Wednesday, 31 December 2008

Gratuitous Pussy Shots

"I know," I thought, "I can take a nice, saucily festive shot of myself, much like my Christmas Card one, and that'll do as my lazy-arsed last post of 2008".

This morning dawned foggy and frozen, however, and the thought of donning sheer stockings and a bit of lace was too much for this old trollop, so on went the thick, woolly tights instead.

Of course if you then get onto the bed and start flinging your legs about while wielding a mobile phone camera then you ought to expect company. Especially if that company is waiting for you to get on with cleaning out the litter tray and opening a tin of Whiskas (not necessarily in that order.) Despite my loving "bugger off out of it, you" he managed to get into every shot.

By the time he moved onto biting my shoes and digging his claws into my leg in a "use your opposable thumbs or the new tights get shredded" kind of way I accepted defeat and did his bidding. It was either that or run the risk of a punishment surprise in my sock drawer again. Here I am, great big arsey Luka, slave to a small furry feline. Any submissives out there who are in between relationships and missing some dominance in their lives, just get a cat. (NB. They are not for novices. Cats don't use safewords and no matter how much you cry out they will still happily run up your legs using only their claws in your bare flesh for leverage. And puke in your slippers for a laugh.)

Now that I have served the cat his lunch I am free to begin the New Year's Eve celebrations. I shall be staying in the warm and hoping my woolly tights don't discourage any potential saucing up when the clock strikes twelve. Maybe I should slip a bottle of bubbly down them, just to be on the safe side.

Sunday, 28 December 2008

2008 Boudoir Retrospective

Yes, it's time to settle back with a glass of sherry, amid the discarded wrapping paper, pine needles and mince pie crumbs, and reflect upon the year gone by. 2008 has been an exciting rollercoaster ride of nudity, swearing, blog drama and doggerel. Come, take my hand and stroll down memory lane with me.


While many were succumbing to post-festive season depression I lightened the mood with my hilarious Top Tips for Satirical Sex Bloggers. Why I didn't get some sort of award for it I'll never know. Not content to rest on my laurels I went on to post on the problems of dealing with Smelly People. I didn't get an award for that either, but I did get a strong reaction from Mystery Blogger Q who, mistakenly believing the post to be aimed at him, was so incensed he had to close his blog, change his name and start anew elsewhere.


Unperturbed by the maelstrom of Blog Drama ensuing behind the curtains of the Boudoir, I treated everyone to my thoughts on the vanilla sex lives of the animal kingdom. I also took the piss out of blogger charity publishing and intimate hygiene products. The laughs kept coming as I offended several bloggers over my controversial "stop slagging off your spouse online when you're spending their money and leaving them with the kids while you're out shagging" point of view and got myself turfed off a couple of blogrolls.


This Scentsational post really set the tone for the month. I went on to issue my Sex Blog Challenge and post my first proper HNT. To my complete and utter unsurprise I garnered bucketloads of comments for that, and subsequent HNT posts, while the doggerel I slaved over for minutes at a time and lovingly shaped into bouncy rhymes was met with a collective "meh". This taught me a valuable lesson and I now only give poetry readings with my tits out.


In an attempt to prevent too many innocent bloggers becoming unwitting April Fools I posted a satirical swipe at those who shamelessly thrust their online begging bowls at all and sundry. (If these people spent less time online posting about expensive knickers and hotel rendezvous and more time working and saving they might not need to do so much fucking scrounging. Mind you, there'll be slim pickings in 2009 for blog beggars, given the current economic climate, that's for sure. We're all fucking skint now.) April also saw a new commenter, "Grundy Boyo", appearing on my blog. In response to his endless questions about the ins and outs of the sex blogging world I posted a helpful guide to Blog Drama Club.


The month opened with a shocker, as Grundy Boyo was unmasked as Mystery Blogger Q in an ill-fitting disguise. I laughed, I did. Mystery Blogger Q, however, did not and he was forced to close his blog, change his name and start anew elsewhere.


I only went and got a Fleshbot, and me an anti-sex-blogger and all! Who'd have thought it? June was the month I also celebrated my Blogoversary, for which I wrote a tedious review of the year, much like this one, which generated hearty congratulations and a mystery abusive comment. Heh.


