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