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ILB’s Top Sex Bloggers List – 2025

December 1, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

It’s the first of December.

Go back a few years and this is the date where various “top sex blogs/bloggers” would tend to appear – individual bloggers had their own (some probably still do!), there was one on the since-maligned sexual content aggregator Kinkly, and there was a list of 100 – sometimes regarded as THE list – initially by Rori Sweet, who handed it over to Molly Moore.

Rori Sweet's badges for the 2009, 2011, 2012 and 2014 lists. ILB didn't make the other ones. — Rori’s badges were usually colourful and decorative.

Having been on the list myself – yet never quite making the top ten – last year I floated with Molly the idea of running the list myself. Our mutual agreement ended with the consensus that, whoever runs it, a list of one hundred sex bloggers simply isn’t viable.

Blogging, as a medium, has started to fade. Nobody can really, hand on heart, say otherwise. During GOTN’s Patreon hangout last night, the topic came up, and while she struggled to come up with names, I tried to write some down myself. It took me about an hour of searching both the web, and my memory, to compile a list – and, even so, it was a mission to come up with ten, never mind a hundred!

ILB's badge for this list. — Yes, I know it’s not great, but this is the sixth draft and it’s all you’re getting.

But still, I present here a list. This is inspired, of course, by THE list formerly curated by Rori and Molly, but it is not a continuation of the same. It’s just some active blogs I like, and hopefully, that you’d like too. For the purposes of inclusion, I set myself a rule: the blogger has to have posted at least once in the past year. Yes, once. That’s the bare minimum, I think. With that in mind:

ILB’s List – Active Blogs

1. Emma from Love, Emma
The reason I’m so fond of Emma is that she has a frankly enviable workrate. Her content is frequent, and varied – from love to sex to toys porn, she writes about it all. I read through my blogroll pretty much every day, and there’s usually new content from Emma. Her voice comes through in these posts… and it’s a very knowing one, too!

2. Sundial from Going Down with Sundial
Still something of a newbie, although not so much any more, I’m fairly sure we’ve all read some of Sundial’s stuff over the past year. Her blog is a good example of how quality writing can outshine personal preference – I’m not into open relationships, ENM, BDSM or threesomes myself, but her writing is presented with so much flair that it’s impossible not to love.

3. Christine from Light in Grey Places
I first met Chrissie at Eroticon, and was so taken with her I was delighted to see her again the following time. Her blog is a completely unique one, openly sex-positive with a focus on discourse through her Christian faith. Her posts aren’t frequent, but they’re so in-depth and carefully researched that you lose hours reading them! (And, no, I’m not just saying this because I’m a Christian too!)

4. Amy Norton from Coffee & Kink
Amy comes and goes, but she still manages to get posts out there, which is always admirable. At first glance you may be forgiven to assuming C&K is primarily a sex toy review blog, but a few clicks through and Amy’s world becomes a diverse, rich and fascinating one. My favourite post, which I sadly didn’t bookmark, was one about the threesomes she’s had, which genuinely made me laugh!

5. Ash from Sexilicious Ash
I’ve been following Ash for a while and I’m always fascinated by her adventures (and her photos are good too!). Back in the heyday of regular blogging memes, her TMI Tuesday entries were full of interesting titbits – and for someone with my naïveté, learning about a life I’d never lead was a useful thing for me! Ash hasn’t posted recently; I hope she will soon.

6. Robyn from Robyn Eats Everything
Almost quit blogging within the past year but didn’t quite get around to doing so. I am very pleased, because I adore this person and everything they do. Robyn may not be as active on their blog (although they are on social media), but there’s a wealth of flirty, funny and filthy past content on there, and reading through it is a good way to spend an afternoon. Or any time, really.

7. David from The Big Gay Review
Big though I may be, I’m not gay, nor am I into review blogs since I’m not a huge sex toy fan, so why do I like this? Simply because David is an incredibly talented writer. His reviews are fun, but my favourite posts are the little series of ‘sexy thoughts’, random musings on sex and sexuality from his own unique perspective. (Sex blogs used to be full of that stuff, and it’s always nice to find some more…)

8. Bacchus from ErosBlog
Bacchus has been blogging for so long that there’s always something new to find on “the sex blog of record”. Whether it’s a joke, a story, an image, a thought, or just a porn star with a pretty smile, it’ll be there somewhere on ErosBlog!

9. Cara Sutra from Cara Sutra
Can I really call what Cara does a blog any more? Even years ago, what she did was more like an online magazine, but she remains a blogger, with a well-maintained repository of content there. I will admit to feeling slightly overwhelmed by Cara’s site – there’s so much there I get lost sometimes! – but I admire her and her work ethic, and having met her a few times, I’ve always enjoyed her company.

10. Violet Fawkes from Violet Fawkes
Like Cara’s site above, I find myself sometimes adrift in Violet’s content, but it’s most certainly good content. Her writing usually focuses on sex-positivity with a self-acceptance focus; while it may initially seem like there’s a lot of this online, there genuinely isn’t that much! Violet’s honest, wholesome and self-affirming writing really helps you believe what you are reading.

