Author: Innocent Loverboy (Page 2 of 26)

Soft Porn Sunday: Laura Gemser & Paul Thomas

September 15, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

It happens, occasionally. You’re investigating something, you find out what you’re looking for at the bottom of a page hidden down the back of the Internet, and then that leads you somewhere else, and suddenly you discover the entire oeuvre of an actor and director named Paul Thomas.

Nicknamed P.T., Thomas is married to Judy Epstein, and has produced such pieces of cinematic history as Live!!! Nude!!! Girls!!! (2010) and Orgy: The XXX Championship (2011). He’s also Saint Peter, according to Jesus Christ Superstar (1973).

So why he wasn’t credited for this after playing the first ever Pope is a bit of a mystery…

Appearance: Emanuelle, Perché violenza alle donne?, aka Confessions of Emanuelle, aka Emanuelle Around the World (1977)
Characters: Emanuelle & Ivory Vanlines Driver

Shot of the Golden Gate Bridge with the film's title over it in unnecessarily blocky white text. — Meanwhile, in SAN FRANCISCOOOOO…..!

It’s probably best to also repeat the same thing everyone known by now: this isn’t an official Emmanuelle film (of course it isn’t; there’s only one N in the character’s name). It’s part of the (Italian) Black Emanuelle series starring Laura Gemser (who isn’t black), and like many others in the series, it has a scary title (Why violence against women?) and very little plot to speak of.

I mean that this time. There’s little other than a few different vignettes in exotic locales. You could come in at any time. It could be a loop.

The setup’s quite good, though. Emanuelle fare-dodges her way around the world sleeping with various people. She manages to take in San Francisco, New York, India, Hong Kong, Italy, San Francisco again, and the Middle East, all while foiling people-trafficking, forced bestiality and a guru who makes false claims. Mostly without wearing much.

I suppose that explains the Around the World title and Why violence against women?. Where the Confessions bit comes in I’m not sure. Maybe she’s going to admit all her sins to a Catholic priest. I mean, Saint Peter is right there. Get onto it, P.T.

Right, so. In a teaser to the actual movie we are treated to a sex scene between hedonistic photojournalist Emanuelle (Gemser) and a nameless, uncredites and largely merit-free trucker (P.T.) in the back of his truck. She’s going to ‘Frisco, see, and apparently the best way to hitch a lift with someone is to shag him, so that’s what she does.

Genius.

Screenshot from "Emanuelle, Perché violenza alle donne?", aka "Confessions of Emanuelle", aka "Emanuelle Around the World" (1977), featuring feet. — The foot fetishists are going to love this post.

The scene, and therefore the whole film, starts with feet. That shouldn’t be much of a surprise; to anyone who’s seen these things, it’s a Black Emanuelle film so you know what you’re in for. You’ll get a number of edited cuts of nudity put together to indicate sex with a repetitive piece of music overlaid. Any bare skin is a good way to start, so why not naked feet? It’s also quite fortunate that P.T.’s truck is used for long-hauling furniture, as there’s a convenient bed for them to use.

Of course, this is an example of LUCK! It’s so INCREDIBLY LUCKY that there’s a fully made bed in his truck!! What a LUCKY thing to happen!!!

Screenshot from "Emanuelle, Perché violenza alle donne?", aka "Confessions of Emanuelle", aka "Emanuelle Around the World" (1977), featuring furniture. — That thing’s going to fall right on top of them…

Anyway, where was I? Yes. This is a Black Emanuelle film so you’re going to get a lot of quick cuts. There’s plenty of kissing, rubbing and nudity, and you see P.T.’s bum quite a lot, but I’m fairly certain that up until 01:03 there isn’t any actual sex going on. We certainly get some, in the end – nineteen seconds of missionary action with P.T. on top, Laura Gemser grabbing at his abundant behind and slow, but steady, movement.

Screenshot from "Emanuelle, Perché violenza alle donne?", aka "Confessions of Emanuelle", aka "Emanuelle Around the World" (1977), featuring sex. — This is the sex bit so it gets a full-size screenshot.

There are even some occasional sound effects, but I’m fairly sure that’s just Laura Gemser breathing. You can’t hear any sex noises anyway, because the most abundant thing here is a bassist playing the same 14 notes over and over again (there was a synth at the beginning, but their budget ran out, or something), joined occasionally by a wind player. Maybe it’s Karolina.

Screenshot from "Emanuelle, Perché violenza alle donne?", aka "Confessions of Emanuelle", aka "Emanuelle Around the World" (1977), featuring hand-grabbing-arse action. — The claw is our master!

