Saturday, 13 April 2019

The Language of Lust

His prose is so purple, so swollen, engorged
I must cup it with both of my hands
Augmented, distended, words ready to burst
There's an imprint where each of them lands.

Sexy aubergines, the only adequate illustration for purple prose.

Monday, 7 January 2019

The Circus

The circus seduced me, I long to join in
I made my own outfit, perfected my grin
I just haven't yet found what it is I can do
In my spangly tights made with glitter and glue

To swallow a sword is an amazing feat
Impressive technique, I just cannot compete
I can gag on a gherkin, I'd let myself down
If I tried to usurp the sword swallower's crown

To swing high through the air is daring and brave
In feathers and sequins, with no net to save
I get giddy in heels, I would fall to my knees
If I tried to get up on that flying trapeze

To knife-throw, to juggle, to walk on the wire
Such focus, precision, it's all I desire
I fear I get distracted, my thoughts led astray
If I tried I'd be injured then stretchered away

The Ringmaster tempts me, just look at that whip
The Strongman could carry me firm in his grip
But it seems very clear what my talents embrace
I am off with the clowns for a pie in the face

Tuesday, 1 January 2019

New Year, Old Habits

While I've been taking a lengthy break from writing anything of note online I've continued to vaguely monitor (stalk) people who do write things of note online. It's a changed landscape in many ways. I remember when this was all fields.

Many of the bloggers I originally annoyed have long since vanished, though others have continued, evolving over the years into different forms, while new, unsullied writers emerge, ready to record their journey along these well trodden paths. There seem to be a lot more dating blogs now, as opposed to sex blogs, and a lot more distressed posts about bad behaviour as a consequence. I suppose it's the nature of the beast. By the time you're writing about the joyful moment someone put a finger up your arse and called you a Sex Lord the presumption is you've found an agreeable partner to oblige. Poor old dating bloggers are stuck with just getting someone to put a finger to the screen a lot of the time, let alone anywhere else, and are understandably cross about how consistently inconsistent people can be. Reading their experiences can lead you to wonder how anyone manages to meet anyone willing to stick anything anywhere these days which is why it's so comforting to know that over on the sex blogs people are doing just that, with pictures, and sharing them on Twitter so you can't pretend it's not happening.

The other change I've noticed, especially over this past year, is the shift in focus on my Twitter feed from the sensual and informative to the angry and political. Hardly any arse pics at all some days. (Unless you count Trump. Hah.) People are pissed off, and they should be.

Where does it all leave an award-winning sex blogger and renowned twat like myself, I hear you ask? Well, currently on the sofa, I reply, but with a long term view of possibly returning to the writing desk and inflicting terrible poetry on an unappreciative world. Maybe with an arse pic.

Saturday, 27 May 2017

Luka's Limericks #2

The sex blogger now known as Bert
Was demanding and terribly curt
I said "where's your class?"
He said "up your arse"
And then put his hand up my skirt.

Friday, 26 May 2017

Luka's Limericks #1

I met a sex blogger called Bert
Who was eager to see women squirt
But in porn it's just piss
When they simulate bliss
And you wouldn’t want that up your shirt.

Saturday, 16 April 2016

Where the fuck have you been?

It's a good question, one that remains both unasked and unanswered.

I found myself back in here by chance. A random comment on Facebook led to a dormant synapse suddenly jolting back into life and firing off a brief, brilliant memory of The Improbable Adventures of Hermione Saucebucket. Suitably inspired, I logged into the blog to revisit what I wrote back in 2008. Was it as much fun as I remembered?  The answer, of course, is yes. My take on a bodice-rippingly good romp is still better than 97% of other erotic fiction online and the humour is intentional. And spelled correctly. 

In short, I am now in the fervent grip of passion, a desire to write more improbable adventures. When we last encountered Hermione Saucebucket she was taking the bull by the horns in a field, with her picnic -  and pants -  in disarray. I really should write her into a few more historical escapades. (They have to be historical as the bloomer element is very important to me.) 

Audience* participation bit: Where should her next adventure take place? Vote now!

  1. In the library
  2. On a train
  3. Norwich
  4. At the circus
  5. Behind the sofa
*Yeah, yeah, I know everyone's fucked off but it doesn't matter as I'd have rigged the vote anyway.

Monday, 10 November 2014


As any woman with an online presence will know, there are times when you receive messages from men who have clearly handed over editorial control to their gonads.

Such communications vary in quality, from the obvious, but forthright "I really want to fuck you" to the more eloquent, poetical efforts of the horny intellectual, but the sentiment remains the same.

Which is all well and good. Much as I do in the rest of life I ignore the stuff that bores me and engage with the bits that pique my interest. So that's how I found myself bursting the erotic bubble of someone I have known for a very long time last night, as they allowed their gonads to urge them to speculate upon my ladyparts.

As seduction scenarios go it was off to a poor start. They began by telling me about their afternoon spent with their spouse, shaving each other's pubic areas. The both like to be smooth, apparently. This was information that didn't interest me so I failed to respond.

Undeterred, my correspondent's gonads spurred him on to try to elicit a response by asking me if I would like to rub moisturiser into his newly shaven bits.

Normally I would give an honest response like "about as much as I want to massage lard into a freshly plucked chicken" but I couldn't be arsed to type it all out.

Remarkably this lack of enthusiasm on my part still didn't douse the flames of passion.  My continued silence was, presumably, only because he hadn't asked the right question yet.

"What do you do to keep smooth?" he typed.

How presumptuous. Fair play though, he had finally engaged me in the conversation.

"I don't. Shaving sucks."

This was not the sexy comeback he had hoped for, involving being waxed by nymphs and oiled by acolytes.

"But I thought you kept yourself smooth!" he bleated (if one can be said to bleat in text and I think this qualifies).

I was obscurely offended by this.  I have never felt it necessary to display a label stating "contents may differ from your imagination" as it seems somewhat obvious. And what on earth does he mean by "smooth"? I disliked the implication that I was lacking in the tactile department. There is a very good reason why people like to pet warm, furry things. It feels nice.

I may not be bald as a Barbie beneath my gusset but I'm not rough as a badger's arse either.  You can happily brush against my groin without snagging your clothing, laddering your tights or drawing blood. It is a soft, velvety haven a thousand times more pleasing to the senses than the bumpy, stubbly awfulness that ensues if I am foolish enough to shave. Besides, I am a very busy woman. Who has time to faff about maintaining a "smooth" surface on their pudenda? Surely it's only an option if you have a lot of time on your hands and the kind of peachy, downy blonde fuzz that doesn't grow back as the kind of coarse, scratchy, dark stubble that brunettes like me can use to scour roasting tins? How is the latter a sexier option than a glossy, luxuriant, gorgeous-smelling ladygarden that you can picnic in?

I explained all of this, in quite a lot of detail. I believe you should never waste an opportunity to educate and inform.

"Have you tried waxing?"

It is not possible to kick someone in their freshly shaved bollocks over the internet and this is a technological breakthrough I await with some eagerness. It is, however, possible to just switch off someone's access to you in chat and take the piss out of them on your blog so all is not lost.

Tell me, I am curious, what is the pubic fashion these days? I am very much hoping that it is  following the hipster trend for massive beards and women everywhere can enjoy the same benefits of a razor-free existence.