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Sunday, September 30, 2007
Today
I have been mostly:
- Sunbathing on the beach
- Reading my friend's beautiful debut novel
- Eating succulent peaches and melon
- Swimming in the sea
- Fucking an incredibly cute blue-eyed Spanish man
I've had worse days...
- Sunbathing on the beach
- Reading my friend's beautiful debut novel
- Eating succulent peaches and melon
- Swimming in the sea
- Fucking an incredibly cute blue-eyed Spanish man
I've had worse days...
Comments
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Break
I'm typing this sitting naked on a balcony. No, I haven't suddenly become an exhibitionist (I am a prude really, honest). The balcony just happens to be out of anyone's viewpoint, which makes it perfect for a spot of naked blogging (or shagging, if luck chanced upon me). Better than that though, is the fact it overlooks a beach, so not only do I get to soak up the rays as I write, but I also get to have a quick dip in the sea afterwards. Bliss.
I am on holiday, if that wasn't already obvious, and boy do I need the break. I shan't be "live-blogging" my stay as a) that would be boring and b) I have better things to do. I just wanted to pop in and say hello from abroad, or ¡Buenos días! as they say here.
P.S. For those people who contacted me to ask if I had anything to do with the article about sexblogs in The Sun newspaper yesterday, no, I didn't: I had no idea they would plug my blog - I was never approached by them. I was suprised by them calling me "insightful" - somewhat ironic, given it's a Murdoch rag - and we all know how nice they have previously been to me, don't we?
I am on holiday, if that wasn't already obvious, and boy do I need the break. I shan't be "live-blogging" my stay as a) that would be boring and b) I have better things to do. I just wanted to pop in and say hello from abroad, or ¡Buenos días! as they say here.
P.S. For those people who contacted me to ask if I had anything to do with the article about sexblogs in The Sun newspaper yesterday, no, I didn't: I had no idea they would plug my blog - I was never approached by them. I was suprised by them calling me "insightful" - somewhat ironic, given it's a Murdoch rag - and we all know how nice they have previously been to me, don't we?
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Radio
I'm on the radio this evening (Wednesday 19th September), taking part in the BBC Radio 4 season The Sex Lives of Us. This particular programme, Procreation or Recreation?, discusses sexuality in modern Britain and the pros and cons of casual sex.
I'm slightly nervous given my particular standpoint on these issues - in contrast to the rest of the contributors (and perhaps the listeners too) - and I hope my input hasn't been edited to shreds (it was recorded a week ago). Nevertheless, it was a very lively debate, which provoked a number of interesting arguments from across the panel, so I'm sure it will make for good listening. Plus, it was skillfully chaired by the lovely Mariella Frostrup, whose voice sounds like liquid velvet: an aural delight at any time.
It's broadcast on Radio 4 at 8:00pm tonight (45 minutes' duration) and will be repeated this Saturday 22nd September at 10:15pm. It'll also be available to stream from the BBC website over the next seven days, using the 'listen again' feature; I'll put up a link to that as soon as it goes live, for those who might like to listen to it via the web.
UPDATE: You can now listen to the broadcast here.
UPDATE 2: The 'listen again' feature is only live for seven days: sadly this programme is no longer available. I will, once I get some time, attempt to upload the broadcast somewhere so that people have the ability to listen to it, should they want to.
I'm slightly nervous given my particular standpoint on these issues - in contrast to the rest of the contributors (and perhaps the listeners too) - and I hope my input hasn't been edited to shreds (it was recorded a week ago). Nevertheless, it was a very lively debate, which provoked a number of interesting arguments from across the panel, so I'm sure it will make for good listening. Plus, it was skillfully chaired by the lovely Mariella Frostrup, whose voice sounds like liquid velvet: an aural delight at any time.
It's broadcast on Radio 4 at 8:00pm tonight (45 minutes' duration) and will be repeated this Saturday 22nd September at 10:15pm. It'll also be available to stream from the BBC website over the next seven days, using the 'listen again' feature; I'll put up a link to that as soon as it goes live, for those who might like to listen to it via the web.
UPDATE: You can now listen to the broadcast here.
UPDATE 2: The 'listen again' feature is only live for seven days: sadly this programme is no longer available. I will, once I get some time, attempt to upload the broadcast somewhere so that people have the ability to listen to it, should they want to.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Patch
We both stared at the large wet patch on the bed.