Once the sex is over (I guess; there’s no real indication that it is), there’s a jump cut to P.T. and Emanuelle leaving the truck. They talk a bit, and then he gives her a lift to San Francisco, because of course he does.

So, it’s quite a brief sex scene, it’s poorly-lit, you don’t see much and the music is off-putting… the question remains, then, why does it make me come so hard?

It took me a while to puzzle this out, and I think the answer might be manyfold:

There’s no indication throughout the scene that this is inside a truck. It could be a warehouse. You only see the truck afterwards when they are leaving it.
Although the playful banter is awful, you can tell that both P.T. and Emanuelle enjoyed themselves…
…and that Emanuelle does this sort of thing a lot. I can’t resist someone who so freely and shamelessly has sex with people just because she can.
The bit where P.T. finds a toothbrush between her boobs (she’s travelling light, y’see?) genuinely made me laugh!

Screenshot from "Emanuelle, Perché violenza alle donne?", aka "Confessions of Emanuelle", aka "Emanuelle Around the World" (1977), featuring a truck. — Ah yes, the post-sex “shampoo advert” walk.

And, overall, it really isn’t a bad scene. The whole reason I’ve chosen this one, as opposed to any of those later in the film, is that I think it’s the best one! It’s very loose, it doesn’t do much, and it’s hardly necessary… but so what? P.T. was an actor needing work, they had a camera crew ready, and Laura Gemser is sort of “effortlessly sexy” (I can’t really define this, she just gives off a vibe).

Plus, Emanuelle is an openly sexual character. That’s central to her character… so why not open with her having sex?

Answers on a postcard…!

Bar Bathroom

September 9, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

It’s 11:30 pm on my first day at university and I’m wanking feverishly in a stall in the toilets of the union bar. It’s club night and my fap fap fap is masked by the thump thump thump from just outside. I’ve never been clubbing before, but here, everybody does it.

That is not all everybody seems to be doing. The sexual energy from the heaving mass of sweaty bodies is electric. As it turns out later, not everyone was having sex with everyone else, but for the majority of us, this is the first day of freshers’ week which, sixth form told us, was specifically reserved for sex with someone new. In this very bar, on the dancefloor outside, I will have incidents where I don’t want to cheat, and those where I’ll fail to get laid. I just don’t know this yet.

Outside this bar bathroom, the milieu continues unabated. The freshers’ reps are all called things like RAUNCHY, PLAYMATE and KING SNAKE. It’s become common knowledge that GIANT does, in fact, have a rather small penis, but he’s been sleeping with half the freshers, which makes it okay. About an hour earlier I had been talking with a pretty blonde who then vanished from view. Her equally pretty best friend apologised on her behalf – she had a boyfriend – but that didn’t bother me, as I was just chatting.

I’d also come to university as someone in a long-term relationship. Engaged, actually. In the unlikely event that I did get any leads to be having the kind of wild and carefree sex I never ended up having, I wouldn’t be following them up on account of the fact that I was in a relaionship.

I am wanking in the toilet because I feel that, despite how out of place I seem to be, and how what is going on elsewhere doesn’t affect me, I deserve, on this very first night, my own sexual experience, so I’m giving it to myself, no matter how desperate or unclean or pathetic this all is. I’m going to have an orgasm here, tonight, and nobody else will know, and that will be mine. Just something that I can do.

Also, I’m horny.

I don’t yet know that the following three years will be an era of sexual self-discovery. That I will feel both the closest to and the furthest away from death than ever before, and that I will emerge from the whole experience having had no more sex, but aware of the sort I wanted to be having. I haven’t even been to a lecture yet.

There’s no way of knowing which way this is going.

I have my first orgasm of semi-independent life standing up, in a bar bathroom stall. Whatever happened next, nobody was going to take that away from me.

…and you’ll be oh so happy

August 30, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

It was another hot, but windy, afternoon in Denmark – the seventh out of seven days in which both sunbeams and breezes had been wrestling for dominance. Considering that, it was still very much summer. We were going home – not quite on our way, exactly, but very much aware that it was imminent. The pretty girl I had been flirting with all week was wearing a T-shirt that said “I ♡ my dad’s credit card.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever see you again,” I said mulishly.
“Oh no, we’ll see each other again,” she smiled warmly. We hugged for the last time.

I never did see her again.