Honourable Mention: Girl on the Net
You’re here so I’m assuming you’ve already read this. GOTN is my (and realistically probably a lot of people’s) favourite sex blogger, for reasons so numerous I’m not going to have space to go into here. I couldn’t write a list without mentioning her, and the reason I’m not giving her a number is simply because she already made #1 on The List back in 2014… well, that, and she defies convention, really.

ILB’s List – Legacy Blogs

Ask me to name sex bloggers and I’ll probably end up going back into the past. I have a few legacy blogs on my radar – ones that were written, and have been either abandoned or deliberately ended, but one can still find in situ. If you haven’t read these, they are all worth a look; if you’re the author of one, HELLO!

11. Leah from Leah Lays London
This was my first “favourite sex blog” back in the day. Leah, a sweet and sexy young lady, had carte blanche to seek out and sleep with as many people as she wanted, and set about laying London. Her escapades are steamy, hot and presented with the kind of indivisible glee that I find very difficult to resist.

12. Bitchy Jones from Bitchy Jones’ Diary
Bitchy was mentioned by name in GOTN’s hangout last night and I could have sworn her blog was still where she had left it… which, of course, it is. Another example of a BDSM-focused blog which I like even though I probably shouldn’t, I enjoyed reading through this once again, even though it’s been years!

13. Scarlet from Scarlet the Harlot
Scarlet was a good friend for quite a time and, though I completely understand why she has kind of moved on from this era of her life, in the earlier days she was quite well-known. Her posts are sensitive and heartfelt and she has a genuinely pure soul, despite any indications to the contrary…

14. Rose Monrou from Sex with Rose
Rose is, and probably always will be, my best friend in the sex blogging community. More than six feet of beauty, Rose wrote 44 pages of content in her time, so she definitely deserves a place here. If you ever get a chance to meet her too, you should… she’s not someone you’ll ever forget!

15. Robin from The Life of a Little Sex Addict
This is a curious one and no mistake. Is any of it even true? I wondered back then and still do, even though I hope it is. Robin was never particularly open with her identity, or even her location… but that didn’t matter, as her posts are direct and filthy! Some of them are brief and, fair enough, her grammar isn’t fantastic, but this blog is a guilty pleasure that I am freely admitting to here.

Honourable Mention: Cheeky Minx from Love Hate Sex Cake
I’ve always liked Minx and the stuff she does, and we’ve had a mutual appreciation thing going on for a while now. She hasn’t, sadly, posted since 2021, but her blog contains her wistful musings and photographic self-portraits in abundance. Her writing manages to be yearning, yet somehow sorrowful, and her inner beauty shines through in a way to match her outer one.

And that’s the end…

It took me a good few hours to write this and read through all the blogs I’ve mentioned here – extant or not. Tempting though it may be to go on an angry rant about the decline and fall of the blogging medium, and blame it all on monetary gain or grinding commercialism or the Online Safety Act, it just seems pointless right now.

I fully intend to keep blogging for a long as I can. In my older years I have slowed down a little, and this year (in particular) I have been quite lax in posting. I’m most certainly not going to make escape velocity this year… but then, I don’t need to do that to validate myself. Blogging has always been something I enjoy – I’m not out here doing it for clout or self-congratulation or monetary gain – and that’s why I read other blogs. I enjoy reading them and getting a little insight into the minds behind the words.

That’s the reason that I made a list. I wanted to share what I’ve found with you. Gentle Readers. I hope that, by following the links here, you’ll discover something new, and hope that sex blogging, despite all the pitfalls we have suffered recently, can never truly die.

Soft Porn Sunday: Kim Yates & Brucio D’Luria

November 23, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 6 Comments

I’ve never really been too sure as to how I feel about Kim Yates. As much as she is a very attractive lady, and her acting is sound, I’m not entirely sure whether or not I’m very much of a fan. Admittedly, she has done less that a lot of her contemporary peers (although more than some – for her co-star here, Brucio D’Luria, this is his only credit outside of his “other” name Bruce Lurie), and maybe it’s the scenes themselves that aren’t to my taste. Let’s see if this one can change my mind.

Appearance: Nightcap, Series 1: “Forbidden Lust” (2000)
Characters: Kim & Tom

I don’t really know Nightcap either. Having a look on IMDb seems to suggest that I should, with a stacked cast including Tane McClure, Nikki Fritz, Stella Porter, Regina Russell, David Christensen and “good ol’ Jason Schnuit”.

All the hits, darling. All the hits.

Even the concept sounds appealing. A rotating cast of regulars, plus sexy guest stars, in a continuing drama series in which every episode ends with hot lovemaking. What’s not to like? And yes, it still managed to pass me by; living in the UK does that. I’ve never seen Zane’s The Jump Off either. We wouldn’t have gotten Emmanuelle in Space were it not for L!VE TV.

