Thursday, 28 February 2008

Pissing Contest

I think a good selection of interesting comments is something worth having. They show people are both reading and responding to what you have written.

However, others prefer to be judged by the number of hits their blog has achieved.

Some people never sodding well shut up about it, in fact. My preference for quality over quantity is well known and yet still there are those who fancy a bit of a strut when they cross my path, a bit of crowing.

"I had 2000 hits today," they will state.

"I had 62," I will reply, "but then, I don't have a listing on YouPorn and you do. 2000 people passing through your blog looking for wank fodder is all very well, but do they stay for a chat afterwards? Do they respect you in the morning?"

The answer is, of course, no, but the person with 2000 hits doesn't care as they have a stats stiffy and they are going to wave it about regardless.

What do you reckon? I mean, I know most of us would probably opt to have both - big hits and lots of articulate comments - but if you had to choose, which would win the pissing contest?

Tuesday, 26 February 2008

Fuck Off Then

Do my ditties cause you distress?
Are you upset by my barbs?
Are your tender feelings bruised by my rough words?
Does my jokiness offend you?
Have my scribblings made you mad?
Do my strong opinions unsettle the herds?

Have you failed to spot the satire?
Did you take it all to heart?
Do you see the Boudoir as a Dragon's Den?
Are you prissy, dull and precious?
Are you outraged at my nerve?
I fail to see why you just don't fuck off then.

Sunday, 24 February 2008

All Day Confidence for Men

A quick blast of Foreskin Fresh (tm) in the morning means you can play squash, give that important presentation at work, have a few drinks with the boys and still be able to whip your willy out in a romantic encounter with confidence. The days of worrying about whether anyone can smell your undercrackers from the other side of the office are gone. Simply pop a can of Foreskin Fresh (tm) in your briefcase for all day freshness peace of mind.

Subtly scented and ph balanced, Foreskin Fresh (tm) is the intimate hygiene product manufacturers have overlooked for far too long in their quest to make women's chuffs smell like the perfume counter at Debenhams. Gentlemen, the time has come for a revolution in genital care!

Willy Wipes and Scrotal Shower Gel also available.

Wednesday, 20 February 2008

Blugged!

Fancy helping a charity and getting your work in print? Then submit to my Charity Blog Mug - or "Blug" as I prefer to call it.

There are untold thousands of bloggers in dire need, languishing, unpublished, sobbing into their laptops. This is a tragedy that spans race, gender and class. It knows no boundaries. All over the world there are people typing away, failing to be noticed, posting their arses in desperation, sitting in darkened bedrooms, neglecting their loved ones in their endless quest for hits and that elusive book deal. With your help we can help them to help themselves.

All you need to do is join the Blugging phenomenon! Get mugged and help a fellow blogger finally see their work in print.

As you can see from the high quality images below, successful submissions will be lovingly recreated on a bone china mug. Simply select your preferred iconic blogging image to adorn the front and submit your finest piece of blog work to go on the back.


Submissions must be short enough to fit on a mug and not be published elsewhere, on a tea towel or fridge magnet, for example.

Completed mugs will cost a mere £10 each, with £7.50 going to the potter and the remaining £2.50 going to Blug Aid. A fantastic deal I am sure you'll agree. I am hoping to raise enough funds to pay a full time blog tart, who will help the most needy and desperate bloggers by endlessly upping their hits with repeat visits and commenting under a variety of guises to boost their perceived popularity levels.

Now, I know a tenner for a mug might sound like a lot, but remember - all those who are on a mug will buy a mug and so will their mum. It is a huge new audience for your work, plus you'll be helping a charity, so it's worth every penny!

God bless you, one and all.

Monday, 18 February 2008

Disenchanted

It's a big popularity game
To showcase the boring and bland
Until everyone's blog looks the same
And all those who differ are banned.

I know I have said as much before. Nothing has changed. I go browsing for something to interest me, inspire me, and just find more uniformity, more herd mentality, the same people commenting on the same blogs, on the same subjects.