The girl I had a crush on was sitting under an awning in the corner of the campsite, with a lit cigarette and strong cup of tea. The organisers had been very strict – both alcohol and “euphoria drugs” were banned. They had been more lenient with people enjoying the occasional fag, which I found slightly contradictory. Evidently, I couldn’t go anywhere near Leaf while this was happening, but I was close enough to hear what she was saying.

“You look really happy,” said one of our number – Beth, who had availed herself of Black Cat condoms with Marks earlier that week. “I mean, like, really happy.”

She had a fair point. The drugs may have been banned, but Leaf herself looked nothing short of euphoric. I described the look myself, at the time, as “blissed out”… although she always looked fairly heavenly to me, of course. The broad smile plastered on her face and curling steam from the mug framing her did nothing to taint the image I had. She looked, for all the world, in total bliss and nothing was going to stop that.

“Yeah,” she said, dreamily/sleepily. “Now all I need is some sex.”

At which point my crush took on a while new dimension. I knew, of course, that she had been having sex by that point – and it wasn’t going to be me, of course it wasn’t – but, a couple of years prior when I’d first met her, and started to become interested – she was, in her own words, “an innocent”. She was still a virgin when I kissed her a while later and, even though she was still the same person, the fact that she was now sexually active (and really quite good at it, by all accounts) had awoken something at the back of my brain.

I shouldn’t have let her get to me at all. Before I left for Denmark, I was absolutely sure that I was romantically fixated on one other specific person. I didn’t see Leaf often enough to have – or, at least, I thought I didn’t – an “official” crush, but the instant I saw her at the station, it all came rushing back. For the whole week I had been thinking of the friend I loved, the flirty girl I knew in the US, the pretty one on the camp who was more than happy to talk to me… and yet my eyes were only for Leaf.

But now she’d had sex. Were my fantasies now justified? For years I’d been dreaming of kissing her. I’d been friendly and shy and wrote a whole album’s worth of songs about her at one point.

What was she like in bed? Was she still sweet and smiley and funny, or did she switch and become a sexual dynamo? What did she look like, I asked myself, with no clothes on? As she smoked, did she do so after sex like they do in the movies, and would I have to excuse myself from the room if so?

And then I found myself feeling slightly sick that I’d even entertained such thoughts. I was a trusted friend, not a dirty lecher.

One year later

I’d managed to organise my thoughts. The pretty Danish girl was happy with a new boyfriend (who she has since married). My friend was now just a friend. I’d had my time at university, and after all that, I bumped into Leaf one more time, in the middle of a gig. It seemed appropriate.

My stomach did a little flip as we hugged, but we exchanged no more than that.

“You know she has a sort of boyfriend?” asked Beth over MSN.
“I didn’t know, but I’m not surprised,” I replied, truthfully. “She’s an attractive girl.”
“Yes, I know she is,” nodded Beth, “and you couldn’t keep your eyes off her, could you?”

I hadn’t realised that I’d been that obvious.

“I hadn’t realised that I’d been that obvious,” I replied. “What about you? Are you okay?”
“I am,” said Beth pleasantly. “I’ve just had a cup of tea and a fag. I’m feeling really happy. Blissed out.”
“Sounds like all you need is some sex,” I filled in.

She never thought to ask where I got that idea from. But she did have sex that night.

I got to sit in my room and cry about Leaf.

London Isn’t Calling

August 25, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

There are missed opportunities, and then there are things which never start.

While sitting in hospital I began formulating a vague plan for August. Last summer I flexed my contactless card and visited, by bus, all the bits of my London borough I’ve never seen before. They weren’t all fantastic (one was, as it turns out, mostly an industrial estate), but I managed to get a meal in each one, and at least I could say I had done it.

Pale blue roundel with navy bar across the centre. The letters "DLR" are superimposed in bold white text. — I’ve always liked this colour scheme…

This year, with a freedom pass in my possession, I had more liberty to travel around London. I had one more place in my borough (well, the neighbouring one, but close enough) that I could find a way to. I wanted to go back to W1 and walk around seeing what’s changed since I last worked there. One thing I particularly wanted to do was to visit every station on the DLR network, taking a picture of every roundel to prove that I’d done it.

It’s not even like the opportunity wasn’t there. For the first two weeks of August I had basically nothing to do. I was just kicking around doing very little and, had I thought about it even once, I could have done at least one of these things. Fair enough, I did spend a week in Amsterdam recently – which was something I had planned to do – but it’s not really the same.

The whole idea behind my mini-sojourns is their random nature. I will have a vague idea about where I’m going and a route to get there, and then I’ll just go. Last year I timed every one to coincide with lunch, so I could go to whichever café I saw first and engender the feeling of “having spent some time elsewhere”. I did, however, have nothing else by way of a plan.