Anyway, this episode has a very simple plot, so here we go. Tom (D’Luria) has been sleeping with his best friend’s wife and feeling hella guilty about it. Eventually he explains his woes to series regular Nikki (McClure), and ends up on a date with – and then shagging – Kim (Kim). Wildly original casting there, guys.

Kim Yates and Bruno D'Luria in "Nightcap" (2000). — At least her underwear matches in terms of colour…

One thing I’ll say for Nightcap: it doesn’t mess around with starting off. From what I can see in this scene, either Kim and Tom don’t own too many clothes or they’ve not bothered to show any disrobing. There are only seventeen seconds of foreplay as well – and even that’s nothing more than touching and a bit of body heat.

[ILB is of the opinion that, in real life, longer foreplay is much better. His personal opinion used to revolve around the idea that if you haven’t licked her to orgasm at least once before penetrating her you’re not doing it right. While that may no longer be the case, he still yearns to ~~lick someone to orgasm~~ prove his theory. In softcore, too much of it frustrates him.]

Anyway, yes, 17 mere seconds in and Kim magically loses what’s left of her garments and is merrily riding away, with a nice fluidity in her body and acceptable camera work. We also get a wide shot of the room at this point, which looks both functional and like something neither of them could ever afford. Bed without pillows doesn’t look too comfortable, but again, Kim and Tom don’t appear to mind this rather obvious gaping flaw. I wonder if they’re distracted by something.

Kim does quite a lot of sex on top during this scene, and she does it quite well. As I’ve said before, her movements are quite fluxional; there’s a rhythm to proceedings, and she has nice boobs and a well-defined stomach, which both… help?… I don’t have much to say about Tom though, at least initially. Not only is D’Luria a generic square-headed warm body to fill space, the camera doesn’t even seem to like him! We barely see his face here. I’ve had to take a screenshot to prove he exists!

Bruno D'Luria in "Nightcap" (2000). — Tom. To prove his existence and show that he isn’t a deepfake or something.

At 01:16, the scene mixes to Kim in the reverse cowgirl position, so she can ride without looking at Tom’s face, and once again we get similar movements with a few added shots of Kim’s bum. That’s all I have to say about this.

There’s a welcome switch at 02:04, however. For the first half of this scene, Kim has been very much the star, but we get another mix (clearly the preferred mode of transition) to good old-fashioned lusty missionary. This time it’s Tom doing the movements, although he’s just moving back and forth. While Kim manages to keep the audience’s attention throughout (through some clever positioning of her legs), he’s not doing such a bad job, and both do look like they are very much enjoying themselves.

It ends with a fade to black because OF COURSE IT DOES.

There’s very little to dislike here. It’s short, but does a lot with its 02:47 runtime. The setting is quite chic, the sex is intense and even the acting – as far as I can tell – is believable. Even the soundtrack is good; I originally found it a little bland, but a drum beat comes in halfway through, which helps to drive things forwards. They’re even making all the right noises.

So, as it turns out, I do quite like Kim Yates. She still isn’t, and probably never will be, my favourite softcore star – but, in this specific scene, she is sexy, she is active, and she shines!

…and I’m Victoria, Malcolm

November 16, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

I didn’t remember her bed being this large, or even the volume of her parents’ house, or the fact that it was suddenly a mansion in the middle of nowhere. Despite our years of separation, she was the same as ever. I had no idea exactly why she was putting up with my cartoonish buffoonery, but since she was decidedly DTF, I didn’t really care either way.

“Aaaaaaaaah,” she said, having toked from a spliff about the size of her forearm. (I’m actually quite intolerant towards the stuff, but I wasn’t going to object to her partaking in a massive attack of the chron, on the condition that I got to call it that.) “That’s the stuff.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Didn’t you want to have sex after this?”
“Oh, yes, yes I did,” she agreed agreeably. “But we can’t do that with my parents in the next room. Let’s go to the summerhouse.”
“Oh, good idea!” I ejaculated, despite the fact that I wasn’t aware there even was a summerhouse. Their garden wasn’t even big enough for anything more than a shed.

Scene from "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" (1920) — This is what suburban houses in Oxford look like.

We made our way through various bits of the set from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari to get out into the garden. The promised summerhouse was a bit like a cross between the TARDIS and the bus from Spice World, insofar as the fact that it was bigger on the inside and happened to be fully carpeted, wallpapered and furnished, including a bed which had clearly been put there for the purposes of having sex.

We lay on the bed for a while, mutually wondering why we weren’t yet doing anything, when we had decidedly come here with the intention of Doing Something. In the end, when no sex had happened, one of us – I think it may have been me – came up with the idea of going back into the house and sneaking up to her room.

