Thursday, 29 November 2007

Spot the Difference

I said "I feel sad"
She said "That's too bad!
You really are lovely, you know."
From her I get hugs
And sweet tea in mugs
She brings me back up from my low.

I said "I feel sad"
He said "You've gone mad!
You're needy and too hard to please."
I didn't get hugged
Just left feeling mugged
He knocked me down onto my knees.

Monday, 26 November 2007


Smash it, trash it, pick it up and bash it
Stamp on it and kick it into touch
Grab it, stab it, pin it down and jab it
Smother it til I can’t feel so much.

Wednesday, 21 November 2007


I'm the woman that no one can fix
I've had every cure thrown in the mix
I've been prodded and scanned
Traipsed the length of the land
Climbed up walls in windowless clinics

I'm the woman that no one can fix
I've consulted shamen and medics
Though I've cried and they've tried
I'm still broken inside
It's a woefully small bag of tricks

All I have for my wounds are these licks
And medicinal gin and tonics
A placebo or two
Well what else can I do?
I'm the woman that no one can fix

Sunday, 18 November 2007

You're So Vain

You walked into the Boudoir like you were walking into a trap
Looking for a post that might relate to you
So you can say this blog is crap
You had one eye on my comments box
Which always makes you snap
And all the time you hoped that you’d be mentioned
That you’d be mentioned, and....

You're so vain, you probably think this post is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this post is about you
Don't you? Don't you?

You started several years ago when you were still quite naive
But you learned if you wrote about kinky sex
And kept nothing up your sleeve
Your stories would be widely read but be so hard to believe
And you so want to be picked for Sugasm,
Picked for Sugasm and…

You're so vain, you probably think this post is about you.....
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this post is about you
Don't you? Don't you?

Well I read you have a lot of admirers and of them all it seems that you’re number one
Your lurid descriptions of the way you fuck
Amuse far more than they ever stun
Well, you so need attention all the time
And when you feel overlooked you
Come here and then throw a tantrum
Then throw a tantrum, and....

You're so vain, you probably think this post is about you.....
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this post is about you
Don't you? Don't you?

Friday, 16 November 2007


You bring me so much pleasure
You give me so much pain
You keep my buried treasure
You are my secret stain
You liberate my passion
You tie me up in knots
Your love flows without ration
Your torment cramps and clots.

Monday, 12 November 2007

Shitasm #8

Congratulations to my dearest blog friends, Slutty Fuck, Fucky Slut and Sucky Flut, for being this weeks top picks! Wow, you guys are the hottest. I would shake your hands but I can see they are busy elsewhere.

(Insert nudie lady picture here - preferably one with pneumatic boobs like lightly oiled spacehoppers)

The shittest of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Shitasm participants. Want in Shitasm #9? Submit a link to your shittest post of the week using the comments box below. Participants, repost the shit list within a week, to the annoyance of anyone looking for something that doesn't appear as an identical feature on every adult themed shit blog, and you’re all set.

This Week's Picks

The Judicious Use of the Word Fuck

"If I could also find a way to add 'slut', 'whore' or 'cunt' to the title of my post I would be sure to be in the top 3 picks for the 24th week running."

Don't Forget the Lube!

"A bit of back door action doesn't do any harm either when you want to be sure your post will be the chosen one."

Double Penetration Group Sex Orgy Cumslut Fuckfest - With Pictures!

"And as I saw my sexy post had been chosen as the best sexy post, from the past week, ever, I pulled out and sprayed my hot, sticky seed all over the keyboard."

Sunday, 11 November 2007


Why are anonymous commenters so lacking in imagination?

I mean, how hard is it to give yourself a ridiculous fake name like Mr Pants or Captain Cuntflap or something?

Is it because their quota of creativity has been used up for the day with the monumental effort it took to think up a variant on "you suck" and then having to laboriously type that in with their webbed fingers, without getting too much drool in the keyboard? It's a tiring process, I agree, but a little bit of extra effort in providing a comedy name would reap dividends. People would read the next "you are crap" comment, see it was written not by the instantly forgettable "anonymous", but by the incisive and witty Hairy Bumcheeks. They would be looking out for more pithy put-downs and inspirational one-liners from the Oscar Wilde of the blog comment world.

So come on, anonymous commenters - next time you're cruising by the Boudoir to tell me I smell, make yourself look marginally more interesting and imaginative by signing yourself off as Fanny Batter, Ben Dover or Phil McCrack or something. It may take a little longer, and you may start to flag, but if you give the helper monkey another banana I am sure it can be done!