Now that I have one week of August left it’s beginning to dawn on me that this won’t be happening. I can go to the place I mentioned by a relatively convoluted route, provided all the services are running, but doing the whole DLR is out of the question. With the resources and energy I have at my disposal I’ll be lucky to manage the Waterloo and City line.

I also have very little money right now, due to nasty surprises that happened in Amsterdam, so maybe spending time on Oxford Street isn’t the best of ideas, especially seeing how there’s a branch of Waterstone’s and an HMV. The place I used to work at is now a McDonald’s, even, so it’s not like the nostalgia factor is there at all. The more I think about it, the more reasons there are to not do any of this stuff. It might be more rewarding to stay on the sofa playing The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past.

Not to mention the fact that doing anything of the sort requires getting up before midday. I’ve had problems doing that recently.*

Something in me says that the fact I care enough to write about this is an indication of something. It’s not entirely an unforgivable sin to be a little sedentary when one has a degenerative neuromuscular condition and had a heart attack less than two months ago. But I still want to be, at least for a short while, outside – I never really wanted to be in London as a youth; now I can appreciate it, as an adult, I’m finding it difficult to even take my first step.

I am going to have to force myself.

So here I go.

*since the age of about 12 or thereabouts

Bragging on a blog

August 19, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

Think about it: when, in your life, did you first know that someone in your peer group had had sex? Did they brag about it?

There’s usually at least one, although from what I hear it varies according to where you grew up and who your peer group actually was. Most people I’ve talked to seem to concur on a few basic facts, though: it happens during your teens; it may or may not be before the age of consent; it may or may not have been a “good” experience.

In two of the people I’ve talked to, they were that person.

Shocked though my classmates had been to find out that I’d had sex at 17, I was far from being that person – two of the boys in my little group had already done so at 16 and neither of them had enjoyed it – but I was certainly one of the first. To my relief, I didn’t get too many questions (beyond “what does cunnilingus taste like?”. I’ve never been able to answer that one.), but then again

It’s gross to think about your friends doing it. Difficult to visualise. At least with porn it’s actors having sex. It’s less appealing when it’s a mate.
my friend-who-is-a-nurse

not that I had much choice to begin with.

The word “juicy” still makes me cringe

Outside of people at school and in Woodcraft, there was another group of friends I’d talk to. I rarely, if ever, met too many of them, but they lived locally and were readily accessible via ICQ. My first experience with someone having sex was one of them.

To this day I’m not sure if he had full-on PIV, but his girlfriend certainly existed (her face was triangular, according to our mutual friend), and to all intents and purposes all the other things they had been doing was nothing short of an open secret. He was certainly very explicit about what the other things were, and none of us had any reason to doubt him.

“I don’t know if he’s like this at school,” I confessed to our mutual friend, “but online he’s been sort of…”
“Bragging?”
“Yes. Bragging. About, well…”
“Bragging. You don’t need to say anything more. He does that at school. Bragging. All the time. It’s quite gross, actually.”

It’s not nice to boast, although we’ve all done it at some point. Even if you say something like “I won a University of Cambridge competition that I don’t remember entering by writing a paragraph I didn’t save” in the most blasé, nonchalant voice you can muster, it’s still the most humble of brags. But we are advised not to do so from our youth. Arrogance, we are told, is rude.

For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.
Matthew 23:12

I’ve always found it difficult to express any self-confidence, because I don’t really have any, and I don’t want to appear brash or boorish or full of braggadocio. Living through Mister “I’ve-had-blowjobs”‘ almost constant crowing three years prior had given me a good example of what not to do when I started having regular sex.

Ending screen from "Indiana Jones and his Desktop Adventures" for the PC. — This is the sort of thing you can brag about.

I slipped up, of course, but then who doesn’t? Lightsinthesky, who by that point was also having sex, would definitely push it a bit, but between us our sexual conversations were basic and genial – a “what’s your favourite position?” here and “have you tried this?” there, but not competitive in any particular way.

And this is how people should be talking about sex.

Lots of people have sex, or at least some sort of sexual expression. Even if you are asexual, you can still express your (a)sexuality by identifying as such. But there still appears to be a societal barrier; sex is, still, a taboo subject. People will mention it in hushed tones, do so through blushes, or go the other way and become an insufferable braggard. It really doesn’t have to be that way at all, and no other topic has such a black mark on it.

