Thursday, 31 December 2009

2009 Boudoir Retrospective

Yes, it's that time of year again. Time to look back on the past 12 months in the Boudoir and forward to what 2010 might bring. More of the same is my guess.


A tired and hungover start to the blogging year as I resolved to exercise more, desist from posting when drunk and stop baiting stupid people online. My resolutions remained unbroken until the 4th January when I got drunk in an armchair and posted my thoughts on sex positive feminist lezzas.


Valentine's Day saw the Boudoir inundated with declarations of love from fellow bloggers and lurkers alike. My invitations ranged from dining out to dressing up in rubber and walloping the hell out of someone with a ping pong bat. Sadly I had to decline most of these - so many admirers, only one Luka! In the end I accepted one request from a Top International A-List Sex Blogger to accompany them to a roller disco in Crewe and another from Mystery Ex-Blogger X to go fuck myself.


Asked to promote a new sex toy called the Chuff Chinchilla, which is much like a Rabbit, only with more hair. I had to decline as I am already the face of FannyFunTastic, a great little company who make all sorts of sex toys out of organic, recyclable materials like marzipan, papier mache and felt. Besides, sex toy reviews are excruciatingly dull to read, no matter how much fun they are to do. Unless you're going to liven it up halfway through by saying that you suddenly noticed the window cleaner watching and furiously rubbing his chamois on the glass I really wouldn't bother.


Who can forget the auditions for Barbed Wire Boudoir, the Musical? After weeks of tireless promotion a sponsor was finally found and preparations began for our two week run at the Horsey Windpump Community Theatre. The search began for a leading lady, someone who could combine a great singing voice with the ability to consume two bottles of Pinot Grigio on stage a night and still remember her lines. The auditions were vastly entertaining but finding that particular mix of foul mouthed abuse and loveable charm was proving difficult. In the end I decided to play myself.


A madcap whirl of interviews and shameless plugging to sell tickets for Barbed Wire Boudoir, the Musical. On one memorable occasion I appeared on a breakfast TV show with my pants on my head. Many people thought this was to preserve my anonymity but really I was still over refreshed from intensive rehearsals the previous evening.


Opening night! The Horsey Windpump parish magazine commented "Luka gives an enthusiastic performance and convincingly captures the alcohol fuelled excesses of her late night blog posts. The dance routines are somewhat haphazard in nature, however, and the reviewer cannot help but note that the use of rollerskates on such a small stage was probably an unwise decision on the part of the choreographer."


Sadly the full two week run for Barbed Wire Boudoir, the Musical didn't occur and the show folded after a mere three days. Ticket sales were disappointing and I was forced to conclude that the world just wasn't ready for my experimental interpretation of satirical sex blogging in song and on skates. Undaunted I immediately set about finding a sponsor for my new project, Barbed Wire Boudoir, the Animated Motion Picture.


The temperatures rose as bloggers sweated in the summer sun over their hot keyboards in a bid to win the coveted Sexiest Sex Blogger Award, as chosen by a couple of Americans who've had a blog for a few years now. Competition was fierce as everyone promoted their best post or most alluring arse pic in order to get noticed. I was stunned and confused to find that I had won third place, with the top two Sexiest Sex Blogger awards going to those who do actually write sexily about sex. Nevertheless I proudly accepted my title and displayed it prominently in my trophy room.


Embarked on an ill-fated relationship with another sex blogger. At first I was swept away by the promise of adventure and a starring role in future erotic blog posts, but I was disillusioned by the reality of a perfectly ordinary and tedious individual who happens to have been gifted with good writing skills, a sort of compensatory ability to make up for the lack of any others. On the plus side our one meeting over coffee has been transformed into a red hot post on their blog, involving licking latte foam off each other's buttocks and coming copiously all over the counter.


Indulged my gothic tendencies and celebrated Halloween for the entire month. When else can you paint your bosoms orange and see who can pick them out from the pumpkin line-up?


