Monday, 30 June 2008
There are those that assume I must be Dominant, and I am.
There are those that assume I have a submissive side, and I do.
There are those who think this puts a tick in the "switch" box, but it doesn't.
I just don't care enough about these things to put in the effort required to fill the position.
When arsing around on a site like Fet Life, for example, people can expect too much of you if they assume you to be Dominant. "Tell me what you want to do to me," is a variation on a familiar cry. Well, nothing, really. Maybe send you down the shops for a Cornetto, do a bit of dusting. I dont know you well enough to have any strong feelings one way or another. What I can tell you though is that I'm not going to spew forth an erotic fetish fantasy on demand. I'm not a fucking freebie equivalent of rent-a-wank. Honestly.
But then again, I dislike the Dominant approach too, when the opposite assumption is made. When someone I don't know gives me their "approval" and tries to be all masterful. Fuck off.
I suppose the point is that there are still so many people who are not prepared to put in any effort with regards to getting to know someone. They have a fantasy and all they want to do is project it onto a willing blank canvas somewhere. "Ah," they think, "you have spiked heels! You'll do. Tell me how you want to walk all over me in those shoes, how you want me to lick them clean and then how you'll make me wear your knickers under my suit when we go to the library."
But that is their fantasy, not mine. They don't know mine because they haven't asked. Which is a shame, as it's really rather good.
Sunday, 29 June 2008
I don't want to know
I am sure you'll tell me later
Hide the painful hook
You're such a master baiter.
Comments with no creator
Through your fake I.D.
You're such a master baiter.
Talk about it
How they've done you wrong
Hell hath no fury greater
It looks tasty
But it's poisoned meat
You're such a master baiter.
Friday, 27 June 2008
Things in Luka's Boudoir are unbalanced right now. My pain/pleasure divide is uneven.
At the moment it is hard to give me pleasure, I know. Even a hug can make me wince, while a playful slap on the arse makes my nerve endings sing Ave Maria. Spontaneous physical attention is banned from the Boudoir until further notice. It's just not worth the screaming and sobbing and wretched cries of "what the fuck did you do that for?"
I cannot bend and flex and throw my heels above my head. I cannot twist or turn or dismount athletically. I move very, very carefully and weep with frustration and lack of sleep.
The pain and the tiredness spins my mood endlessly, uncontrollably. One moment I am a brave soldier, the next I am full of blubbering self-pity and comfort-eating all the biscuits. But sometimes, sometimes I am a vicious ratbag, bristling with venomous spines, and those times lead to excellent blog posts.
This isn't one of those times.
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
It's been a fascinating and abuse-filled twelve months.
In my very first post I explained why most sex blogs are crap. Looking back over a year of discourse and drama I can now say, with the benefit and wisdom twelve months of enhanced understanding brings, that most sex blogs are still unmitigated crap and everything I wrote then was incisive, brilliantly well observed and holds true today. Indeed the points I made then are now being espoused on other, more literate, blogs. That's how influential I am. Eventually everyone realises I was right all along.
Over the following months I went on to take a swipe at Sugasm with my hilarious Shitasms, had a pop at Fleshbot (WobbleArse/Wank Week Wound-Up), was rude about memes, ran a series of HMT (Half Mental Thursday) HNT rip-offs and posted numerous Fun Quizzes.
Despite my varied mix of topics and targets the search engine enquiry that brings more readers to the Boudoir than any other is still that for figging.
My uncontrolled glee at discovering this practice, with accompanying pictures, led to Blog Drama of unprecedented proportions. I still fail to see how me saying that putting something up your arse, photographing it, and posting it on the net is a funny thing to do is somehow more damaging to one's reputation than putting something up your arse, photographing it, and posting it on the net in the first place, but that might be because I am cursed with an annoyingly inarguable sense of perspective. And reality.
I then turned my attentions to the more literary school of blogging and pointed and laughed at that for a bit. This incomprehensible, narcissistic school of sex blogging is still alive and well and looking, dewy-eyed, into its own legume-plugged arsehole as I type. Endless posts on "why I blog", "why I am not like ordinary people", "conversations between my split personalities or with lovers who are not there", "observations on my cunt" and "words people use to describe me" (um... "self" and "obsessed" spring to mind) abound. I am very fond of these. They give me the most pleasure and are the most fun to lampoon.
I have posted about smelly people (which caused Blog Drama), being respectful of your spouse (which caused Blog Drama), online appeals, both for charity and for oneself (which caused Blog Drama) and then, who knows what gave me the idea, about Blog Drama.