This then happened. She was good at sneaking in, cat-like, and entered her room silently. I was a little less successful, by which I mean that I managed to trip over a metal bucket, landing hard on a door to a cupboard full of metal tools which cascaded downwards with a cacophonous concerto of clangs, and although they all somehow missed me, both hands managed to land on top of a brazier which just happened to be there…

It was my swearing which eventually woke up both parents. My blistering hands soothed under a running cold tap, I drew myself an icy bath which I sat shivering in, both hands submerged, when her mother came in, still wearing the dressing gown I remember her owning. She didn’t seem surprised to see me in her house.

“What’s going on, young man?” she asked, to which I couldn’t really give a concise answer.

I mean, could you, given the above sequence of events?

“I burned my hands,” I said, showing my braised red palms.

It was her scream that finally woke me up.

Prēma, ē’uṭā patramā (प्रेम, एउटा पत्रमा)

October 27, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 1 Comment

I found a declaration of love lying on the steps outside my block of flats.

Handwritten note in blue marker pen in a mixture of English and a language which turned out to be Romanised Nepali. It is a love letter.

I wasn’t sure of the language, but it translates well from Gujurati. Some of the sentences were clear; others less so. The identity of “Timi”, for example, was unclear. Was it a name, or a pronoun?

I then tried Nepali (due to the clue on the note itself; Google had no idea). This translated “Timi” into the pronoun you.

I don’t speak Nepali. I translated it anyway and then rewrote it into English.

In English, the note reads:

My life is incomplete without you.

I LOVE YOU

My Nepali baby
Your smile brightens my day.
I miss you.

I love you.
You are my everything.
You are beautiful.

The author also adds his name, but I’m going to leave it off as this seems like a private affair.

I was choked. This is a beautiful, simple and yearning declaration of love (in two languages, no less), and yet it was left in the trash, blowing in the wind and forming holes. What if nobody ever received it? What if it was carelessly discarded, along with the author’s love?

Or maybe they are together forever, united by heart. That’s a nice thought.

I can’t begin to imagine, though, where else this goes. That’s not my story to tell. But I am an ILB, and so I thought I ought to do something.

Let’s assume the intended recipient – this mysterious “Nepali baby” – lives in my block. Considering where this was, that’s a reasonable assumption. I’m not going to go around asking every resident if they are from Nepal (that even sounds a little racist, now I say it out loud!), but there’s a communal space just inside the lobby where people leave unmarked mail. And this, very much, is unmarked mail.

I tear a page of lined A4 from my notebook. In my bag there’s a collection of markers, so I choose the thick blue – as close as I can get to the original note – and carefully write my English translation on. It makes a pleasant scratchy, squeaky sound as I do so… transferring his love to my paper.

I have one envelope I’ve been saving for something like this. I cautiously fold both my note and the original and slide them into the envelope. Glue it shut. On the front, in faded blue marker, I write

To my Nepali baby
from [author’s name]

I give the seal a kiss too, just for luck. Leaving my door on the latch, I sneak to the front lobby, slide the envelope into the noticeboard, and walk back to my flat.

I close the door. Click.

I’m not sure exactly what I’ve done, or even if I did the right thing. But, if there’s even a sliver of a chance that this may have a happy ending, then I’m very much going to facilitate it.

Because, considering how the world is right now, we are all due a happy ending.

Hotel Story #2

October 22, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

The first time I stayed in a hotel with a girlfriend, I was 18. We had plans to spend an entire Easter holiday period together – that’s two weeks, to my non-UK readers – one week with her family; one with mine. We decided to bridge the gap with a night in a hotel.

The universe didn’t make it easy. Whatever search engine we were using before everyone switched to Google threw up a few answers and we sort of picked the first one which wasn’t too expensive, part of a chain, near an airport or with a resident distraction. I ‘phoned the one-star hotel near King’s Cross and reserved a double room. Not needing to do so, I didn’t give any details apart from my name… a fake name.

I had gone into this with limited cash and the idea that we had to be more or less anonymous. At the age of about 14 or 15 I had had a fantasy about being one half of a pair of young lovers who had a lot of sex even though the police were trying to stop them. Their orgasmic moans were a clue to their location – usually down a dark alley or on a rooftop or something – but they were never caught. Now that I was actually in that situation (even though we were publicly a couple and everyone knew we were having sex), getting a hotel room without anyone knowing so was about as close as we were ever going to get to becoming The Sexing Twosome™ (yes, there was a name, just in case I ever pitched it to TV. Now that I consider it, Netflix may jump on that idea…).

We took a train down to London and felt each other up for the majority of the journey. By the time we found our one star hotel, we had decided we probably ought to have sex before going out to find food.

The concierge told us that they didn’t actually have the room I had reserved, but there was a twin room available, so would we like that?
“What the fuck?” I didn’t say. “We’ve specifically booked this room so we can go at it like jackhammers, even though we’d be doing that anyway but we got carried away with this harebrained idea and now we want or sex room!”
After not saying any of this and leaving, my dreams of finally becoming The Sexing Twosome™ started to seem impractical. After all, the suave, debonaire male partner was a dynamic young go-getter with problem-solving skills, and I was an awkward, gawky idiot who had just been put in his place by an aging concierge in a hotel which didn’t even seem to contain lights.