Whiled away the long, dark nights by discovering which ex bloggers have started new blogs and then stalking them. It's times like these I thank the deities for the internet as it is so much more comfortable lurking online than it used to be in the bushes.


More accolades as my long-awaited novel , "Luka", hits the shelves in time for Christmas. "A rip roaring, high octane, adrenaline-fuelled ride through the highs and lows of an online great" was one comment. Mine, to be precise. So far sales have been disappointing but I have high hopes for a January surge when the cover price is reduced to £1.99 and includes a free balloon.

Tuesday, 22 December 2009

Thank You for the Laughter

The Gift of Laughter. There is no finer thing to bring to anyone.

Sometimes people make me laugh intentionally. These are usually the people I love the most.

Sometimes people make me laugh unintentionally. These are usually the people I blog about.

Regardless, they all bring me great joy and for that I thank them. In song.

I'm something special, in fact I'm entirely unique
If I write a post, you'll probably laugh for a week
Cos I have a talent, a wonderful thing
Cos everyone reads my anarchic writing
I'm ungrateful and rude
I don't care if I'm cheered or I'm booed

So I say
Thank you for the laughter, the blogs I'm reading
Thanks for all the jokes they're seeding
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would my blog be?
Just reviews and nude photos of me?
So I say thank you for the laughter
For giving it to me

Mother says I was a blogger before I could type
She said I was self obsessed long before all the hype
And I've often wondered, how did it all start
Who found out that nothing can make egos smart
Like some mockery can?
Well, whoever it was, I'm a fan

So I say
Thank you for the laughter, the twats who got cross
Thanks for all their pompous pathos
Who can live without them, I ask in all honesty
Where would they be?
Without a strop or a flounce over me?
So I say thank you for the laughter
For giving it to me

Thursday, 17 December 2009

e[lust] #3

As a Top Sex Blogger of 2008 and 2009 I thought it was high time I joined in a bit more with my blogging peers online.

Some of you will remember how I used to take the piss out of the late, lamented Sugasm with my hilarious Shitasm spoofs but this new e(lust) thing is nothing like that at all. Well, all right, it is almost exactly like that but the important thing is that I got voted into the top three, which, as everyone knows, is the dogs bollocks and means I rock. And I didn't even vote for myself!

So thank you to all who voted for my silliness. It's a funny old world, isn't it?

* * *

Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you're looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you're going to find it here. Want to be included in the next edition? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site's sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

♦ This Week's Top Three Posts ♦

Presence - I wish that you would look at me now. I am willing you to look at me now, over her body, rocking with the motion of her mouth. But you do not.

Restraint - “Do you like what you see?” the blonde asks. “Are you excited by what’s before you?” the redhead enquires. He nods.

What Not to Fetishwear - DON'T wear a PVC sleeveless vest if you fall into the rotund category. You will look like a bowling ball. With chubby arms.

e[lust] Editress

Fucking for Art - The proximity of their nakedness and my scrutiny resulted in this beautiful agony of arousal for them both. I asked if they would feel comfortable doing some poses of vaginal penetration for me, and they readily agreed.

♦ Featured Post

The Naked Truth - He didn’t just write a pretty story we could act out, he worked hard to delicately lay us out on the page together, as we are.

See also: Pleasurists #56 and #57 for all your sex toy review needs

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Tricky Balls
Propaganda Sucks in All Directions
What Not to Fetishwear
Wicked Grounds
Which Reindeer Sex Style Are You? Five Tuesday: 2010 AVN Award Nominees

Kink & Fetish

Come what may..
While I waited
Caning Before the Movies
Savoring Submission
The Ruler
Give In
Flagging brown
The Mummy Returns
Finding Power Through Play
Microfantasy Monday 24

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Wife Unsure About Sex With Others
Thought Provoked
The Naked Truth
December: Month of the Rant
Less is More
That's My Cervix!
Femme Invisibility
Are You Just Kinky or Is It a Lifestyle
Baby Steps and Giant Leaps
Cyber Sex

Erotic Writing

Friends with Benefits
The Tease
Cock. Confession #386
Cal's wisdom
Blinded and Bound
The Little Things...
The Witness
Quiet and Still
Giving and Receiving
Beasts in the Bathroom
Fixation: Touch
The Pussy Eating Challenge
An Oceans Release part 1
MFM: Etiquette
Office Party
Daydreams & Distractions Droit de Cuissage
Tant pis
Toys, toys, toys
Revenge (Pt. 1)
Claiming: Assume the Position

Tuesday, 15 December 2009

Dear Father Christmas...