I frowned. “What the hell is that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Did you spill on the bed? Naughty boy,” I said, smiling flirtatiously.
“That wasn’t me. I’m still wearing this.” He pointed to the condom wrapped around his penis. “Anyway, I didn’t come.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. You ejected my cock when you squeezed down by coming so hard, remember?”
I bit my lip feeling embarrassed at the strength of my climax, recalling that the last time we had had sex I had done exactly the same. I suddenly felt very selfish.
“Sorry about that, we’ll have to rectify that.” I reached over to him and stroked his hip with my fingertips.
“Will we now?”
I grinned. “Yes.”
He leaned down to my face and kissed me.
“Anyway, even if I had come, there is no way I could make that much mess.”
He patted the dark area on the duvet cover beneath me. I moved off my stomach and sat back on my feet, looking at the duvet. The wet patch was huge, almost a foot across and a foot long. I placed my hand on it and was shocked to discover how wet it was: the material was drenched, soaked through the duvet feathers to the sheet below.
“What the fuck?”
“What?”
“Feel it. It’s soaking.”
He pressed his hand onto the wet patch. “Wow!”
“Hold on…” I had a sudden thought. “You said you spilled some water, right? God, you are clumsier than me – you managed to get it all over the cover!”
“I did spill some water, but not on the bed. I knocked over a glass, see?” He motioned down to the floor and I peered over the bed. There was a small pool of water on the tiles below; the glass, now empty, stood adjacent to the liquid.
“Are you saying that you didn’t spill the water on the cover?”
“That is exactly what I am saying.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“So how did the water get there?”
“I think it was you squirting.”
“Bollocks.”
“Come on! There is no other explanation!”
“No way.”
He bent down to sniff the wet patch. “Well, it’s definitely not pee if that’s what you were worried about.”
I cringed and shifted to smell it for myself. I was surprised to discover that it had no odour at all. It was as if someone had poured half a glass of water onto the bed and soaked it. I suddenly became suspicious.
“You’re not fucking with me are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, trying to freak me out by secretly pouring your glass of water on the duvet cover.”
He sighed. “No, I am not fucking with you. Why would I do that? And how could I do that? You haven’t moved from the bed.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Promise me this isn’t some kind of wind up.”
“I promise. Honestly, is it so hard to believe that you wet the duvet?!”
“Well, yes, it is actually.”
“You squirted, there is no other way to explain it. What’s the problem?”
“Well for one, I don’t believe in it. You know me, sceptical as ever. I just don’t support the idea that women ejaculate.”
“Not even when faced with scientific evidence in front of you?!”
I shrugged.
“Look, it’s in the exact spot where you were lying, see?”
He gestured for me to lie back down on the bed and I did, noticing that directly under my groin was the wet patch. It was like lying in one of those police outlines in a crime scene, except instead of chalk representing a death, there was a wet patch providing the liquid evidence of my climax.
I shifted back onto my knees and shook my head in disbelief.
“So you’ve never squirted before?”
“No! And believe me I have tried: every fucking toy and finger action that you can imagine. Given I come very easily and often, I assumed squirting was either a myth dreamt up by porn producers, or that I was just physically unable to do it.”
“Well you’ve been proved wrong on both counts.”
I looked at him sheepishly. “I guess so.”
“That really was a very intense orgasm you had…
I nodded, thinking back to half an hour before; my head buried in the pillow, my eyes blindfolded and my weeping uncontrollably.
“I can’t believe you cried like that. I was worried that I was hurting you too much.”
“Well you were,” I said, rubbing the painful raised welts on my arse from where he had repeatedly whipped me with the cane, “but that wasn’t why I was crying. I mean, there’s no real reason for it; I just think it was my body responding to the incredible – and much needed – release you gave me…”
“…With crying, ejecting my cock, and squirting.”
“Evidently. God, this whole thing has been weird…”
“And enjoyable…”
“Totally.”
He pulled off the condom and clambered back onto the bed. I snuggled up to him and felt him harden against me.
Suddenly I realised where he was lying; I tried to pull him away from the soaked area of the bed. “You’re in my wet patch, aren’t you? That’s not very fair!”
“Nah, don’t worry, it’s fine.”
“You’re such a gentleman. I get restrained, whipped, then hugely pleasured and I don’t even have to sleep in my own wet patch: result!”