“So what do we do now?” she asked, clearly expecting this awkward, gawky idiot to pull some magic solution out of the air like I’d done the first time we had sex.
“Abuh,” said this attractive genius. “Let’s… uh… I don’t know.”
At which point I noticed the rest of the street we were standing on.

The two star hotel next door had nicer Romanesque columns bookending the entrance, but it had the same vibes inside – dim lighting leading the way down gloomy corridors; uniform grey carpet tiles everywhere, a slightly neglected air, clean though it may have been. (London is full of these. The first part of this story has one particularly memorable one.) After being assured that they were never going to be full, I paid some cash and was handed a huge piece of vinyl with a key attached to it.

I remember walking down the corridor holding hands. It was quiet. Nobody else was around. Everything was calm, but sad. A place of sorrow without torment.

Our room, as it turns out, was actually quite nice. Spacious, airy, bright and with a sizeable double bed… which, as we suddenly realised, was the reason for our presence in this dreary corner of London. We put our bags down; I went to make a cup of tea…

My penis was inside her within five minutes. Half an hour later, with a plastered grin and full of cum, she felt ready to walk again.

We went in the wrong direction, got completely lost, and almost didn’t find somewhere to eat. I think we ended up in McDonald’s, which – as I noted multiple times that night – was also the name of the one star hotel who had abandoned our room.

In the end, we had to walk a little to get back to our temporary place of lusty residence. As we mutually admitted, we were tired, we’d had food, and we’d already had sex. We went back to our room intending to go straight to sleep.

And then we had sex three more times that night.

The police never found us.

Waiting

October 4, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

I’ve been
Waiting a long time
For this
Moment to come, I’m
Destined
For anything at all

“Oh, interestingly, exciting news.”

My mother pulled on the brakes and her bike screeched to a halt just before the entrance to the alleyway. It led to the park – this I knew – and I also knew I wouldn’t be able to say anything as we rode down it single file.

“Oh yes? Do tell?”
“Well…”

When I stopped, the iconic plinking sound which accompanied my cycles finished their usual tune (which I can still hear – the spokey-dokeys from Monster Munch were placed on randomly, and since I liked the melody, I kept them on that way), and fell silent.

I cleared my throat.

The problem was – and I realised this a fraction of a second too late – that I didn’t actually have exciting news. At the age of ten, nothing in particular seemed to count as exciting. Getting a new Usborne Puzzle Adventures book was an event. Maybe I’d get a SNES game once a year, for birthday and/or Christmas. Those things were exciting.

But I still hadn’t experienced anything which could be categorised as “exciting news”. My mother’s disappointment when I followed my declaration up with a joke she’d heard before was palpable. I went home glum that afternoon, feeling somehow that I’d cheated myself out of a genuinely exciting event. There wasn’t one, of course, but if I hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have upset myself.

A few years later, as a teenager, I found myself, once again, waiting. The sort of exciting news I thought I might get had evolved, in a way, although I still didn’t know exactly what I was waiting for. Nine times out of ten, of course, it was me waiting to get a girlfriend. I would tease the audience with silhouettes of practically all the girls in my life, keeping them guessing.

I didn’t know, of course, but then neither did the audience. We’d find out at the same time. That would have been exciting.

Age 17 was probably a little too exciting… or, at least, it was at the beginning. Very little of it could be categorised as news, however. I had my coach journeys and my girlfriend and my sex – not to mention the A2s I was taking (in a much better mood than my ASs – and I got better grades in a better mood!). But I still felt, in a way, like I was waiting for something.

I still had no idea exactly what it was. As far as I was aware, I had what I’d been waiting for. And yet, still, I felt like I should be waiting for something. Something which I could tell the audience, or at the very least my mother, was “interestingly, exciting news”.

I’ve since gone through four relationships, had at least ten forms of gainful employment, visited the most distant country of two foreign continents, been seen on stage and screen and read in print, saved at least two lives, and learned more about sex than I ever thought I would.

I’m still waiting.

かわいい

September 21, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

[Do I need to update my PHP? Probably. I'll just add that to the list of things I'll never do. I've still got an account on Ello and haven't gotten around to shutting that down yet.]

I’m standing outside a Buddhist temple in Kyoto with sweat rolling down my forehead. It’s subtropical in southern Honshu in August and I hadn’t quite factored this in. My mother made me pack a coat; I’m not sure why she did either.

Heat or no heat, I’ve been enjoying myself. We spent a whole week in Tokyo buying retro games and drinking the VERY MANLY pink peach froth they do in Japanese Starbucks. The occasional diversion to maid cafés, a stripshow and possibly-the-biggest-sex-shop-in-the-world aside, our first week had mostly consisted of going to various places to shop.

And I was completely fine with that. I can’t pretend that I wasn’t there for that, too.