...I have been a very good girl all year. Pretty much. And even if I am ever naughty I am terribly good at it, which cancels out any badness, as I'm sure you'll agree.

Now, you're probably busy reading lots of blogger wishlists at this time of year - the sex bloggers asking for the kinds of toys only elves over 18 can make, the mummy bloggers asking for a good night's sleep, the political bloggers asking for change, the cookery bloggers asking for the kind of gadgets the sex bloggers wouldn't mind a go on and so forth. Still, I hope you can find time to read through a satirical anti-sex-blogger's list of festive desires and consider emptying your bulging sacks into my stocking come Christmas Eve.

This year, for Christmas, I would like:
  1. A pair of hold up stockings that actually hold up and don't roll down my pillowy thighs at inconvenient moments or, failing that:
  2. A pair of tights that fit the tall, full figured woman so that the crotch does not sit at knee level, leading to amusing yet undignified hobbling, and the waist band does not come up to one's armpits. (Who are these garments designed for - is it you, Santa?)
  3. A drum kit.
  4. Big, comfortable pants that are also alluring.
  5. Pubic hair to come back into fashion.
  6. Stroppy, fat, older women to come back into fashion.
  7. A Scalextric.
  8. An Indian Head Massage or a Nit Nurse of my very own.
  9. The salt, sugar and fat content to be reinstated to my favourite convenience foods. Bloody food police. My roast beef flavoured Monster Munch were crap without all the salt and E numbers. Ditto my Cup-a-Soup. I buy these things for a reason. If I wanted the healthy option I'd have bought an orange. Thank fuck for booze.
  10. Wine, and lots of it.

If you could see your way to granting me even just one or two of these requests I would be immensely grateful and won't drink your sherry and abuse the carrots for the reindeer before you get here this year.

Yours in anticipation,



Friday, 4 December 2009

Luka's Christmas Party Survival Guide

Reading Ms R's latest post on the pitfalls of the office party I thought I would do the decent thing and give you all the benefit of my extensive experience in such matters.

So here are my top tips for maximising the pleasure potential of the party season:

Before the Event
  • Do not eat. If you fill up on a proper lunch you are not going to get the benefit of all the free food on offer later and it'll take you far longer to get smashed. Partying on an empty stomach is the value for money choice!
  • Tart yourself up. This is the only time of year when it is acceptable to wear glitter, tinsel, baubles, antlers, novelty ties or even fur in public. If you turn up in an understated little black dress or suit no one will notice you and you'll look like you just couldn't make the effort. Presentation matters!

The Event Itself

  • Consume as much of the buffet as possible and put some in your handbag or pockets for later. Free food must always be fully appreciated. It means a lot to your host.
  • Ditto drink, if free. If you have to buy your own then slightly different rules apply - if you have to buy drinks from a bar then always put them on the company tab. If there isn't one claim there is and try to put them on it anyway. If it's a bring a bottle affair you can always try to upgrade your bargain bin purchase by cunningly switching your humble offering with a more expensive wine. The true pro will manage to blag several bottles of quality grog and stash them in their tights/the toilet cistern/the mop bucket thereby ensuring hours of drinking pleasure to come when everyone else is reduced to drinking the Liebfraumilch.
  • Dance like a maniac. No one likes a wallflower.
  • Sing too.
  • Take the opportunity to tell your colleagues how you really feel. Many experts will insist this is bad etiquette and will lead to awkwardness in the office come Monday morning, but much depends on how much Liebfraumilch your co-workers have also managed to put away.
  • Keep conversation lively. Avoid dull topics like work, families, hobbies etc and stick to subjects which everyone can join in with like religion, politics, sex toys, animal testing and medical problems.
  • Indulge your romantic side. If you've spent months flirting over the photocopier or bending over to retrieve paperclips you've "accidentally" dropped near the desk of that special co-worker you'd love to get to know better then now is your opportunity to fan the spark to a flame. The combination of mistletoe and alcohol is one which has swept aside inhibitions and undergarments since the days of the Druids, so don't be afraid to follow in the footsteps of this fine festive tradition. Grab a sprig and get smooching. Again, many experts will insist this is bad etiquette and will lead to awkwardness in the office come Monday morning, but many experts are terribly dull and spend their parties sipping mineral water, talking earnestly about current affairs and never get molested in a swivel chair.