You can be as pleased as you like because you got the English Prize in years 11 and 13, but you’re not allowed to be because you’ve had sex.

There’s a problem there.

I’ve just spent a week in a country which has a much better sex education system, where sex workers are visible in windows at all hours and there are three museums dedicated to the subject. Teen pregnancy there is below 1% and, although I wouldn’t say it’s OUT THERE AT ALL TIMES, sex there is more of a part of life. I’d find it difficult to envision someone from there being anything but cheery about sex worth celebrating.

And that’s my main point, I guess. Sex can very well be something worth celebrating. It’s time we started doing that, rather than using it as an excuse to act like an insidious blackguard.

Teenage Dirtbag

August 3, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

I’ve got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby
Come with me Friday, don’t say maybe
I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby, like you

“I don’t know the chords,” admitted Music Man, “but I’ll improvise. If I get the right key. Does anyone know the words?”
His eyes roamed over Lightsinthesky (who was parked behind the drum kit), Leigh (who was clutching a borrowed guitar), and Einstein (who nominally played the trumpet, but had never brought it to school, except for jazz band). I didn’t have my violin with me, but I was there, hanging posters.
“All right,” I said huffily, “I’ll sing it.”

Not taking GCSE music, very few of us should have been in the rehearsal room, but there was going to be nobody to stop us. Music Man was taking it, of course, and most of us were in jazz band. That would be our excuse, if we were ever asked. Nobody ever asked. It was a tiny rehearsal room, anyway; you could barely fit a band in there. Einstein was perched on a side table, due to the dearth of chairs.

“Her name is Noel. I have a dream about her…”

We may have all loved music, but Lightsinthesky had an ulterior motive: Leigh. Several years ago, when I was 13, I offhand said that if I was a teenager, I may need a girlfriend. Lightsinthesky made it his mission to find me one, and randomly selected Leigh (who I didn’t know), before deciding that he’d rather have her, and spent the rest of his school life trying to do just that. The fact that she was in such a close proximity to him in the rehearsal room was a genuine surprise. They even tried to start a band together at one point.

“What’s wrong with my life,” he said in an undertone as the bell rang, “is that Leigh isn’t shagging me senseless every lunchtime.”
“She just played Teenage Dirtbag with you,” I pointed out gamely. “Well, us. I mean, I was singing lead, but you were there hitting things, so…”
“But she’s so intensely shaggable and…”

I’d stopped listening by that point. Singing Teenage Dirtbag by virtue of the fact that I was the only one who knew all the words was an unexpected high point. I suddenly had a vision of the trailer for the upcoming series of my life, Year 11, in which I’d be turning sixteen and taking GCSEs. It would be of all the main characters rocking out in the rehearsal room, except I’d have a microphone this time, and I’d also be wearing my new glasses. I hadn’t ever worn glasses beforehand. This was a new thing for me.

It would be filmed from a bird’s-eye view in vibrant colour and I still regret never making it.

Two years later and we were back in the rehearsal room, accompanied once again by Leigh, plus the girl who had a crush on Music Man and Lightsinthesky, who had become a bassist, because apparently that’s how you get all the ladies. We had moved on from Wheatus by now, and Music Man was teaching us how to play RHCP. We did a fairly good Californication, as long as my guitar was turned down enough. Lightsinthesky got over his distate for pink and jeans as long as Leigh was wearing them.

I was having a much more interesting 17 than I had assumed my 16 would be. I’d be having my first kiss and, eventually, sex for the first time. I’d spend the first term of year 13 a lot more confident than my fractious year 12.

Somebody started playing Dammit by Blink-182 at one point, and everyone gradually joined in. I still didn’t have a mike, but I knew all the words.

“Well, I guess this is growing up,” I yelled over the racket, chancing a sideways look at Leigh, looking for all the world like she was living her best life…

…and beaming at me.

Dichotomy

July 31, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

Today is National Orgasm Day (thanks Clara) and it’s the final day of Disability Pride Month (thanks Hux), so this provides me with the ideal opportunity to write about this. Then I guess I’ll have an orgasm.

Since being diagnosed with DM back in June 2021, I’ve most definitely started “feeling” my disability. Even if I hadn’t been diagnosed – and I was by accident, I was in hospital for something completely different – I probably still would have done, but put it down to being old. (Says the 39-year-old with the word “boy” in his handle.) Whether I’m at work, or resting at home, or even out in town, I’m aware of my dyspraxia, my heavy breathing and my waddling gait. I drop things, I shoulder doors open rather than using my hands, I fumble when digging around in my pockets for my freedom pass, and I scream every morning when my shoulder wakes up a few minutes after I do.