I have been added to and removed from blogrolls more times than I can keep up with.
But it's the doggerel I love the most. A bit of jaunty, bouncy, bumpalong rhyming to let you see what is thrumming through my mind at any given moment in time. I never plan them. I never draft them. I sit down and bang them out in a matter of minutes. They are immediate and rough and unpolished. They don't get as many comments as me getting my cleavage out, but what can you do? People like bosoms. That's why you don't have Page 3 Poets or Ditty Bars.
So, here I am a year later posting my own wobbly bits in HNT each week and getting Fleshbotted. It's almost like the end of Animal Farm (the George Orwell novel, not the porno flick where someone fucks a pig.)
Those who say "but Luka, you used to mock these things mercilessly and now you are buying into the system" are correct. To a point. I comfort myself with the thought the the self-proclaimed elite of the sex blogging community still don't really get what I'm about and won't dirty their cum sticky fingers with typing comments to the Boudoir. Not when they are so busy giving each other awards and blowjobs and then posting about it and then winning an award for their blogger blowjob post. So I will never be truly assimilated. I am too wanky and annoying.
Plus I have the best commenters online. I am lucky enough to have people who will let me know if I start believing the hype and start down the rocky road to hits fever and total tosserhood.
Thanks, you guys. I know that every time you tell me I'm a twat, it's with love. At this rate I must be the most loved blogger online.
Monday, 23 June 2008
A whole year of high quality blogging and the kind of doggerel you just can't find elsewhere (and wouldn't want to).
Why the fuck I am still here is anyone's guess.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
Since then several of you have emailed to ask where the current total stands and if there is any likelihood of seeing a bare arse or two yet?
I have to say that after a promising start the donations did somewhat dwindle. I received enough buttons to enable me to fashion my very own Pearly Queen outfit and a few sweets, some of which had no fluff on at all, but very little hard currency. Granted, the foreign coins have proved useful when confronted by donation tin rattling chuggers outside the supermarket but my scratch card and pork pie habit remain unsupported.
This is why the running totals graphic I originally intended to have proudly on display next to my PayPal button has never appeared. It is too demotivating to watch the total actually move downwards as the sweets are consumed.
However, despair not arse fans! I am going to get all my bloggy chums who pledged to bare their buttocks for my worthy cause to do so anyway and just say I reached my target, cos I really am that popular and the appeal was that successful. You'll never know the difference. It'll probably be on a Thursday, and my pals may not specifically mention me and bang on about HNT or something instead, but they are really doing it for the Lucre for Luka appeal. Really.
Friday, 20 June 2008
The earthquake was over but aftershocks still rippled. Bursts of energy dispersing with decreasing strength. Reluctantly relinquishing his former stronghold he climbs back up this undulating terrain, smiling, proud, swollen with achievement and ready to anchor in terra firma.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
There's a very good reason we use the term "feeling fruity" to describe desire.
The act of devouring fruit is ripe with erotic imagery. From the lick, suck and bite to the trickling of sweet juices down fingers and chin, leaving one sticky and satiated, there is an abundance of sensuality and allure.
You just can't create the same effect with a pork pie and some mushy peas.
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
- Get up an hour earlier than usual.
- Wash and condition hair.
- Shave off all body hair, including bum crack and big toes.
- Smother self with moisturiser.
- Apply product and style hair.
- Brush teeth.
- Gargle with mouthwash.
- Apply deodorant.
- Spritz perfume.
- Carefully select outfit.
- Contort self getting sexy underwear in place.
- Pluck eyebrows.
- Insert contact lenses.
- Apply make-up.
- Put on high heeled shoes.
- Ponce about in front of mirror for ages, looking at body from every conceivable angle.
- Change outfit.
- Choose coat to wear.
- Change shoes to match coat.
- Transfer all items from usual bag into bag that matches shoes and coat.
- Leave house.
- Get up.
- Get dressed.
- Get out.
Monday, 16 June 2008
Saturday, 14 June 2008
I don't believe that any longer
You can try repairing broken chains
But the weakness in those links remains.
Thursday, 12 June 2008
I can't promise your gift is unblemished
You may find some marks here and there
It's well worn, but that adds to its comfort
The creased look is so in this year.
I am sure that the fit will be perfect
My tape measure came up with "large"
There is plentiful padded upholstery
Included at no extra charge.
Bear in mind when you unwrap these ribbons
Your present may not be brand new
But I made it from years of good living
And I'm handing it over to you.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
I took it out of my pocket, opened the message and had to work hard to keep my face from betraying my surprised delight to the people around me.