After the Event

  • Post apologies on Twitter/Facebook/MySpace. Social networking saves a great deal of phonecalls or notecards.
  • Drink plenty of water.

Sunday, 29 November 2009

What Not to Fetishwear

We are all familiar with those makeover television shows that target the sartorially challenged. I have, however, spotted a gap in the market. As I idly browsed the internet this afternoon I discovered a whole group of badly attired people who desperately need a bit of fashion advice.

I am referring to those kinksters who insist on dressing in ill-fitting fetishwear. I understand that much of it may need to be mail ordered and trying before buying is not always easy but I still find it hard to take seriously any supposed Dom sporting a pair of too-short PVC trousers with superhero socks.

If you are a raving deviant and thinking of purchasing an overpriced garment with an inordinate amount of straps, buckles and chains attached, or perhaps some really, really stupid shoes, please read my helpful list of dos and don'ts first:

DO accentuate the positive. Ladies, this means lots of cleavage or lots of leg. Never both. Men, this means cover up as much of your body as you can. Remember bare chests are only attractive on about 2% of the male population for an even smaller percentage of their lifespan. If you're still unsure and think that revealing as much of your body as possible is the way to go, allow me to dip into popular culture to illustrate:

Not sexy.


DON'T wear skintight lycra or latex unless you think looking like a Black Pudding is sexually alluring.

DO use plenty of talc.

DON'T think wearing 5 inch platforms will disguise the fact that you are below average height. You will still look like a shortarse, just in really, really stupid shoes.

DO invest in a good corset. You can't go wrong.

DON'T wear a PVC sleeveless vest if you fall into the rotund category. You will look like a bowling ball. With chubby arms. Opt for a well tailored shirt instead, it is a far sexier look.

DO remember that just because you find a certain garment sexy it does not automatically follow that you will look sexy in that garment. A backless pair of PVC shorts may look great on the model on the website but very different when your hairy buttocks are protruding from them like a pair of Woolly Mammoth testicles.

DON'T wear ill fitting clothes just because it's fetishwear. It may be real leather and cost a month's wages but if it doesn't fit it won't do you any favours. If it is too tight (and yes, this is possible, even with kinkwear), too loose, too short in the leg or hangs off your body unflatteringly then change it for something that's right. The school nerd look is not generally a good one, even if that school nerd is wearing a shiny black tank top with matching trousers that barely skim his ankles.

DO get a second opinion.

DON'T wear your glasses over your latex hood.

DO let me know if I've missed anything.

Wednesday, 25 November 2009

Barbed Wire Bollocks Busters!

An occasional feature in which I, your glamorous hostess, raconteur and expert on all things sexual, debunk popular myths and misconceptions as being utter bollocks.

Cunnilingus is not depicted as often as fellatio in pornography because there's so little to see.

This is utter bollocks. Cunnilingus is not depicted as often as fellatio because pornographers are lazy, talentless cunts and most consumers of pornography have been happily brainwashed into believing that only the external displays of male sexuality merit recording. Because it is harder to film the female orgasm most pornographers just don't. The nearest you'll get is a bit of fake gushing because ejaculations are what they know. ("Oh why can't a woman be more like a man?" they sigh whilst inserting the turkey baster between takes to reload the poor old porno fanny for another fake climax).