He laughed and we kissed some more.
“You do realise I will never do that again, don’t you?”
“Why not?”
“Because unless the planets are in the correct alignment or something, the possibility of my repeating that is about zero to one.”
“Well, we can but try,” he said, pressing himself against me.
“Well, if you put it that way…”
I frowned. “What the hell is that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Did you spill on the bed? Naughty boy,” I said, smiling flirtatiously.
“That wasn’t me. I’m still wearing this.” He pointed to the condom wrapped around his penis. “Anyway, I didn’t come.”
“You didn’t?”
“No. You ejected my cock when you squeezed down by coming so hard, remember?”
I bit my lip feeling embarrassed at the strength of my climax, recalling that the last time we had had sex I had done exactly the same. I suddenly felt very selfish.
“Sorry about that, we’ll have to rectify that.” I reached over to him and stroked his hip with my fingertips.
“Will we now?”
I grinned. “Yes.”
He leaned down to my face and kissed me.
“Anyway, even if I had come, there is no way I could make that much mess.”
He patted the dark area on the duvet cover beneath me. I moved off my stomach and sat back on my feet, looking at the duvet. The wet patch was huge, almost a foot across and a foot long. I placed my hand on it and was shocked to discover how wet it was: the material was drenched, soaked through the duvet feathers to the sheet below.
“What the fuck?”
“What?”
“Feel it. It’s soaking.”
He pressed his hand onto the wet patch. “Wow!”
“Hold on…” I had a sudden thought. “You said you spilled some water, right? God, you are clumsier than me – you managed to get it all over the cover!”
“I did spill some water, but not on the bed. I knocked over a glass, see?” He motioned down to the floor and I peered over the bed. There was a small pool of water on the tiles below; the glass, now empty, stood adjacent to the liquid.
“Are you saying that you didn’t spill the water on the cover?”
“That is exactly what I am saying.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“So how did the water get there?”
“I think it was you squirting.”
“Bollocks.”
“Come on! There is no other explanation!”
“No way.”
He bent down to sniff the wet patch. “Well, it’s definitely not pee if that’s what you were worried about.”
I cringed and shifted to smell it for myself. I was surprised to discover that it had no odour at all. It was as if someone had poured half a glass of water onto the bed and soaked it. I suddenly became suspicious.
“You’re not fucking with me are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, trying to freak me out by secretly pouring your glass of water on the duvet cover.”
He sighed. “No, I am not fucking with you. Why would I do that? And how could I do that? You haven’t moved from the bed.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Promise me this isn’t some kind of wind up.”
“I promise. Honestly, is it so hard to believe that you wet the duvet?!”
“Well, yes, it is actually.”
“You squirted, there is no other way to explain it. What’s the problem?”
“Well for one, I don’t believe in it. You know me, sceptical as ever. I just don’t support the idea that women ejaculate.”
“Not even when faced with scientific evidence in front of you?!”
I shrugged.
“Look, it’s in the exact spot where you were lying, see?”
He gestured for me to lie back down on the bed and I did, noticing that directly under my groin was the wet patch. It was like lying in one of those police outlines in a crime scene, except instead of chalk representing a death, there was a wet patch providing the liquid evidence of my climax.
I shifted back onto my knees and shook my head in disbelief.
“So you’ve never squirted before?”
“No! And believe me I have tried: every fucking toy and finger action that you can imagine. Given I come very easily and often, I assumed squirting was either a myth dreamt up by porn producers, or that I was just physically unable to do it.”
“Well you’ve been proved wrong on both counts.”
I looked at him sheepishly. “I guess so.”
“That really was a very intense orgasm you had…
I nodded, thinking back to half an hour before; my head buried in the pillow, my eyes blindfolded and my weeping uncontrollably.
“I can’t believe you cried like that. I was worried that I was hurting you too much.”
“Well you were,” I said, rubbing the painful raised welts on my arse from where he had repeatedly whipped me with the cane, “but that wasn’t why I was crying. I mean, there’s no real reason for it; I just think it was my body responding to the incredible – and much needed – release you gave me…”
“…With crying, ejecting my cock, and squirting.”
“Evidently. God, this whole thing has been weird…”
“And enjoyable…”
“Totally.”
He pulled off the condom and clambered back onto the bed. I snuggled up to him and felt him harden against me.