I try my hardest not to complain, though; a lot of people have it worse than I do. My mother’s disability makes her shake uncontrollably and my friend’s killed him. Mine is annoying, and restricting, and more often than not painful, but it doesn’t stop me doing anything. It slows me down a bit, but it’s never quite stopped me. I can work, I can write, I can game, I can read, I can… actually, that’s all I do, really.

And I can orgasm.

Even with occasional forays into the fringes of the same, I haven’t had PIV sex for about a decade now but I will admit to being wary of doing so if the opportunity presents itself. Having put on weight may be one thing, but losing my muscle strength? How can I finger their nipples while licking them out if all my left hand can do is flop around like a fish? How do I roll around in bed without yelling in pain? If I penetrate them, how do I thrust, considering the fact that putting socks on is a challenge for me now?

Oh, and forget 69. That’s out too. There’s no way I’m that supple.

Even though the recent summer heat is a reminder that I won’t be railing anyone in a sundress, I can still orgasm. In fact, since the age of 18 my orgasms have never really changed. The method I use to induce them is almost exactly the same, down to the same audiovisual stimulus; the amount I produce (although it varies) is the same; the time it takes is the same. I could even point out to you the places my spaff hits if you ask.

In such extraordinary times, and through everything that’s happened both good and bad, orgasms have been one of my very few constants. They are available and healthy and recreational and free, and I’m very grateful for them. As long as my penis and my hand still work, give me a while and a place to sit (or lie, or stand if I’m feeling risky…) and I’m good.

Yes, it’s messy. Yes, it’s awkward. Yes, cleanup is difficult. But it’s good. My body is failing, but this bit of it works. Frankly, it’s the best bit to work.

I may feel the worst I ever have, but I can make myself feel the best. That’a a dichotomy I can very much live with.

Sofa, so good

July 25, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

I didn’t know who J.D. Vance was until this morning, and now I almost wish I still didn’t.

Note the “almost”. I’m dismayed, but not surprised, that there are people that abhorrent still seeking office in 2024. What I am surprised by is how many people are taking about how JDV didn’t have sex with a sofa. I mean, of course he has. Look at his face and then tell me that man has never been caught in flagrante delicto with his nan’s favourite settee. It’s impossible to deny. I notice he hasn’t openly done so, which means he has something to hide.

Back in my late teens I used to get horny while watching Robot Wars. This wasn’t really a deliberate thing, nor am I particularly turned on by chrome; I just did once and it put the idea into my brain somehow. I’d go to Woodcraft just after Robot Wars finished, and since my main activity after Woodcraft was going home and crying, that was my Horny Time. I may have missed a bit of metal carnage now and then, but I was happy with that.

I’m not going to say the couch in the living room took the brunt of my horniness, but then I can’t say it didn’t play its part.

To my credit, though, unlike JDV I didn’t actually fuck the sofa. I’d have had to take my trousers off, and although in the end I always did, this usually happened after the show had finished… and often in my bedroom (where there wasn’t a piece of household furnishings to shag), or the bathroom. Back in these halcyon days, of course, I didn’t masturbate to orgasm, so I wouldn’t have left a stain…

…but I digress.

The invisible, intangible and completely fictional person my teenage self would have sex with – before Karolina, but after the “My Girl” I fantasised about at 14… I should write about her as well, at some point – could manifest in pretty much any room of the house, but it was easier to conjure her up in the lounge than anywhere else. Occasionally, of course, this would happen in my bedroom (what I charmingly referred to in my head as “sex fests” taking place on my bed, occasionally with the devil fellah). Sometimes the bathroom would be a better place to do it.

But it was easier, especially since I didn’t have to move that much, to just dry-hump the Chesterfield, using the pillows for support. Job done. I did, of course, run the risk of breaking it – it wasn’t the strongest in the world – but years later and I was having sex on it with the Seamstress, so it clearly survived that long.

So, although I wouldn’t say I had sex with my sofa, like JDV clearly has, I had sex on it, at least once with someone who wasn’t there; I may well have fucked my sofa, as a result: I was a seriously weird kid and did all sorts of odd things. This would just be one more thing to add to the list.

Won’t be doing anything on – or to – our new, inherited sofa, though. It may well be called a love seat… but that’s a compound noun… not an instruction!