A new person may turn up once in a while, usually because they are busy commenting on anything and everything in an attempt to establish themselves. I like the ones who suddenly realise they have backed the wrong horse - the Boudoir is not a sex blog, it is taking the piss out of sex blogs! - and quickly distance themselves, pledging allegiance to those with bigger hits. That amuses me greatly. It's still not enough to make it interesting though.

I've done what I set out to do. I ruffled a few feathers, flicked the Vs a bit. But now I find I am at a maximum level of cynicism and am not seeing the good even when it's there.

I can't decide whether to just fade into the background for a bit until - if - inspiration strikes again, or burn the Boudoir to the ground and claim on the insurance.

Thursday, 14 February 2008

HMT Valentine Special

The very best thing to do for Valentine's Day is to take yourself out and buy new underwear. Nobody loves me quite as much as I do, let's face it.

Later I shall feed myself strawberries dipped in chocolate, get myself all tipsy on champagne, and give myself a bloody good saucing up.

How are you lot celebrating (or not)?

Sunday, 10 February 2008

I Just Like It

It's ok to just like things.

You may enjoy the taste of a really good Thai Green Curry, the sound of a jazz quartet or the visual stimulation of graffiti by Banksy.

You may feel uplifted by the breeze on your face on a sun dappled afternoon, you may experience more delight for the bubble wrap than the gift it surrounds, or perhaps you just melt if a finger is traced along the nape of your neck.

You could write pages, essays on why these things should be so. On why these things give you pleasure. People do. They take a piece of art or literature and tear it apart to see why it worked. Those who fancy themselves as thinking bloggers will devote pages to analysing a single word and why it worked for them. They gaze into their navels (or other orifices) and suck every last bit of colour and animation from the original work, until all we are left with are dry definitions, battened down and neatly labelled. This kind of approach narrows and restricts these experiences, rather than expanding them.

I must confess, it bores me rigid. I am no intellectual. I know my limits. I am a simple oik. I am that person who says "I don't know much about art but I know what I like." There are those who would feel compelled to explain why I am right or wrong about my preferences by cutting them up and laying them open for me. The types who say "ooh, listen, listen this is a particularly good bit coming up, the horn section in this is superb" so that you miss the very thing they so want you to appreciate. Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up shut up! Unless it contains some relevance to my continued survival, it doesn't matter why something gives me pleasure just let me enjoy the fact that it does!

Shakespeare, for example, was never meant to be read. His plays were meant to be experienced. Schoolchildren have suffered for decades, sitting in dusty classrooms, having every last syllable dissected for meaning until none of the original passion or intent is left. It's all wrong, wrong, wrong. You should just turn up to the play, watch it, feel it and then say "that was great" or "that was crap" depending on your own visceral response.

My pleasure from feeling the sun on my skin is not diminished by not fully understanding the chemical processes involved in my body synthesising vitamin D. I just like it, it makes me happy.
Similarly, I don't need an essay on the evolution of language and its inherent gender stereotyping to enjoy a post about fucking. If I read a bit of smut and am suddenly thinking "my goodness, that's an innovative new way of using that verb in a non-passive gender empowering manner" I am probably not as immersed in the moment as the original author may have hoped.

I'm not saying we shouldn't have inquiring minds, only that there is a risk of becoming over analytical. If you show me how the trick is done it won't be magic anymore. I don't want to see the wires and strategically placed mirrors, I don't care how it works. I just like it.

Thursday, 7 February 2008

Bottom Drawer

The bottom drawer has been closed for too long.

The items within lie in chaotic abandon. Silk stockings entangled together in sensuous knots. Froths of lace swirl over blood red pools of satin while black basques and bustiers butt up against ivory frills and french knickers. Perfume and pearls, lipstick and lingerie. My luxuries, those exotic items I keep for best, save for special. What is it exactly, I wonder, that I'm waiting for?

It has been too long since I opened that drawer. Too long since I dallied in this decadent dressing up box. The long, cold winter leads me to open the top drawer instead, the repository of comfortable knickers, functional bras and cosy socks. I pick up pyjamas in preference to the cool satin nightdress, left puddled in the drawer below.