I just don't buy into the idea that fellatio is more interesting to watch than cunnilingus. How is a head bobbing up and down on a veiny prong any more entertaining for twenty minutes than a head moving in small circles on a fleshy mound? It's the bigger picture I want, the sighs and gasps, the arching of the back, the tautening of nipples, the creased brow and bitten lip. Subtle stuff but far sexier than a standard porno gobble. Still, while the punters require an obvious conclusion (these must be the same people who can't cope with ambiguous endings to books and films and need narration to tell them the moral of the story) we're stuck with buckets of fake fluids being flicked across the set.

Sex-Positive Pansexual Polyamorous Feminist Kink Queer Community Blogging

Utter bollocks.

Thursday, 19 November 2009

What's In It For Me?

Some kinks I just don't get. Some are the big obvious ones like shagging donkeys, pooing on glass topped coffee tables or rubbing your parts on a splintery fence.

Others are more low key and, apparently, more commonly shared turn-ons, from having your arse spanked until it goes purple to orgasm denial and chastity.

Well, actually I do get the spanking thing. I understand the pleasure/pain combination even though I cannot receive pain in a sexual situation myself. Well, I can but I tend to lash out in retaliation which spoils the moment. The stimulus may be all in play but my response is sadly all too real and on the violent side. Still, you poke the hornet's nest (not a euphemism, but it could be) and what do you expect?

The orgasm denial and chastity thing has always been a puzzler for me. I enjoy reading Tom Allen's Edge of Vanilla and while I have learned much from his honest and engaging posts it is still an alien landscape for a greedy hedonist such as myself. Delayed gratification? You might as well suggest I save some chocolate for later.

Then I read this post over on Monmouth's blog. If you can't be arsed to follow the link it's about a girl on the blob who, rather than wanting nothing more than to spend an hour curled up on the sofa with a hot water bottle, eating Maltesers while wearing a dressing gown and thick, warm men's socks, yearns to be on her knees and used as an oral wanking aid.

I'm not even sure if she gets a cushion to kneel on. My knees would be killing me after a few minutes and I'd have to use the stiffy in question for leverage back up and then retire to the chaise longue.

I am entirely baffled as to what's in this scenario for the lady. Other than a mouthful of spunk and, to be honest, I've come to want more from life. Judging by the comments though many women would like nothing more than to have their pulsating ladyparts ignored and untouched as they gamely suck and gag, getting walloped intermittently in the chin by some sweaty balls. Whilst menstruating, I hasten to add, a time more traditionally associated with intense bouts of stroppiness and a less than altruistic mindset.

Is this really a popular scenario or has it just gone through the 70% bullshit enhancement feature I belive is built into most sexual online interactions? An unfeasibly large number of men on adult dating sites, for example, claim to adore cunnilingus and profess to love going down for hours. Conversely, do a comparable number of women online claim to love sucking cock with no pressure to have to find the clitoris for reciprocal pleasure?

What are your thoughts?

Sunday, 15 November 2009

Let It Grow

When you first left I was bereft
I cried about you all night long
But then I knew what I should do
I let my pubic hair grow long

My underwear is full of hair
It's like Chewbacca in a thong
Now you're not here I just don't care
I let my pubic hair grow long

The time I save now I don't shave!
To wear fanny fur isn't wrong
I won't pluck ahead of a fuck
I let my pubic hair grow long.

Monday, 9 November 2009

I Am A Top Sex Blogger of 2009, Apparently

Happy days!

Rori over at Between My Sheets has posted her list of Top Sex Bloggers 2009 and there, nestling between Ms Justine and Ang, is my good self at number 57.

I was surprised enough to be on the list for 2008 and felt sure this was an oversight which would be corrected next time round, but to see I am on the list again has jettisoned me beyond raised eyebrows and straight into mouth open territory.

This only goes to show that the vast majority of sex bloggers have a great sense of humour and don't get hysterical about grumpy old ratbags posting crap. So I wave a cheery two fingers at those uppity "literate" types who no longer blog because they are so deathly fucking dull and no one likes them. "Stick your Moleskine notebook up your arse," I say. "Silliness and posts about sex toys made of Lego, that's what the punters want. And, by god, they'll get them!"