Heart and Soul

July 16, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

It was only on my second night in the holding bay that I realised the chair I’d been sitting on could recline. One week earlier, when I’d been put in a chair, I’d assumed I’d be able to sleep in it. Sleep wasn’t something I did. The second time, I accidentally nudged a switch with my foot which turned the chair into a bed.

I still didn’t have an actual bed, but as I rationalised, the week beforehand I had been in a chair for about twelve hours before they found me a ward, and even longer before they found me a bed. This would be the same deal, I told myself, only this time I’d be in a more specialised ward than the AMU, and they wouldn’t move me until they found a bed.

Eighteen hours later I was sitting in another, less comfortable chair in the AMU waiting for a bed. They did, to their credit, find me a side room. I had a chair and a bed and a TV that didn’t work, plus an en-suite which I found very difficult to use. I wasn’t really expecting to spend another two weeks there, exactly. That’s just what… happened.

A week beforehand I’d been told I had possibly had a heart attack. Whatever the cause of the myopericarditis, it was incredibly painful. Morphine had helped me zone out and, during the interminably long bits of no sleep, I had found a way to watch The Producers on my ‘phone. Robinson turned up a couple of times, as did people from work. My parents made the occasional cameo. Apart from that, I had been left alone around the clock.

Gastro catastro

My second week was characterised by constant attempts at water retention while waiting for something more concrete. I wasn’t even aware there was going to be anything else once my gastrointestinal system had evened out. The swelling around my heart hadn’t quite gone, but that was now a secondary concern. It seemed as if they didn’t want to let me go at all, and although I did get half an hour’s grace period to vote, I did feel somewhat like I was waiting for something that didn’t exist.

My sister and cousin had both visited before gallstones were mentioned. Apparently, I have had them for some time and the sharp pains that I haven’t been having (seriously, I haven’t) have been coming from the gall bladder, which I will now be having removed. They decided to do that, but then didn’t. I was packed and ready to go when I was told that I would still be there for four more days in order to have another MRI.

47 booked a ‘plane ticket towards the end of my third week.

I was discharged for the third and final time on Friday. Neither wife nor bestie were home when I got here. I had the first orgasm in three weeks and it went EVERYWHERE. The following morning I sat quietly with the two people I love most in the world.

I love the NHS

I spent three weeks in hospital with mycarditis, pericarditis, chest and back and abdominal pain, sleep loss, fluid loss, COVID-19, D&V, gastroenteritis, gallstones and a chest infection. I got three meals a day, two offers of morning tea and biscuits, free showers with all the equipment, and even clothes, if the ones I came in had worn out.

Next week I am going to spend a night in UCH having my sleep monitored; two days later I am back in the clinic talking to doctors about how to go forward.

I didn’t pay a penny for any of this. I never will. I got a sick note from my GP – didn’t pay. Had to reschedule my biannual consultation with my neurologist – didn’t pay. They even offered to run me home in an ambulance if I didn’t have my own transport (but I did). I wouldn’t have paid for that.

Yes, I was bored. Yes, I was in a lot of pain. Yes, I got basically no sleep. Yes, I was in a chair for two days. Yes, I was in for a lot longer than I was meant to be.

But I was being taken care of and nobody asked why. They just did it, because that’s what they do.

And that’s why the NHS works.

Soft Porn Sunday: Monique DeMoan & Eddie Jay

June 16, 2024 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

You want a swingers’ party
We’ll all chuck in our car keys
Maybe try bukkake
Now it’s always you, and me, and Dave…

You’ve never heard of Monique DeMoan, have you? Maybe you know her by her birth name, Cheyenne August Camarillo? No? How about Cheyenne, the name she’s credited by in Love Exchange?

I’m slightly more familiar with Eddie Jay, although mostly from things like cultural event of the century Hotel Erotica and that absolute cinematic masterpiece Personals 2: CasualSex.com. I couldn’t pick him out of a line-up, though. He’s skilfully also used a pseudonym here: the unidentifiable “Eddy Jay”. Wonderful.

Monique DeMoan and Eddie Jay in "Love Exchange" (2001) — Happy Pride Month, say the drapes on the wall!

What’s my point ~~in life~~ here? Well, said Claire, if you’ve been following this meme since I started it (or if you’re into soft porn yourself), you may well recognise some of the other names. Holly Sampson is a former Emmanuelle. Shannan Leigh is in a fair few things, including Virgins of Sherwood Forest, with David Usher, who’s also in The Exotic Time Machine 2, with Holly Sampson, who’s in Platinum Blonde, with Stella Porter and Tre Temptor, and Shannan Leigh.