Kyoto is proving different. Walk down the street from our hotel and lots of the suburban houses have a little Shinto hokora sandwiched between them. Eventually you’ll reach the local onsen, which we’ve already been to. I’ve never been naked in front of 47 before. He’s practically my brother and we had to go to Japan to reach that step. He didn’t seem fazed by my UNUSUALLY LARGE PENIS.

Anyway. We’ve just had a rickshaw ride through a forest of bamboo and there’s a large Buddhist ex-monastery now used as a temple of worship and/or tourist trap. We are tourists and have fallen into said trap. 47, who (as it turns out) is a competent photographer, is quite keen on taking pictures. My DM forbids me from taking anything not at a Batman angle. He’s got the ‘phone and he’s taking the snaps.

I stand in front of the path to the temple and strike a pose.

“Kawaii!” says a cute female voice.
I look in its direction and see the cute female attached to said voice. She was walking down the road with a group of other Japanese women holding parasols, but she’s stopped now to call something kawaii. And she’s looking straight at me. She then repeats it again – “so kawaii!!”

This must be a mistake. Or a joke, or a dare. Maybe 47 has paid her to tell me I’m kawaii. Of course, perhaps she genuinely does think I’m kawaii, or at least the pose I’ve chosen to strike is kawaii. Perhaps it’s the T-shirt I’m wearing, or my messy black hair, or how awkward I look. Japanese friends have occasionally spoken of the appeal of an innocent-looking gaijin. (Whether or not I’m actually innocent is, of course, conjecture, but it’s in my screen name, so I’ll take it.)

Of course, maybe I’m not kawaii. Maybe she was saying kawaikunai – かわいくない – and I’m not cute.

She must have picked up on my sudden self-doubt because she switches to English.
“Cutie!” she clarifies, with a smile brighter than the surface of Venus. “You’re a cutiecutie!”

OK, that’s new. I’ve never been called a cutiecutie before. My mum called me handsome once. A girl at a gig said I was very pretty. A staff member at Rebecca’s college once said I was “a bit of a honey” and one of Soldiergirl’s friends said I “looked like an angel”. But being a cutiecutie was new. Being declared one immediately after being told I was kawaii twice was definitely new. And being told so by a pretty Japanese girl is basically the sort of thing I’ve had dreams about.

After this, you know, take me away. I’m done. It’s not going to get any better than this.

She gets a grin and an arigatoo in response and bounces away riding her own smile. 47 takes his snap and we start to make our slow, sweaty way down the path.

“I’m kawaii, apparently,” I say under my breath.
“You are!” says 47, with some finality to it.

I don’t stop smiling for about a day and a half.

Inhale

August 14, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

“It’s too cold to open a window,” she said, “and our room reeks of sex.”
“I quite like the scent of sex,” I demurred.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong!” she protested. “I love it and I always have! In our case it’s a mark of a job well done!”
“High five!” I didn’t say. To this day I’m still not sure whether I should have.

I wasn’t entirely sure about the distinct scent of sex when I first encountered it. It reminded me a little of pee, but then again, the first time I had sex I’d never really had an orgasm awake before, so I didn’t quite equate that to the bouquet of cock. Once I’d tasted vulva, of course, I got that in the mix as well. My wife offers up the term “musty,” which I guess is as good as any.

I’ve always found it to be quite heavy. Sex permeates the air around it and occasionally the whole house. While not unpleasant, not exactly, its distinctive aroma manages to carry both stigma and pride in the same breath. Not bad for a few olfactory particles.

“We could open a window,” I said suddenly. “We don’t need to get cold. Hey, we don’t need to lie on the bed. We could get into the bed. The duvet’s warm enough.”
“But it’s the middle of the day,” pointed out the Seamstress. “Why would we be in bed in the middle of the…? I mean, unless we’re doing what caused this in the first place…?”
“…for the third time today,” I supplied helpfully. “But we don’t need to have sex. We could just be in bed to get warm.”

There was a long, hazy pause.

“No.”
“No?”
“I disagree.”
“You do? You don’t want to open a window or you don’t want to get into bed?”
“No, I want to do both of those things,” she clarified while beginning to take her dress off. “But I don’t agree that we don’t need to have sex.”

[Incidentally, this is my last post for a while. For the next two weeks I’ll be virtually incommunicado while I’m enjoying geeking myself silly in Japan. Catch you on the flip side, bloggiverse.]

Buzz Buzz

August 7, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

Buzz!

It’s 8am and I’m sitting in my computer chair, cycling through several open windows and tabs while drinking tea. Naked.

I’m not naked for any particular reason. I just haven’t really organised myself into the whole “getting dressed” bit yet. This is much earlier than the other times I’ve been getting out of bed, and my thoughts are slightly scrambled. Nevertheless, it’s my flat, it’s my life, and they are my blinds, and they are closed. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be naked.

Buzz!