The heat flooded both my brain and loins and I found myself helplessly ejaculating deviant filth onto my blog, which was rightly Fleshbotted for being so intensely arousing. Unsatiated I hotly thrust forward my historical bonkbuster, The Improbable Adventures of Hermione Saucebucket. Why that didn't win an award I'll never know.


In a fit of creative naughtiness I lampooned a bit of blog drama that was currently happening elsewhere. My faith in sex bloggers was restored as the lampoonees were most gracious about my silliness. In contrast I went on to post on the surprisingly few arsey comments I get for being such an unremitting twat in public, which itself only managed to generate one arsey comment. Tsk.


This was a busy month for me. I got reviewed (though the review site in question seems to have since died on its arse), listed as a Top Sex Blogger of 2008, and stopped doing HNTs. That last one was tough as in return for keeping my tits in, I had to forfeit those 30+ comments a week from people I don't know that said "HHNT!" In the end I just had to be strong and deal with the loss in my own quiet way.


My favourite month. It contains my birthday, which is obviously a cause for celebration, and Halloween, my favourite holiday of all. I spent most of October in a state of happy inebriation and over-excitement which meant that no one was offended and no blogs closed.


The concept of Tantric Sex Blogging was born. My thoughts on the Painful Truth of blogging led to a mild outbreak of blog drama while my thoughts on the Naked Truth about sock puppets, bizarrely, led to full scale supersized BLOG DRAMA of gargantuan, vein-popping proportions. In fact, Mystery Blogger Q was so incensed he had to close all his blogs, change his name, change it back again, re-open his blogs by invite only, close them again, and then relaunch them and start anew elsewhere.


The season of goodwill and it showed in my hardly mentioning sock puppets at all now I am aware of the offense they cause for some people. A time for sober reflection, I found myself musing upon the nature of Regret and then toying with some Lego. Then I decided to get my tits out and the comments rolled back in again.

All in all, looking back at 2008, I'd say that went as well as could be expected.

Tuesday, 23 December 2008

A Christmas Card from Luka

As Christmas Day fast approaches and the blogosphere becomes calm and bright as bloggers everywhere pay some attention to their families for a change, I find myself looking back over another year of fantastic online japes and banter and wondering if I will ever grow out of it.

Probably not.

To all of you that have come along with me, for jollity and cleavage shots, thank you. It's been fun!

To all of you that flounced off in a huff, sorry. But I only did it because it was funny. And true.

On balance, most people are very gracious. For every humourless fucktard that foams at the mouth in fury as they remove me from their blogroll there is a delightful, well-balanced, secure individual who, rightly, thinks I am great and have a fabulous sense of humour. To those charming individuals I raise my glass and bid you good cheer. To those joyless bastards who insist on taking this seriously I raise my glass and thank you for all the material.

Merry Christmas, lovely fellow blogonauts. May your stockings be as full as mine, overflowing with exactly what everyone wants at this time of year: a plump bird for Christmas. With booze.

Saturday, 20 December 2008

Tales of the Unexpected

I wasn't wearing stockings and ridiculously sexy high heeled boots. I had not meticulously bathed, shaved and moisturised. I had stubbly bits and wobbly bits. I had jeans, a jumper and socks.

When he embraced me he put his face in my hair, nuzzling my neck, just below my ear. He told me I smelled amazing and bit me, hard enough to raise goosebumps along my arm but not quite hard enough to leave a mark. "Close the door," I murmured. "The dog is looking at me."

This is my really real sexy sex. I don't have carefully cropped pictures to post, showing my nylon-clad legs in the air. I don't even have carelessly cropped pictures showing my jeans pooled around my ankles as I try to kick both them and my socks off simultaneously. Or my jumper caught halfway over my head. Or that erotic moment where you have to throw the cat off the bed and then brush the mud off the duvet. Or that special post-orgasmic pass-the-bog-roll snapshot. I have no pictures of these, partly because I have doubts they will win me a Fleshbot, but mostly because I can't be arsed to waste my precious shagging time looking for the camera. (It's never to hand, and when you do track it down the batteries are inevitably flat, and when you eventually find the remote control and raid it for a couple of AAs it's time to go to work and the opportunity is lost.)

I suppose what I am saying is that while it is fun to dress up and prepare, the reality is that many of my best experiences are those that are unexpected, unplanned for. The arms enfolding me from behind as I stand at the kitchen sink, the kisses on the back of the neck. The sleepy surprise of the half-awake lovemaking that occurs on those rare occasions when the stars and your pyjamas are in alignment. The slow-dawning joy of suddenly realising everyone else in the house has fucked off out for a bit and you can be rude on the sofa for a change. These moments have a tendancy to occur when one isn't wearing a corset and fishnets.