Sunday, 8 November 2009

I Am A Great Read, Apparently

The immensely talented Jackie Adshead has chosen me as one of her ten recipients of a You Are a Great Read award.

You might think that this award is utterly meaningless and just another example of those tedious me-me-memes that recur like herpes outbreaks, but you'd be wrong.

This award is special because it gives me something to toss off quickly (quiet at the back) with minimum effort, thereby leaving the rest of the weekend free for other pursuits.

Right, according to the terms and conditions attached to this award I now have to tell you ten things I do each day.

Yes, I know, it does sound like it will be a riveting read, doesn't it? But don't worry, I shall try not to go for the obvious. (1. Get up 2. Go to the toilet 3. Eat food. 4. Blog 5. Wank 6. Shower 7. Have a drink 8. Watch telly 9. Read book 10. Sleep.) I shall endeavour to make this an enjoyable experience for the both of us.

Ten Things I Do Every Day:

  1. Annoy somebody. It could be an amusing blog post about what a twat someone is, or throwing peanuts at someone while they are watching their favourite film or eating all the ice cream. It could be flagging up injustices at work, it could be drawing a comedy moustache on someones favourite picture or refusing to get off the spacehopper, despite the health and safety concerns raised by those who think it's a stupid idea when carrying hot soup. Whatever the situation you can be sure someone, somewhere, is getting annoyed.
  2. Ignore the phone. I hardly ever answer a ringing phone and never call anyone unless I am on fire or something. This often leads to point 1, above.
  3. Cyberstalk various friends and acquaintances. This isn't sinister, it's just being interested.
  4. Write something utterly hilarious and award winning.
  5. Fail to keep my "no alcohol for me tonight" pledge.
  6. Discover that I can't just have one biscuit after all.
  7. Find a food item in my cleavage.
  8. Stay up much later than intended.
  9. Oil my sensual, naked body and take photos of myself to send to my favourite readers.
  10. Vow to start anew.

So, there you go. If I were the type to stick to the rules I would now bestow 10 people with the "You Are a Great Read" award and they would post their own 10 things they do every day. But I am not the type, nor am I particularly interested in a post about what anyone else does each day as I doubt it will be as good as mine. So I'm not going to (see point 1 above.)

Tuesday, 3 November 2009

A Fairy Tale of Blogland

Once upon a time there was a talented young writer who desperately wanted to get published.

"I know," they thought, "I could start a blog. Then everyone will see how very good at writing I am and I will be offered a book deal at once!"

So they wrote a few posts, and they made some online friends, and their blog became quite popular. But still they were unhappy because they didn't see blogging as proper, respectable, show-off-to-your-mates-down-the-pub writing. They sighed and they wept and they followed all the big names on Twitter and sucked all the top A-List blogger arses, but still they went unpublished.

Then, one night, as the young writer was despairing of ever being discovered by anyone with any sort of publishing influence at all, their Fairy Godmother appeared and said "You shall have a paperback!"

She waved her magic wand and the blog was magically transformed into a book.

"Wow," breathed the writer. "That's fantastic. Can I get on the telly, too?"

"I don't do three wishes, I'm not a fucking genie,"retorted the Fairy Godmother, testily. But she waved her magic wand again and - shazam! - the writer got a slot on daytime TV to plug their book. "Remember," said the Fairy Godmother, "I can magic you a book deal and get you onto the breakfast show but then it's up to you to keep coming up with the written goods if you want to stay in the game."

"Yeah, yeah," said the writer absently, firing off Tweets and status updates galore to let everyone know when to tune in.

So the writer was immersed in a whirl of publicity and book sales went well. But the advice from the Fairy Godmother was soon forgotten and while the Tweets, Facebook updates, texts and emails saying "buy my book" and "look at me" kept flowing the blog was neglected and no new material appeared. The writer claimed to be busy working on their next book but everyone knew they were really just watching YouTube and drinking. It said so in their Tweets.