I must re-open the bottom drawer. I suspect I have left my sensuality somewhere around here and that seems as good a place to begin looking as any.

Tuesday, 5 February 2008

Spanking the Monkey

"The pandas just won't mate, boss."

"You're sure it
is actually a boy and a girl panda this time?"

"Positive. They just won't get it on. They seem....uninspired, bored."


"If only they would use their bamboo
creatively! A few strokes of the cane and their sex lives would be on fire!"

It is a strange human quirk, the propensity for kink. With High Street shops now boasting Beginner's Bondage Kits and fur-lined handcuffs, it is becoming harder and harder to remain resolutely vanilla. It'll be pink maribou trimmed gas masks next in Ann Summers, you mark my words.

If you have ever stood, bewildered, in a sex shop, wondering if you actually want or need a flogger, nipple clamps or a spreader bar, and feeling slightly inadequate for just fancying a nice plain vibrator and maybe some chocolate body paint, comfort yourself by remembering we are just mammals and nobody gives them a hard time for only wanting vanilla sex.

How strange that humans have evolved to a point where some of us need ever more exotic paraphernalia to spread our genetic code. Stranger still is the slight air of disdain, detectable in some, for boring old standard intercourse. It is hard being a human at such times, feeling the need to justify your preference for comfortable underwear and the missionary position, rather than a latex catsuit and a damn good flogging.

No one minds that our mammalian cousins are enjoying simple, unfettered ruttings. You don't get carloads of disappointed visitors to the safari park complaining that the giraffes just humped each other with no trace of ritual humiliation or rubberwear. David Attenborough doesn't comment in his hushed tones on BBC wildlife documentaries that "here we see the silverback gorilla, that most dominant of great apes - of course, if he were truly dominant he'd give his troop a damn good spanking, til their arses rival those of the baboons."

I've seen hogs being tied - they don't seem to find it particularly arousing and nobody expects them to.

So next time you read a kinky sex blog post and feel like you really ought to be inserting more and varied things into your bottom and buying more leather underwear, remember your animal instincts. Rabbits are going at it like rabbits, studs are at stud and the birds and the bees haven't a gimp mask between them.

Kinky Beasts.....

Monday, 4 February 2008

Naked Saturday

Now, I defy any sex blogger, literate or otherwise, to show me a seduction that has more red hot sexy sex reality than the following scene of domestic debauchery:

"You do realise we'll be on our own tomorrow night?"

"Wahey!"

"Are you going to make sweet lurve to me?"

"Yes, but first you have to think of a number."

"Um....ok....seven."

"Seven!"

"Yes, seven. You know I always pick seven."

(It's true. I managed to pass O-level maths by guessing "seven" for any questions I couldn't answer.)

"Ah, but are you sure you can cope with seven?"

"Yes. Why, are you not sure you can manage seven?"

"Um...."

"So why didn't you specify it had to be a number between one and two, then?"

"There isn't a number between one and two."

"It doesn't have to be seven. I'll take what I can get."

Sunday, 3 February 2008

The Spouse's Lament


Hers

As you lie there entwined with another
As you sleepily dream of your lover
Do your thoughts ever roam home to me,
Your domestic, dull necessity?

As you gaze at your lover's pert bottom
Are my comfortable knickers forgotten?
While she bends over, wiggling for you
I am bent over cleaning your loo.

And as she greedily swallows your prick
Do you remember who cares when you're sick?
She undoes your clothes, gets you undressed
But who washed them and got your suit pressed?

His

And while you're blogging his sexual skills
Do you remember me paying the bills?
As you roll around with him in bed
Just who keeps the roof over your head?

As he plunges and pounds you to the brink
Do you recall how I unblocked the sink?
While you're fucking with orgasmic glee
I'll be home with the kids, making tea.

When you are crushed to awaken with me
Why not fuck off and set everyone free?
If you won't, which is what I suspect
Then the least I deserve is respect.