Or, at least, there shouldn’t be. I’d slightly overlooked the fact that my wife is particularly fond of ordering things off the Internet. I’m still not entirely sure if they use all of them. Paying rent is an adventure.

I stumble to the door and buzz the caller in. I hear his footsteps in the corridor outside, silence for a while, and then the breathy sigh of someone exasperated at having to wait. I’m going to have to open the door, but I may well get done for public indecency. I can’t put it off any more, though. I open by just an iota.

“Delivery,” says a gruff voice.
“Right,” I say, extending my bare arm around, just enough to grab the parcel without giving him an eyeful. The human body is a beautiful thing, but perhaps not at 8am when you’re not expecting it. If he’s going to be into it, I apologise, but I’m not going to assume… or, in fact, ask.

It’s 10:30am and I’m horny. I still haven’t managed to get dressed, but in this situation, that’s an advantage. If I’m going to bring myself to orgasm I’ll need unfettered access to my penis and a nipple to fondle. This is, for want of a better term, exciting. I haven’t masturbated this early for a fair while. I feel like a horny teenager.

In fact, I’m incredibly horny. My cock is beating in my hand, I can feel my heartbeat thudding through my chest, my eyes are closed and I’m very near the point of no return. This is going to be an orgasm for the ages, the sort of thing that’s referenced in future history books and someone will write an feature about in McSweeney’s. I’m a sexual dynamo and nothing’s going to

Buzz!

fuck, fuck, fuck!

I stumble to the door and buzz the caller in. I hear his footsteps in the corridor outside, silence for a while, and then the heavy sigh of someone exasperated at having to wait. I’m going to have to open the door, but this time I have a huge erection to deal with. If I open up he may well mistake me for a coathanger and not hand over the parcel. I open by just an inch.

“Delivery,” says a tuneful voice.
“Right,” I say, extending my bare arm around, just enough to grab the parcel without taking his eye out. He’s ruined my orgasm… I could, of course, get back to it, but the moment has passed. I’d need to start again at the beginning, and by this time, I can’t even remember what I was wanking to.

It’s 12:37pm and I’ve just finished cleaning up from the orgasm I’ve had. I dump the tissues in the bin and I’m wondering what to do next when I realise how sleepy I am. I’ve been up since about six and I’ve just had an orgasm. To hell with the rules; I’m going to have a nap.

I consider napping on my sofa. It’s not really designed for that. The fact that I’ve fallen asleep on it before was more accidental than design. I could, I rationalise, go back to bed. I could even sleep on the other side, since my wife isn’t here, and I sleep better facing that direction. Marvelling at my own genius, I trudge sleepily to the bedroom, lie down, pull the covers over myself, close my eyes and

Buzz!

fuck, fuck, fuck!

I stumble to the door and buzz the caller in. I hear his footsteps in the corridor outside, silence for a while, and then the raspy sigh of someone exasperated at having to wait. I’m going to have to open the door, but this time I genuinely don’t want to. I’m still naked, of course, but that’s a secondary concern.

“Who is it?” I call through the door.
“Delivery,” says an African accent from the other side.
“Can you leave it outside the door?”
“No, I can’t. I need to take a picture of you holding it and send it to…”
“All of me? Will my arm do?”
“That is fine.”

There are a few agonising seconds of silence.

I open by just a sliver. He hands me the parcel. It’s big and heavy and I drop it. I genuinely have no idea what this is. It feels expensive. I hope I haven’t broken… whatever it is.

On my way back down the corridor, I trip over the pile of three packages left lying there. I manage not to fall on my face by grabbing onto the bookcase my Jar Jar Binks memorabilia collection sits atop. One Jar Jar falls off his kaadu and glares at me in an accusatory manner.

“It’s not my fault,” I tell the affronted Gungan. “If people didn’t keep buzzing the doorbell, I’d be able to sleep.”

I slip back into bed and prepare myself for what promises to be a more fitful slumber than that which I had originally promised myself. At the very least I could be fairly certain there wouldn’t be any more buzzes. Surely they couldn’t have ordered more than three things.

Buzz!

It’s just my ‘phone this time, but it doesn’t block out the loudest profanity I think I’ve ever ejaculated.

Tomorrow I’m going to make sure I’m out of the flat.

Soft Porn Sunday: Amber Newman & Brian Heidik

July 27, 2025 / Innocent Loverboy / 0 Comments

When I need it, it’s always there for me.

Appearance: Virgins of Sherwood Forest (2000)
Characters: Ondrea & Alvin

One of the things I like the most – that scratches an itch as I rub one out – is how I’m always noticing new things about the scenes I like. Things I think I know backwards still find ways to surprise – there’s something about the décor, the dialogue, the characters, mise en scène, or even the motions of the sex itself that will find a new way to beguile me.

Virgins of Sherwood Forest is one such film. Up until recently I didn’t notice that Horatio puts one foot up on a chair during what is admittedly my favourite sex scene ever. In this one… possibly my second favourite sex scene ever, although I wouldn’t know about that… there are certainly a few things I have noticed. Let me share them with you.