The writer's popularity began to fade and when they sent messages saying "look at my book" if anyone could be arsed to reply at all it was to say "shut up about your book. We've all seen it by now, cluttering up the bargain bins in Waterstones. What else can you do?"

"I could publish a book of my best Tweets," the writer offered, hopefully. But nobody was interested because there was already a bestselling Tweetbook by Stephen Fry and even that was pretty fucking boring.

"I warned you," said the Fairy Godmother, returning in a puff of glitter and fag smoke. "I'll grant you one last wish, even though I'm not a genie," she added.

"Thank you Fairy Godmother! I just don't know how to win back my old readers and attract new ones. You can't please one group without upsetting the others. I just wish I could make everyone happy."

So the Fairy Godmother waved her magic wand and - ta-dah! - the writer was turned into a frog and could no longer use a laptop.

And everyone lived happily ever after.

Popular A-List satirical blogger Luka, 38, in Fairy Tale probing earlier this week.

Wednesday, 28 October 2009

Luka Interview #1

The Boudoir is dimly lit and filled with the heady scents of exotic incense, Mum roll-on deodorant and fabric conditioner. The cushions on the chaise longue have been plumped, the portraits dusted and the dog has been shut in the kitchen. I'm ready to welcome my guest for the evening.

"Come in, come in! Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Sprawl on the chaise longue, why don't you? No, don't move the throw, it's hiding a multitude of sins. Now, tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please! Earl Grey for preference, with a splash of milk - or Peppermint, if you have it."

I sigh as I root around in the cupboard, behind the box of PG Tips, to find the poncy tea bags. It might take a few minutes so I skilfully start the interview while I clatter about in the kitchen.

"Some people reading this will be familiar with your work, and some will be discovering you for the first time. For the benefit of new or lazy readers, could you sum up who you are and what you blog about?"

"Hello, new and/or lazy readers. I am Dee, a native of kiwi-land (aka New Zealand). I am a geek, female-bodied, civilly unioned, kinky as all hell, fat (and love my body), pansexual and polyamorous. Also, I'm an exhibitionist, a writer, and a lover. And a fan of choosing my own labels."

"And for the benefit of our pervier readers, what are you wearing?"

"Currently I am wearing bright blue knickers, bloomers (yes, really), a long black and blue skirt, a dark blue satin sleeveless top, and blue earrings. It's a blue day!"

"I did notice your bloomers as you climbed onto the chaise longue earlier. Here's your Earl Grey. Don't mind that, it's just a dog hair. So, how long have you been at this blogging malarky now?"

"I've been writing online since 2000, and writing as Curvaceous Dee since Jan 1, 2006. So in sex-blogger years, I'm geriatric."

"Do you still blog for the same reasons as you started? Some bloggers - especially the longer established ones, like yourself - have moved on to book deals or other profitable ventures. Any plans in that direction yourself? Will we ever see "Curvaceous Dee" the book/mini series/action figure?"

"Well, I started blogging to write. I still blog to write, although there's more photography going on now than when I started - my love for my body has increased mightily. While I've always planned to get off my arse and become a published author, it's more likely to be poetry or erotica than a series based on posts.

Not that I'm averse to having an action figure made!"

"And just think of the accessories to go with it! You'd need lots of batteries though. Speaking of which, I see you're an official greeter for Fetlife. Do you have to be superkinky and up for a Real Life (tm) pounding in latex to be a part of the community?"

"A pounding in latex sounds quite delectable, but it's absolutely not required to be a part of FetLife. To be a greeter, possibly! There are well over 200,000 people on FetLife now, and all that's required is to be open to kink, perversion, and depravity :) After all, it's free to join!"

"I'm not sure I'm kinky enough to truly benefit from it. Mind you, I'm currently working on my Sex Blogger Shag Map (a glittering constellation of online names) which, when all the dots are connected, I hope will spell out a very rude word. A straight line is for full body contact, a dashed line is for cybersex and an asterisk means you once tried to sauce them up but they closed their blog. Where does Curvaceous Dee fit into the map?"

