Category: Random… Truly Random (Page 1 of 5)

Or should I be calling this “2024 Fapped”? No, that joke’s too bad, even for me. And that really is saying something. But I always do the orgasm count, I can’t resist easy content, and I have lots of lovely pens and a diary to write stuff in, so I guess we’re doing this.

This time last year I was a little doom and gloom about the state of play of sex blogs and the community in general. Although I would tend towards saying that 2024 has been quite a positive year – for me, at least – what with a joyful General Election result and a (admittedly very small) pay rise at the job I am continuing to enjoy. I will admit that I haven’t been blogging as much as I could have, though: 40 posts really isn’t much. It also doesn’t reach 2023 Escape Velocity (2023 was 51 posts…).

So I suppose that’s my New Year’s Resolution, then. Write more posts, you lazy bastard.

Of course, there have been bits of this year that appear to have been conspiring against me. In the summer I had a heart attack and spent three weeks in hospital. August brought with it a trip to Amsterdam, which put me in a very precarious monetary position from which I still haven’t fully recovered. There’s also the fact that my insomnia has been getting worse, and there’s a lot of stuff going on around me, even if it’s not directly happening to me.

I’ve had counselling this year, and even without it I’ve noticed that I am less depressed about things than I am nervous. I’ve been feeling very awkward and hesitant about saying things, or doing things (which you wouldn’t know to look at me, since I talk a lot and I’m a bit of an extrovert), and I do occasionally feel like I’m walking on eggshells.

This post is a good example. I was meant to be talking about wanking and just kind of went off in a different direction. Fantastic. Story of my life!

The Orgasm Count!

Once again I’m going to go through my diary and to to decrypt my awful handwriting. I’ll also include the codes I used, because they make me feel like a spy, and that’s awesome.

☆ – 89. This is the number of orgasms that I’ve had this year. That’s less than last year’s orgasm count, although it creates a nice palindrome with last year’s 98. Maths tells me that’s an orgasm per day on 24.3% of the year. Boo!

☺ (not an actual emoji; the face I draw looks more like a sideways =)) – 13/2; 3/5; 30/7; 7/11; 30/12. These are the days on which I had a particularly nice orgasm. In an Earth-shattering revelation, most of these were days after a period in which I hadn’t had any orgasms. I KNOW!

🙁 (a sideways =() – 9/4. An orgasm I’ll talk about later. Not a good one, really.

28/9 – This date got three codes, so you know it’s important. It got an !!!, two smiley faces and the word plentiful! underlined. Whatever happened here, it must have been a great orgasm. This was also – you couldn’t make it up – my 69th orgasm. I should get a certificate or something.

Boing! – 8/12. Holy jumping semen, Batman! There are usually more of these in a year, but this one was notable enough for me to record the fact that it looked like my jizz was competing in the Paris Olympics.

Leana! – 14/5; 12/7; 24/8; 27/10. This is a code I added last year to describe orgasms that happened with the “aid” of rising porn starlet Leana Lovings. Once again, hardcore isn’t my thing, but it’s impossible not to love Leana. This year I also added Emma! to refer to buxom redhead Emma Magnolia, for fairly obvious reasons, but recorded only one such date – 11/1.

Sneaky. – 28/8. As with last year’s orgasm count, this is an orgasm I had with my wife awake in the next room. According to them, they wank when they can and I may well be occupied elsewhere too, but I’m not sure how true that is!

And two brand new codes for 2024…

Necessary – 12/2; 9/4. Eagle-eyes viewers will have noticed that 9/4 was not a good orgasm. Both of these were necessary, though, because they were orgasms FOR SCIENCE! These were days I participated in The Great and Glorious Jizz Dash. I needed to have those orgasms. SCIENCE!

and finally…

NoD – 30/7. I wrote this code down without recording anywhere what it meant. When transferring the stars over to my new mid-year diary I spent about half an hour trying to puzzle it out. NoD? What might those letters stand for? NoD? Why did post-orgasmic ILB seem to think it was that important to make a note of?

And then I remembered.

“…nut on desk,” I muttered to myself, making a note of that too.