Amber Newman & Brian Heidik in "Virgins of Sherwood Forest" (2000) — He’s chewing straw, you see, like all farmers ever.

This is the first sex scene in the film (and it happens very quickly, as well – thanks, Surrender), and it’s a classic. The framing device for the story involves a music video being made for “a rock star who’s here but you can’t find”. Said rock star, Alvin (Brian Heidik, credited here as “Dave Roth” and now working as a used car salesman), genuinely doesn’t want to be found. When he eventually is, it’s by sexy sexy sexy makeup artist Ondrea (yes, seriously, Ondrea, not Andrea), played by sexy sexy sexy sex on legs level sexy Amber Newman, who is very sexy indeed.

THING I’VE NOTICED: Ondrea is named after a real person, the actual makeup artist for Virgins of Sherwood Forest. The more you know…

After a bit of moderate flirting (not bad acting, actually, from the actors involved here; Brian Heidik is believable as self-centred Alvin) ending with the incredibly cringey lines

ALVIN: Have you seen my six-shooter?
ONDREA: You’re not wearing a gun.
ALVIN: Well, who said anything about a gun?

the result is a foregone conclusion. While the rest of the crew tie themselves in knots looking for Alvin, he’s busy making love to Ondrea backstage, and who can blame him? She’s played by Amber Newman.

As sex scenes go, it’s fairly routine, but as I’ve said above, it’s the little details that make it. Alvin and Ondrea share a knowing smile; he pulls her to him, they melt into a kiss, the music chimes in and they start disrobing.

THING I’VE NOTICED: Alvin pulls her forwards by her belt buckle (which is later unbuckled). It’s a way of indicating his intentions without saying.

OTHER THING I’VE NOTICED: The first stab of electric guitar coincides perfectly with Alvin cupping Ondrea’s bum, and her slap keeping his hand in place!

This is rock music, actual rock music, and even though there are no lyrics, I can totally believe this is one of Alvin’s songs. As a bonus Thing I’ve Noticed, when they cut back to the crew on set, the song is playing through the speakers, so there’s no interruption to it – very clever!

I also like the way they get their clothes off – Ondrea even removes her hair clip at the very start. It’s swift, but steady – not too short, not too long. It’s even broken up at points – Alvin lifts her up onto the table that’s there BECAUSE OF COURSE THERE’S A TABLE THERE, kissing her breasts as he removes her bra. The music shifts again (it’s a middle eight, people! Keep up!) as Ondrea removes her jeans and sinks to deliver a soft porn blowjob, and we get a nice wide shot of them both enjoying themselves.

THING I’VE NOTICED: Behind Alvin is a camera and microphone setup pointing at what appears to be a bluescreen. As Alvin is going to be appearing as various characters in his video, is this for the spaceman fantasy later on?

And then my favourite bit happens and I forget about everything else. Ondrea, once again on the table, is smoothly and sexily taking pelvic thrusts from Alvin, one arm supporting herself while the other runs through her hair (or holds Alvin’s shoulder; it changes from shot to shot). Her bare legs are wrapped around his waist and she is pulling a face ranging from keen to unconcerned – like “yeah, I’m having sex with this famous rock star, what of it, bitchezzz?”.

THING I’VE NOTICED: The light behind them is positioned between their bodies. Not only does this illuminate them against a busy background, but it appears to emanate from their crotches, where they are what I used to term “connected”.

The last Bit of Sex™ happens in the standing doggie position (71, I think? Alvin is leaning over a bit too much to represent a straight 1, but I’m fairly sure that’s what this is). While I will admit that this isn’t as hot as the previous Bit of Sex™, there’s a fair amount of energy, and you get to see Amber Newman’s fingernails, which have been done nicely, so there’s that too.

Like I said, details.

THING I NOTICED OVER A DECADE AGO, BUT I DON’T THINK ANYONE ELSE EVER HAS: At exactly 03:26, Amber Newman briefly rolls her eyes. Whether this is intentional “I’m enjoying the sex!” or an accidental “Christ alive, this is taking a while…” I’ve no idea, but it gets me every time!

There’s even a bit which clearly indicates orgasm, and a cooling-off period during which Ondrea and Alvin share one final kiss. She’s even touching up his makeup in the following scene.

But for all the minutiae, and my bluster and overenthusiasm (commission me to write a BFI guide to softcore YOU ABSOLUTE COWARDS), this is a scene which (like the rest of Virgins of Sherwood Forest) is impossible to dislike. The setting, the iconic rock soundtrack, the infectiousness of the characters and the commitment the actors put into it – and, as a bonus, one of them is Amber Newman (plus the plot device, including the crew standing a few metres away and not knowing what is happening!)! There is genuinely very little to criticise here, and that’s rare, even in this genre, for which we can make exceptions.

Plus, I got to watch this all over again to write this, so I hope you don’t notice too much of what I’m about to do…

Innocent Loverboy

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