Thursday, 8 November 2007

Mind Over Matter

I don't need a medal, a memento, or award
No monument to prove I was desired
I don't need a trophy to assure me I'm adored
I simply close my eyes to be inspired.

Tuesday, 6 November 2007


It was a passionate kiss that made my heart race and my head spin. Unless that was down to the vodka, but I didn’t think it was. Not this time.

Certainly, the alcohol had helped things along a little. There had always been a frisson of interest, an undercurrent of intent never expressed, with neither party willing to risk the shame of potential rejection. But now, with alcohol warming my senses, thawing my reserve - and a tongue in my mouth that didn't belong to me - I was beginning to feel more sure of the situation.

The evening up to that point had been fun, lots of noise, lots of people. We had been most tactile, my friend and I. Embracing each other at every opportunity, trading passing caresses, a casual finger trailed along an inner arm or the back of the neck, sensual lips brushed against sensitive ear, a whisper stirring perfumed hair. And all the time we’d been as uncertain as everyone else in the room – were we for real, did we mean it? We’d sat, for a while, in the throng, shouting over the noise, making uninteresting conversation with our fellow party-goers. I gradually, and with great delight, became aware of my friend’s fingertip tracing a delicate pattern over the nape of my neck, under my hair, hidden from view. I’d smiled and leaned a little closer, enjoying the feeling of intimacy in such a communal setting. Shifting position slightly, masking my arm movement from the rest of the room, I'd placed my hand on my friend’s back, effortlessly finding the small strip of bare skin where her top didn’t quite meet her jeans. Such soft skin, warm and scented, begged to be caressed. I'd found myself wishing I could explore further, to touch and be touched, free of the constraints of the crowd.

When my friend turned her head, to smile her delight, our eyes met and a moment of unspoken communication passed between us. The unasked question was answered, it seemed. We rose from our seats simultaneously and left the crowded, noisy room, to exit into the cool night air. Above us the moon was full and round, rich and fecund, that eternal symbol of womanhood, lighting the deserted gardens with a soft glow. As we crossed the frost-coloured lawns we left dewy footprints in the grass, lazily entwined, much as our fingers now were.

When we reached the Corsican Pine we stopped, wordlessly turning to fully embrace each other. She tilted up her head to meet my ruby red lips descending toward her, and abandoned herself totally to the kiss. The scent of her filled my senses, the feel of her lips thrilled me. Firm yet yielding, soft and demanding, insistent yet gentle. I thought I might never come up for breath, content to drown in these unexplored waters.

My hands had found their earlier position on the small of my friend’s back, softly stroking the smooth skin, drawing invisible lines up and down her spine, teasing with their promise to explore further, deeper, but not just yet…

I could feel soft hands engaged in exploration of their own, slipping familiarly under the silk of my blouse, making me catch my breath as they glanced over my belly, over my breasts, then down again to rest lightly on the swell of my hips as the kiss deepened with renewed passion. Our bodies pressed together tightly, desperate to connect as deeply as our lips and tongues. I broke the kiss first, to lift her fair hair from her neck and bury my face into the scented hollow beneath her ear, sharp white teeth gently nibbling the tender skin, sending pulses of desire down her body. Her hands grasped my thick, dark hair, first pressing my head even tighter into her neck, then pulling me away, lips parted with desire, to plant another kiss, even deeper than before.

We finally surfaced for air, me standing in the moonlight, hair dishevelled, lipstick smudged, panting hard, dark eyes large, dilated with desire. I could see the beat of her pulse in her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Reaching under her top, I pushed it upwards, lifting it over her small breasts, over her head, and letting it fall to the dewy ground. Her nipples hardened inside her bra, her skin instantly covered in goosebumps, both at the touch of the cool night air and in anticipation of the pleasure to come. I lowered my head to her neck again, this time working downwards, trailing kisses and bites over her collar bone, the hollow at the base of her throat, and then further down, down, until my hot mouth was positioned over the thin fabric of her bra, where her nipple strained against the delicate material, begging for attention. She moaned as my mouth responded to her body’s plea, working against the fabric, creating a delicious friction. The sensation peaked and then faded as my kisses trailed their way over to the other breast and repeated the procedure, while she tightened her grip on my shoulders and tipped her head back to the skies, eyes full of starlight. I reached around her back to unhook her bra, sliding the narrow straps over her shoulders, freeing her perfect breasts so I could give those beautiful pink nipples the undivided attention they deserved.