Suddenly I realised where he was lying; I tried to pull him away from the soaked area of the bed. “You’re in my wet patch, aren’t you? That’s not very fair!”
“Nah, don’t worry, it’s fine.”
“You’re such a gentleman. I get restrained, whipped, then hugely pleasured and I don’t even have to sleep in my own wet patch: result!”
He laughed and we kissed some more.
“You do realise I will never do that again, don’t you?”
“Why not?”
“Because unless the planets are in the correct alignment or something, the possibility of my repeating that is about zero to one.”
“Well, we can but try,” he said, pressing himself against me.
“Well, if you put it that way…”
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Busy
I'm finally taking a day off today (well, half a day at least) and am venturing down to Brighton. The aim is to get some fresh (read: non-grimy London) air and also get my bits jiggled with. By which I mean my extremely sexy MacBook Pro: my nice naughty friend will be filling it (and possibly me, if I play my cards right) with lots of juicy things.
Whilst I'm tied up down South, I'll also be over here. Well, at least my busy alter-ego is; her fingers are very much occupied at present...
Whilst I'm tied up down South, I'll also be over here. Well, at least my busy alter-ego is; her fingers are very much occupied at present...
Monday, September 10, 2007
Camera
"So if you just press that button there, you can scroll through the party pictures." I handed my mum my camera and walked towards the kitchen.
A few minutes later I returned laden with a fresh pot of tea.
"What are you looking at?" I asked, seeing her still scrolling through the pictures.
"Oh, nothing in particular" she replied.
I leaned over the table to look at the digital screen, expecting to see the shots I had taken of my family earlier that day. Instead, to my horror, were photographs of my trip to New York, from March of this year. In an instant I realised that she must have viewed all the other pictures which I had left on the camera; she would have seen me oiled up, my breasts bursting out of a tight rubber dress and my wearing 6-inch stilettos on my feet. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.
I grabbed the camera from her hands and switched it off. "Did you look through them all?!" I squeaked.
She nodded. "Yes."
"So you saw... everything?"
She blushed. "Um, yes."
"All my saucy pics?"
"Yes."
Inwardly I screamed, loudly. Outwardly I gritted my teeth and went into 'damage-limitation' mode. "Well, they weren't for your eyes. I said to look at the pictures of the party: the other photos are private. You shouldn't have looked at them."
"Sorry" she said, quietly.
"Let's not discuss this again."
"Best not to" she agreed.
We drank our tea in silence and shortly afterwards I made my way home. It was only when I looked through the camera later, that I realised that even though I was embarrassed by her finding those pictures, I had got off lightly: also stored on the memory card were other, more compromising photographs, specifically the ones I snapped of various erect penises from my trip to the Museum of Sex. It's one thing to have your mum see you dressed up in sexy gear, but it's another thing entirely for her to view the material you use to masturbate with. Ugh.
Suffice it to say all these photographs have now been deleted from my camera. (But not before being uploaded (and backed up) onto my computer first, that is.)
A few minutes later I returned laden with a fresh pot of tea.
"What are you looking at?" I asked, seeing her still scrolling through the pictures.
"Oh, nothing in particular" she replied.
I leaned over the table to look at the digital screen, expecting to see the shots I had taken of my family earlier that day. Instead, to my horror, were photographs of my trip to New York, from March of this year. In an instant I realised that she must have viewed all the other pictures which I had left on the camera; she would have seen me oiled up, my breasts bursting out of a tight rubber dress and my wearing 6-inch stilettos on my feet. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.
I grabbed the camera from her hands and switched it off. "Did you look through them all?!" I squeaked.
She nodded. "Yes."
"So you saw... everything?"
She blushed. "Um, yes."
"All my saucy pics?"
"Yes."
Inwardly I screamed, loudly. Outwardly I gritted my teeth and went into 'damage-limitation' mode. "Well, they weren't for your eyes. I said to look at the pictures of the party: the other photos are private. You shouldn't have looked at them."
"Sorry" she said, quietly.
"Let's not discuss this again."
"Best not to" she agreed.
We drank our tea in silence and shortly afterwards I made my way home. It was only when I looked through the camera later, that I realised that even though I was embarrassed by her finding those pictures, I had got off lightly: also stored on the memory card were other, more compromising photographs, specifically the ones I snapped of various erect penises from my trip to the Museum of Sex. It's one thing to have your mum see you dressed up in sexy gear, but it's another thing entirely for her to view the material you use to masturbate with. Ugh.