It was a camera phone image. The caption simply read "So sexy!" It was a picture of me, earlier that morning, sprawled across the bed, asleep, oblivious. No naughty bits are showing, just a sinuous line of bare back and long leg, pale flesh against the dark duvet.
Considering he has been viewing that same, familiar body since we first met back in 1984 I am thrilled he still finds it so noteworthy!
Sunday, 8 June 2008
It is not cute. It is not cartoon drawings of infantilised animals and children.
It is not flowers.
If a heart is its icon it is not a sanitised chocolate box version of satin and lace. That is far removed from my visualisation. A real heart is far more apt as a symbol for my love - visceral, red, strong. Beating. Not pretty but oh so powerful.
Love doesn't skim the surface with ribbons and bows, it is embedded, a deep tug in the guts. It is the umbilical cord that binds us, a fusion of bone and flesh.
My representation of love is not going to win any beauty contests. My blood spattered vision does not fit into a sonnet nor look good on a fridge magnet. But it is sincere. And from the heart.
Friday, 6 June 2008
I’ve read your piece and I must say
You’ve failed to turn me on
You simply haven’t tailored to my needs
I don’t want to drink your semen
I’d rather have some tea
I think you’ll find pornography misleads.
My raddled ringpiece means that I
Don’t want it up my arse
What’s wrong with cunt, why is it always bum?
And desist with the Daddy talk
That doesn’t work for me
Do you get hard when you’re asked “who’s the mum?”
I don’t want cock in every hole
I don’t want yours at all
And pictures of it will not change my mind
There’s nothing you can do for me
So why don’t you fuck off?
Go now before I start to be unkind.
Thursday, 5 June 2008
I have a distinct advantage in the attention grabbing department. "Cop a load of these beauties," I can announce, tearing open my blouse, confident that everyone in the library will have eyes only for me.
Bosoms are a wonderful distraction method too. If I don't want to answer questions like "did you spend the holiday money on shoes?" or "what's happened to my 15 year malt whisky that I was saving for a special occasion?" then I merely have to whip my top off and jiggle around a bit. The difficult conversation will stutter to a halt, a glazed look to the eyes appears and harmony is restored to the Boudoir.
It's great being a woman. I have known some mighty fine men in my time, but not even the tightest buttocks and least alarming-looking cock can generate the same degree of fascination as a mammoth pair of mammaries.
It seems most unfair but if a man wants my attention he is going to have to use other techniques. I find intelligence, humour and charm go a long, long way, yet there are still a few chaps out there who think their boyhood tactics of shouting and hair pulling are the way to go. Not a winning formula, I'm afraid. I - and, I suspect, most of us - respond far more positively to a "Fancy a chat?" than a "You! Woman! Look at my big, swinging dick! Talk to me!"
Tell me though, what's the best attention grabbing gambit you have experienced?
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
I never thought it could happen to me. Me! And after I've been such a grumpy, ungracious old rat bag about such things as well.
So, thank you to AAG for restoring my faith that there is indeed a niche for the embittered old harridan in the sex blog world.
I feel sure it is only a matter of time, given my HNTs and now a good hard Fleshbotting, before I will be fully accepted into the community and will be sent a silicon something to play with so I don't have to resort to reviewing the contents of the fruit bowl after all.
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Monday, 2 June 2008
Ultimatums, eh? It is always easy to predict the outcome of such scenarios.
In my experience ultimatums are rarely carried through. From harassed mothers deploying the repetitive (and thereby pointless) "just one more time! I mean it! We'll go home! Right, that's it, if you hit your brother again just one more time..." to adults standing, hands on hips, declaring "I mean it, it's me or her/him/the dog/the TV/the next door neighbour", ultimatums are a daily ritual for some.
In the great battle to get other people to do what we want, ultimatums are a poor weapon of choice. They are ineffective. Even toddlers know they are unlikely to be enforced. The problem is that as soon as you issue an ultimatum, you have to stick to it, if you want it to work, and that's where it all falls down for most people. If you tell someone that the result of their undesirable behaviour is going to be a smack/you leaving them/a small fire in their half of the wardrobe and then decide to let it go, "just this once", you have taught them that you are a toothless dog and they'll be off being naughty, consequence-free, for the foreseeable.
As I have said before, I am a second, third, fourth chance kind of person, so ultimatums would never be part of my arsenal as I just couldn't commit to that sort of irrevocable action. I prefer to keep my punishment options open and infinitely flexible.
How about you, though? Have you ever issued an ultimatum? Did it work?