The decadence of our situation, the cool night air on naked skin, the perfume and lipstick, the insistent sucking and gentle biting was intoxicating. We swayed together until she leant backwards, against the tree, the mossy bark rough against her back, contrasting with the soft skin beneath her hands.

That insistent mouth, that sucking, demanding, knowing mouth of mine was still working its magic on her body, sending jolts of pleasure from nipple to groin, while my enquiring fingers were busily working at the button on the waistband of her jeans, pushing at the denim fabric, sliding over smooth hips, suddenly exposed in the moonlight. She moaned and her pelvis seemed to tilt forward of its own accord, pressing her heat against my hand. She shifted her position against the tree, lowering her body, parting her legs slightly, eager for my fingers to find their way. And they did, unerringly, slipping down through the silky hair, now damp with desire, and finding the slippery heat of her, gliding between her labia, skimming past her clitoris, tracing all the right paths, effortlessly, with the sure knowledge only another female could possess.

Her breathing had become fast and shallow, interspersed with involuntary noises of pleasure. Her hands tightened in my hair, her pelvis raising up in its own counter rhythm to the movement of my probing fingers. I continued my fervent devotions with hands and lips until her back arched away from the tree and her cry echoed across the still night air.

She fell back, spent, her pupils dilated, breathing hard. She looked quite beautiful, gloriously abandoned and gilded with moonlight. I took her in my arms and held her tightly.

“I never realised until now,” I murmured into her hair.


“That everyone in the party can see us through the window.”

Monday, 5 November 2007

Proper Filth

I can write it, you know. But I always want to make it silly halfway through my supposed erotic scene. Why is that?

Saturday, 3 November 2007


There is something I should tell you
There is something wrong with me
There is something I am lacking
It's called Virtue Deficiency.

I'm not very good at waiting
I'm not happy hanging round
I'm not content with later
I am Impatient, I have found.

There are meek souls who wait in line
There are some who won't pursue
There are those who bide their time
And wouldn't dream of jumping queue.

Not me, I'm tired of forbearance
Not me, I hate being "good"
Not me, I'm not rewarded
For any attempts at sainthood.

Don't tell me more will come later
Don't tell me I ought to wait
Don't tell me, I can't hear you
You took too long, now it's too late.

Thursday, 1 November 2007

Polyamorous Pretensions

I have had cause to ponder polyamory recently.

Wikipedia gives this definition:

Polyamory (from Greek πολυ (poly, literally “multiple”) and Latin amor (literally “love”) is the desire, practice, or acceptance of having more than one loving, intimate relationship at a time with the full knowledge and consent of everyone involved.

I have seen slightly different interpretations on my travels through cyberspace, but this seems a fair summary. I am particularly interested in the "full knowledge and consent of everyone involved" bit. As some of the self-proclaimed polyamorous types I have been reading about on their blogs seem to fall down a bit on that last one.

Some seem to think that although they have a wife who believes she is in a monogamous relationship, as long as their lovers know about each other, that means they are polyamorous and not just shagging around.

Then there are those who bully, coerce or just plain nag their partners into "consent". These poor sods often acquiesce because they feel that any part of their loved one is better than losing the relationship altogether. Inside they burn with jealousy and insecurity, and the cruellest part is that the partner pushing for polyamory knows this. They are perfectly aware that their partner's natural preference would be monogamy, but nuts to them, their desires are the ones that need fulfilling most. Their bollocks might just swell up, explode and kill them if they don't get to explore their needs with other people. Or their emotional growth will be stunted. And you wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you? No, you must encourage them to be free, to be who they must be, even if it means you must become someone you no longer recognise.

In many instances the "amor" facet has been lost, with the "poly" taking precedence. There is a difference between forging a loving relationship with more than one person and getting your hand up the skirt of as many internet conquests as you can.

Oh, it fair makes my blood boil.

Still, I shall finish on a positive. Someone who does put the amor into polyamory is Curvaceous Dee. The love and respect she has for her lovers, and they for her, comes across in a way that is conspicuously absent from other faux-poly blogs. She doesn't claim it runs smoothly all the time, but hers is one of the better examples of how polyamory can work. Read and learn, pretenders to the poly throne.