Category: Random… Truly Random (Page 2 of 4)

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A step. The slap of rubber sole against concrete. Another. The same.

Hiss. The bus has arrived. I’m not getting it today, but its presence – the fact that it runs at all – is reassuring. It’s a form of escape, almost.

“Hi, ILB. You all right?”
“H… h… h… cough, cough.” I breathe in. “Rachel. He… cough, cough.”

Rachel pauses. I manage a smile, but it hurts too much.

“You… okay? Cough?”
“Okay, yes, but you sound really bad, ILB. You should go home and have a hot drink. More than one hot drink. Get some fluids down you. Just…”

Wheeze. That’s my throat making that noise. It’s meant to be a thanks, but there isn’t one forthcoming. There won’t be for a while.

*

Whoosh whoosh. Whoosh whoosh. Slam, rattle, clink clink clink.

A sidestep. The slap of rubber sole against linoleum. Another. The same.

Hiss. The hot water has boiled. I don’t have long now, but its availability – the fact that it exists it begin with – is reassuring. It’s the blood of life, almost.

“Hi, ILB. You all right?”
“H… h… h… cough, cough.” I breathe in. “Sophie. He… cough, cough.”

I pause. Sophie manages a smile. She looks tired.

“You… okay? Cough?”
“Okay, yes, but you sound really bad, ILB. You should sit and have a hot drink. More than one hot drink. Get some caffeine. Just…”
“No, really. Cough. You okay?”

There is the slight flicker of recognition across Sophie’s face as she realises what I’m asking about. There’s that smile again.

Wheeze. That’s my throat making that noise. It’s meant to be more, but there isn’t more forthcoming. There won’t be for a while.

“I’m okay. Enjoy your tea.” With which she melts away.

As the sounds of our lives echo through my memory, history repeats itself once again.

“Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,” thought Alice, “but a grin without a cat! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw in my life!”

I awoke this morning with the most curious sensation.

I wasn’t horny – not exactly, at least. There was certainly a sexual air about the way I felt, but I wouldn’t describe myself as aroused. A few seconds of concentration with my eyes closed and I could identify the telltale beat from my crotch, but that was nothing unusual. I was hard, but I didn’t want to have sex. So what was this?

Curiouser and curiouser.

I cast around for the most identifiable feeling, and after flicking through the multiverse of combinations, alighted upon one. There was a trace of that sensation you get just after you’ve had sex – the kind of well-fucked, feeling-everything aura, except without the waves of calm that usually break over you (or even the occasional nausea or ravenous hunger that present themselves!).

Just a vague, untraceable feeling. Not unpleasant. Not euphoric. Sex without sex, pleasure without pleasure.

My fiancée’s voice, saying that they were going to the shop around the corner, jolted me from my rêverie. Suddenly aware of the world around me, I indicated my understanding, and lay there for a short while after they left, picking my way through my body. How had I been feeling? What was it, and did I even want it back?

I scrambled up and stretched out as best I can (which caused my erection to throb – stretching always does), and stood there in my room, naked, for just a few seconds longer.

What do I do now? I thought, as I began to pad my way towards the bathroom and considering coffee.

And so my day began, my unsteady gait carrying me through life, with that unknown, unexplained, unidentifiable curious feeling of potential floating along in my wake.

[Inspired by something on Twitter I contributed to. Not my fault.]

When I was about 3, I wanted to be a film director. The educational psychologist who did a paper on me (because I could read the words “manila envelopes” before nominally being taught to read) found this out by simple virtue of the fact that I told him. I found a copy of his report recently, and although I don’t remember this, it sort of makes sense.

Every now and again I wonder what would happen if I did direct a film. When I was sixteen and novelising a dream I once had, I was already considering the soundtrack to the movie adaptation, over which I’d obviously have creative control. I’ve continuously come up with alternative ways to make a Justice League film which doesn’t suck – the solution being: make it silly; have Smash Mouth playing over the opening credits; put Booster Gold in it, you cowards. I almost – almost – wrote a screenplay adaptation of children’s musical Bully! when I realised how that would work.

And then, of course, I had ideas when I was younger. Eighteen-year-old me thought up a dark comedy heist type thing set in my university hall (I can still visualise the poster); twelve-year-old me had a fantasy film completely plotted out. Eight-year-old me wanted to do an animated musical and was convinced Disney would listen to him.

In my early thirties I wanted to write a new instalment of the Emmanuelle series. I mean, zounds, I still do, really.

But this is a sex blog, so we can probably see where this is going.

Recently I’ve been having intrusive, vivid and highly detailed sexual fantasies. This is thoroughly unusual for me, since I usually rely on previously-available media (in whatever form) to arouse me, under the pretence that Horny ILB doesn’t have the available brainpower to construct something viable enough to fap to. Recently, however, he has discovered that he has, and therefore constructs start to form in the brain. If they’re successful enough, of course, the penis also gets involved.

A little like the films I once wanted to direct, these fantasies are under my control to a certain extent… but, like a film adaptation I will never do of a book I have yet to write, some of these stories are delivered to me fully written. Occasionally, they are based on reality, but mostly completely fictional: an eclectic mix of “what if…?” speculation, potential leads that went nowhere which actually go somewhere, mental visualisations of things I’ve read in blogs and/or social media, and occasional faceless, meaningless, dirty smut.

Sometimes these fantasies involve people I know. Occasionally they don’t. Mostly, however, they seem to feature people I used to know – those who have faded out of my life over time – possibly on the assumption that they are safe to fantasise about. I don’t know. Don’t ask me to explain my own brain.

But that’s the thing about fantasies. They are many and varied, and if done correctly, they can be thoroughly entertaining. Like films.

Mostly, these play out with very little prompting or effort from myself: like I said, fully written. Occasionally I’ll write these out, but mostly I just keep them to myself, to enjoy when I need them. The more problematic ones are things which I actually need to direct: elements like characters, setting, scene and plot are all there, but they need assembly in order to completely work.

Sexual Meccano, with hopefully titillating results.

So, yeah, maybe that’s not the career path I eventually did go down. But it still affords me the opportunity, after a fashion, to direct a story…

…even if there is only ever one man clapping.