I am musing now on what eveyone else's really real sexy sex experiences are like. Have you been found irresistable whilst suffering from the flu, for example? Or been unexpectedly sauced up whilst gutting fish? Do tell.

Wednesday, 17 December 2008

Sex Toy Review

I know what you're wondering. "What does Luka like to rub on her private parts? If I knew, I could be just like her and buy the same item. If only there were some way to find out."

Well, wonder no more. I am going to tell you all about the latest in luxury sex toys. So subtly designed it can be left lying casually on your coffee table and no one will suspect it was crammed into your gusset moments earlier.

Quality like this comes at a price. I didn't pay for mine, of course, (I was sent it free of charge in return for reviewing it on my influential and ever so sexy blog) yet, despite the fact I would never have been flush enough to buy it under normal circumstances, I will still look down my nose at those poor unfortunates who couldn't afford to buy it either and have to make do with inferior items from high street retailers. Oh, you poor souls who have to plug your gaping voids with reduced for a quick sale aubergines. My toy comes in its own box, you know, and is tiny, so tiny, yet still more than enough for my tautly tight mouses ear of a fanny.

No, until you have tried the Lego Cunt Wobbler you have simply not lived. Noduled for pleasure, it comes in a variety of colours and is guaranteed to leave you gasping (usually when you tread on it, granted.) A timeless, simple design, it just oozes class and creativity. The corners feel nice. I wouldn't put it up your arse though.

Monday, 15 December 2008

Financing Infidelity

What sacrifices will adulterers have to make in these credit crunchy times? As businesses fold and belts are tightened the first things to face the chop are those inessential luxuries - eating out, holidays, new clothes. So where does that leave our unfaithful sex bloggers?

Affairs are undeniably expensive. Lingerie, hotel rooms, sex toys, phone calls, travel; they all cost money. Historically there has always been a degree of doublethink involved in such situations. I have known sex bloggers who will wail about their lack of finances, claiming to be on the brink of economic disaster, not knowing how they'll afford this month's mortgage payment or presents for the kids this Christmas. So no winter getaway for the family and knickers from Primark for the missus. Then they blithely fork out for travel tickets, a hotel room, lingerie for the lover and an expensive hunk of metal for them to wear up their arse on the ride home. And then go home to a row with the wife over the leccy bill.

But now, with times so hard, will it truly be possible to sustain these doublethink double lives without going bust or being busted? I predict a great deal more stories featuring sex in cars, sex with inexpensive household items and sex remembered from more prosperous times.

Friday, 12 December 2008

A 30 Word Interlude

He calls it my “sexy lady belly” and plants kisses upon it. I am delighted he loves it but place my hands on his head to direct him further south.

Tuesday, 9 December 2008


I get around.

I go to the shops. I drink coffee. I eat lunch.

I stand next to people in supermarket queues. I sit at tables near other diners. I idly watch them if I have nothing else to hold my attention. I may overhear a conversation.

I have never, ever wondered if these people are about to have sex, talking about sex, have had sex or are currently wearing some sort of sexual appliance under their anorak.

So why do sex bloggers persist in believing the rest of the world is constantly speculating about them in this way? They seem to think they generate some kind of palpable aura that lesser mortals, who obviously aren't having sex like they are, detect when in their presence.

Every other post it's "are people looking", "are people listening", or "whatever do the staff think?"

I can tell you what the staff think. They don't give a fuck about your fuck. They really don't. Once you factor in the preoccupations and concerns most of us are channeling our attentions into at any given moment it is unlikely anyone really gives a toss if you have a dildo in your handbag. The sad truth is that many of the writers spewing out this ego-fuelled drivel are of-a-certain-age and therefore invisible to most casual observers anyway.

As for whether anyone suspects that respectable couple chatting over coffee are really a pair of lust-crazed shag monsters, well, no, I doubt anyone does. Middle aged people are not perceived as sexual beings in our youth-oriented society, by and large. The barista most likely thinks you are just a bit sweaty and flushed because of the menopause or something, if they register your presence at all.