Holly Sampson also once had sex with Tiger Woods. Just throwing that out there.

Appearance: Love Exchange, aka Romance Roulette (2001)
Characters: Lizelle & Ben

Judging by the above and how incestuous this all sounds, it makes complete sense that Love Exchange is all about swapping partners. Jackie (Sampson) and Ben (Jay) are a married couple who move into a new neighbourhood, where they are almost immediately propositioned by the very creepy Lorenzo (Ben Brown, aka Anthony Skordi, who’s now voicing Star Wars video games), who runs a regular “sexual card game” which inevitably results in everyone shagging everyone else.

Except for Helen (Leigh), who doesn’t get to do much, or Bill (Richard Neale), who also doesn’t do anything, or Josh (Usher), who gets about two seconds of sex at one point. Holly Sampson gets her kit off, but even then, most of her sex scenes are with Gloria (Taylor Moore, from pieces of high art like I Love Lesbians 11). In fact, Gloria may as well not wear any clothes, judging by the amount of time she spends enjoying half the cast.

Into this domestic order we throw a new variant: on the first night, Ben draws Lizelle, Lorenzo’s wife, who is more than happy to go into a darkened room with him and yes I can also see where this is going let’s just get on with it shall we

Grab your partner, now let’s swing

Lizelle (who’s very game, it seems) leads Ben to a room which she describes as

It’s so sensuous… so surreal, don’tcha think?

but evidently not sensuous enough, as she proceeds to light nine soft porn candles and a joss stick to add to the ambience. Then, of course, she starts disrobing. Ben, naturally, doesn’t say a word; he just sits there with an inane grin, then starts kissing her while the camera pans around to reveal another twelve candles (do they have shares?), then after a couple of mix shots, we end up with one of those hairy softcore blowjobs.

Candles in "Love Exchange" (2001) — This is a genuine shot. How’s that sponsorship deal working out?

Moving fast, then. Surrender doesn’t usually do this; their sex scenes usually involve quite a lot of disrobing before getting down to the action. Mind you, this scene is exactly halfway through the film (it’s a genuine mid-point); we’ve seen a lot of sex already, so maybe they’re expecting us to be desensitised by this juncture. I’m not complaining.

The music ratchets up a notch at this point. I think I ought to mention this, as it’s very curious – with various zither-like string arrangements it has an Eastern flavour, but it’s underscored by conga drums and features an electric guitar. It’s hardly the new In The Steppes of Central Asia by Borodin, but it suits the slightly new-agey setting and is sexy enough.

Talking of sexy enough, look at Lizelle. She’s absolutely stunning. There’s a kind of sensuality to her in the way she moves her body and uses her facial expressions which plays off Ben’s generic “hooray, I’m getting laid!” look. She manages to carry herself through the inevitable brief-sucking-nipples bit, end even a slightly overlong rubbing-her-body sequence is sexy.

Sing, sing, sing (with a swing)

The actual sex starts with Lizelle on top, with her riding Ben, her hands on his knees for support (a nice touch) and the cameraman briefly passing out because the shot suddenly angles strangely before righting itself. It’s not hard sex, but there’s a certain type of energy to it, and certainly a rhythm. It isn’t slow, and then neither is the following scene, a mix to doggy style, again with a fair clip of speed, but not too much.

Lizelle even looks over her shoulder to hold Ben’s gaze while he’s at work with the backshots, also a nice touch, and at what is (presumably) the point of orgasm she even bites her lip, not something I’d imagine most softcore actresses would think of (although maybe this was the director’s choice? I don’t know.). It’s all very pacey, very sensual, and nice to look at.

For a movie with so many scenes, why did I pick this one? Because it’s the one I keep coming back to. Love Exchange is a relatively new discovery for me and it’s practically packed with sex – there was plenty for me in the pic’n’mix. This one stands out because:

the setting is pretty
the music is pretty
the cinematography is pretty
Monique DeMoan is incredibly pretty
Eddie Jay is… all right, actually

Swing and a miss

That isn’t to say that all the other scenes in Love Exchange are lacklustre. Most of them are good for a wank, or at least worth a watch. In fact, if you’re going to seek this out I would recommend you watch the entire thing from beginning to end, as it all makes a lot more sense that way. It gives the Surrender cast a chance to act, a rare occurrence. There’s clearly been a lot of thought put into the plot. Even some of the characters are fairly rounded, which adds a bit of weight to the “who are these people and why are they having sex?” background, which I need.

And, of course, now I’m going to go and seek out more things with Monique DeMoan in.

You know, for research.