Christmas Eve has always been a relatively reflective time for me. Whether it’s the memory of my first time going to midnight mass or the earlier times, when I’d spend all night secretly asking Father Christmas for a kiss from whichever girl I had a crush on at the time… there’s always going to be a memory from way back when.

My earliest Christmas Eve memory is from when I was about seven or eight. I remember it specifically because I slept with my head out of the covers, and because I actually got a fair amount of sleep just before Christmas – a nigh-on impossible thing for a child.

Up until my late teens, I slept with my whole body – including my head – covered by the duvet. Anything else and I would feel vulnerable, or nervous, or scared… ever since I noticed how the rainbows on my Care Bears wallpaper made a scary face if you looked at them for too long, I felt I had to shield myself from the world. I didn’t even notice until the age of about five that it was possible to close one’s eyes without screwing them tightly together. The fact that I was able to go to sleep at all was a miracle. Doing so without problems on Christmas night was completely unheard of. And with my head out of the covers? Positively Herculean.

The reason I’m talking about this on my sex blog is because I find it difficult to relate Christmas to sex. I’m aware that there are plenty of people who do; it just doesn’t really occur to me. I don’t think, or I don’t remember, ever having had sex at Christmas. I’ve brought myself to orgasm all of once on the big day itself. I’m not really one to ask for, give, or receive sex toys as a gift, nor does anyone ever buy me porn.

Even though I haven’t lived with my parents now for years, whereas living with them made enjoying my sexuality risky, it still doesn’t occur to me to be at all sexy over Christmas. Christmas is for Jesus Christ, Father Christmas and Batman Returns. There are even some difficult bits related to it – once ending up with me in the mental health unit of the local hospital. What with everything going on, there genuinely doesn’t appear to be time for sex.

So if anyone has an explanation as to why I’ve spent the entire week constantly thinking about it, that’s be good. Cheers.

“Last time I stayed in one of these hotels,” I said, “I had some of the best sex of my life in a bed just like this.”

I indicated the bed. I had lied a little, perhaps; the bed I’d had sex on was facing the other way in the room, and the en-suite bathroom was on its other side… but this was the same design, the same size, the same softness, and – crucially – this was a Radisson Blu. It’s a nice hotel chain. Good memories. And this was free. What was I going to do, really?

Nobody answered, because there was nobody to share with me. I was talking out loud to myself (I do that a lot, anyway). I needed to say it, though. And, as I put my bag down and laid out my clothes, I ruminated on how lucky I was not to be put in Room 666. I was in 665. 666 may have been a “superior” room, but who knows at this point?

But I digress. There was only one of me, and I’d been given carte blanche to go back to my room at any point during the weekend (I did that in the middle of the day, once, during Day 2, simply because I needed a nap). I could claim ownership of the whole space, and I did – walking around the roomy room a good few times, trying (and failing) to decide if I was pleased, proud, grateful or lonely. I didn’t quite share that feeling for the rest of the weekend.

There was, however, something I did manage to do.

Both nights there I masturbated in the big squashy armchair in the corner of the room. I wasn’t sure if I would be completely able to do so, but I didn’t feel comfortable in the little desk chair, and the bed was too squashy. I feared not being able to get up from it if I lay on my back to wank, and indeed I fell out of bed on Day 1, so that was… fun. Searching around for one, I put a towel on the cushion, sat on that, and worked my way towards orgasm with no more aid than my imagination.

Both times were satisfying, fruitful and productive. I used up a lot of the tissues they gave me. Sorry, Radisson.

Also, neither time did I think to shut the window, or close the blinds.

That was a lie. I did think to do so, but I decided not to. It was incredibly unlikely that anyone would see me on the sixth floor of a massive hotel, especially since I was in the corner. I liked to hear the sounds of Manchester continuing apace outside, and the twinkly lights coming on through the dusky sky were a perfect backdrop. Plus, I told myself, who cares if there’s someone wanking in a hotel room? People masturbate all the time. It’s a hot evening; nobody’s going to judge me even if they do see.

I mean, they might have, but I didn’t want to test the theory.

As I said, I was alone. But, on both nights, as I sat there in the stillness, Manchester’s hum low under my post-orgasmic haze, I felt comfortable, satiated, and totally at peace with the orgasms I’d chosen to share with the world.

So how was your weekend, ILB?

Calm.