Never mind wondering if anyone has noticed the condoms in your shopping basket or the fact that you only have your underwear on beneath your raincoat. If you're over forty you'd need to be stark bollock naked and sounding an airhorn to be noticeable in a crowd, so, trust me, no one's looking.

Sunday, 7 December 2008

Regrets, I've Had a Few

Actually I have a lot. Most people have. We regret eating that last slice of pizza. We regret losing touch with old friends. We regret speaking without thinking. It is all part and parcel of the learning curve of life.

Skipping merrily through my blogroll this week I came upon a comment thread which touched upon the nature of regret. The post in question was about infidelity and the comments were the usual self-serving, self-justifying witless selection of variations on "yeah, you go girl!"(Which roughly translates as "I don't actually give a toss about the rights or wrongs of the situation or the reality of the actual impact upon your homelife, I just want you to keep posting the titillating stuff." Most commenters either want a vicarious thrill or a justification for their own indiscretions. It is a mutual support group where self-awareness is handed in at the door in exchange for blinkers. But I become barbed and digress.)

One of the comments included the old chestnut that "you only regret the things you don't do." Which is utter, utter bollocks. There are lots of things I haven't done which I do not regret in the slightest. (I do not regret turning down the opportunity for a fumble with, oh, lots and lots of people. I do not regret deciding not to drive after a bottle of wine, or choosing not to do things just because everybody else was.) Conversely, there are lots of things I did do and regret mightily. (I shan't give examples, but I am sure you can think of a list of your own.)

Regrets are what differentiate the healthy from sociopaths. We make choices which harm ourselves or others and feel bad about it. It is not a badge of honour to regret nothing. It is a mental deficiency.

Friday, 5 December 2008

Missing Blogger Found in Shed

A blogger reported missing earlier this week has been found safe and well in a Surbiton garden shed.

After numerous blog closures, concerns were raised that the blogger in question may have "done something stupid. Stupider than normal, even."


The blogger's disappearance was reported on Monday by a worried reader who had noticed a cessation of arsey blog posts and a total absence of snitty comments elsewhere. "When I checked my email I hadn't even had a threatening or offensive message, rebuking me for my commenting habits and choice of friends. It just wasn't usual."

The blogger was, however, found late Thursday evening when a passerby heard typing from a shed.

Our reporter managed an exclusive interview conducted through a knothole in the door.

"For reasons too dull to go into," the blogger said, "I have decided to relocate to my shed. In many ways confining myself to a small space and an even smaller group of readers is very liberating. In here I am free to tell it like it is without fear of contradiction. I can stick two fingers up at the world but can't be seen through the window. If an Englishman's home is his castle then surely his shed is his very own secure unit.


Will I be back? Too soon to say. While I have my thermos and my box of fishpaste sandwiches I am in no hurry to leave.

Besides, at least while I'm in here that bitch Luka can't post any more stupid articles about me."

Wednesday, 3 December 2008

The Gift of Song

If you enjoy my unique way with words and buying crap presents for people you have to give a gift to but don't really like, then this is the perfect choice for you!

Recorded to the highest production values possible whilst under the influence of two bottles of Pinot Grigio and a kebab, this is a true Christmas Classic, destined to become a treasured family heirloom.

From such sentimental, yet offensive, ballads as Little Bummer Boy through to the jaunty fun of Tingle Balls and the uplifiting Ding Dong Merrily Online these are seasonal sex blogger songs which will be a joy to listen to, time and time again.

Don't delay, buy your copy today! Simply enter your credit card details in the comments box below to ensure your stocking is full of Luka's ditties.

Remember - LingaLongaLuka is not available from any shops. Order today and receive a free festive sock puppet!

Tuesday, 2 December 2008

Follicle Fetish

I think I have one.

I have mentioned my lack of proper perversions before. I have all the standard ones certainly (who doesn't like a bit of dressing up, a bit of bondage or playing with their food?) but these are so mainstream I refuse to consider them officially kinky.

However, as I purred contentedly under the hands of my hairdresser today I was transported back to the days of my youth, when we would periodically be sent to see the school nurse who would inspect us for head lice.

God, I used to love that. I adored being checked for nits. I go completely spacey having my hair played with. It is an intense pleasure. Maybe it is a throwback to my ape-like ancestors and a time when we would bond by picking pests off each other. Maybe I am just a bit odd.

So I have decided that this is my fetish. Hair play, scalp inspection. Applicants for the role of Naughty Nit Nurse now being taken.