Suffice it to say all these photographs have now been deleted from my camera. (But not before being uploaded (and backed up) onto my computer first, that is.)
Monday, September 03, 2007
Penises
A few months ago, I spent the day chatting about penises to the filmmaker Lawrence Barraclough for a documentary he was making. In this, his follow-up film to the critically acclaimed My Penis And I, Lawrence was hoping to find out if penis size was an issue for other men - like it had been for him - and if so, why men don't talk about that openly. We had a great time chatting about this topic; questioning the impact pornography has on men, the effects of peer-group pressure, and why society seems so focused on the male phallus.
Sadly - as often happens with telly - my bits didn't make the final edit (though you can see some of the deleted scenes, including my talking about the pros and cons of cock size, here); but the finished version of the film is, I think, brilliant and brave and funny and thought-provoking and everything a good documentary should be.
People may laugh about the topic of cock size, blokes may shrug it off, but in reality, it appears men are under immense pressure to conform to some 'ideal', not just in their sexual performance, but in something they cannot get better at with practice: the size of their penis. In his first film, Lawrence struggled with his own lack of self-worth due to the size of his dick and in this film he courageously covers similar ground by using his experience as an example to find out if other men feel the same way about their cocks as he once did about his own.
Featuring in the film is a large exhibition of penis photographs, many of which were anonymously sent in by this blog's readers. (If you were one of those that "snapped your chap", look closely and you may even get to see your own cock on screen. How cool is that?) The objective of this display was to get men to view other real (but non-porn) penises, show them that cocks come in all shapes and sizes and initiate debate about them - and it is wonderful to see the men in the film talking on this subject. It also seems to have produced a further positive effect: Lawrence is now working towards putting these (and more) shots into a book. You can send in photos of your penis to add to this collection here.
I'm sure there are folks out there that would say, "Why do we need to talk about penises?" and my reply would be, "Because there are a lot of men out there for whom much of their insecurity - wrongly - is focused on their penis and this film might help them to feel better about themselves. And a society in which men can express their (often repressed) feelings and have them validated by other men is a healthy one."
It really is a great film: I highly recommend everyone watch it.
My Penis And Everyone Else's - 9:00pm Monday (tonight) 3rd September BBC THREE
Sadly - as often happens with telly - my bits didn't make the final edit (though you can see some of the deleted scenes, including my talking about the pros and cons of cock size, here); but the finished version of the film is, I think, brilliant and brave and funny and thought-provoking and everything a good documentary should be.
People may laugh about the topic of cock size, blokes may shrug it off, but in reality, it appears men are under immense pressure to conform to some 'ideal', not just in their sexual performance, but in something they cannot get better at with practice: the size of their penis. In his first film, Lawrence struggled with his own lack of self-worth due to the size of his dick and in this film he courageously covers similar ground by using his experience as an example to find out if other men feel the same way about their cocks as he once did about his own.
Featuring in the film is a large exhibition of penis photographs, many of which were anonymously sent in by this blog's readers. (If you were one of those that "snapped your chap", look closely and you may even get to see your own cock on screen. How cool is that?) The objective of this display was to get men to view other real (but non-porn) penises, show them that cocks come in all shapes and sizes and initiate debate about them - and it is wonderful to see the men in the film talking on this subject. It also seems to have produced a further positive effect: Lawrence is now working towards putting these (and more) shots into a book. You can send in photos of your penis to add to this collection here.
I'm sure there are folks out there that would say, "Why do we need to talk about penises?" and my reply would be, "Because there are a lot of men out there for whom much of their insecurity - wrongly - is focused on their penis and this film might help them to feel better about themselves. And a society in which men can express their (often repressed) feelings and have them validated by other men is a healthy one."
It really is a great film: I highly recommend everyone watch it.
My Penis And Everyone Else's - 9:00pm Monday (tonight) 3rd September BBC THREE
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Uneventful
One night.
Two dates.
Two men.
Lots of flirting.
Lots of alcohol.
No sex.
Some sex-diarist I am...
Two dates.
Two men.
Lots of flirting.
Lots of alcohol.
No sex.
Some sex-diarist I am...