"Well, I'm reasonably certain that I would remember if you and I had any contact - full-body, cyber, or otherwise! And while you're terribly saucy, my blog is still very open (just like me).
As for my own Sex Blogger Shag Map, there are a few bloggers out there I've gotten nekkid with - but they all were friends with me before they started blogging ... "

"What would you say to those who reckon being poly and pansexual is just being greedy?"

"I'd say they're absolutely right, and if they have an issue with it, to come and see me! Just because I'm attracted to a whole lot of different people, not to mention have great sex with many of them, doesn't mean that they're not still available for everyone else to be attracted to, and possibly have sex with. The more the merrier, I say!"

"So, who would you rather cruise the universe with - Dr Who or Captain Jack?"

"I suspect that I'd have absolutely amazing sexcapades with Captain Jack - and there'd be a lot of 'cruising' going on too. Plus, Jack is Jack - with the Dr I'd never know what body's going to be around next week."

"Ah, but I know you're all about the body acceptance. One of the things I love about your blog is how body positive you are. It breaks my heart to see gorgeous women fretting about non-existant flaws or to hear about women who never let their husband see them naked. What do you think is the key to body confidence? Should HNT be compulsory for anyone who thinks they have a large bottom?"

"I think HNT should be compulsory for everyone, whether they have a large bottom or a teeny one. All bodies are deserving of love - wobbly bits, scarred bits, 'perfect' bits and all. As for the key to body confidence? Well, when I started to realise that others' bodies were beautiful, I figured out that my own was as well. HNT is great for that - there's such an amazing variety of bodies out there, and they're all worthy of being seen."

Curvaceous Dee enjoying some Earl Grey in the Boudoir

"So, how do you feel about photoshopping images before posting them online?"

"Photoshopping is fine, as long as it's limited to a) scrubbing out pimples, b) cropping for effect, and c) playing with colours. Everything else should be left alone."

"Be honest though, when you're browsing through HNT pictures have you ever seen one that made you think 'oh dear, that was a mistake'?"

"I don't recall any having that effect, actually. Except for when the photoshopping is terrible. I just don't get tired of checking them all out every week!"

"I have often enjoyed - and, indeed lampooned - your raunchy reviews. If a sex toy company sent you a terrible product would you review it honestly or fudge the issue to ensure you still kept getting freebies?"

"The answer to that is: honestly. Which I've done - there are some shite products out there! The absolutely worst review I've ever given was to a DVD sent to me, which thankfully I've palmed off to someone who'd appreciate it more. That said, the second worst review I've ever given was for something I bought myself ... so there you go!

I can only be thankful that no one was tormenting me with the latter while I was watching the former."

"Ah, but that sounds like a winning formula for a Fleshbot to me. Depends how far you're prepared to go to keep things entertaining though. Blog drama - would you ever do it?"

"Hmm. I don't think so, mostly because I'm perpetually behind the times when it comes to drama. But I'll make an exception if you're talking shit about me, Luka! In that instance I'd have to get all reactionary, and stuff."

"I am a pussycat these days. The times they are a-changing. Sugasm has fallen on its arse, getting a Fleshbot does not generate the numbers of wank hungry readers it once did, some of my favourite blogs have gone tits up - do you think sex blogging is in decline?"

"I think sex blogging is changing - but it's always done that. When I started there were only a few dozen around (that I was aware), and of those a mere handful are still going. There was a big boom in reviewing starting about 18 months ago, and I feel that a lot of readers - and bloggers - have gone off that now too. But there are new bloggers - some good writers, some almost spam - starting all the time, and there will always be readers, although they come and go too!

I think the sex blogging community, especially in twitter, is nice and strong - there are good connections, and friendships, being made."

"And finally, where are you off to once you've finished this interview?"

"Bed with my husband - once I've finished my cup of tea, that is!"

"Thank you, Curvaceous Dee. I think we all feel that little bit closer to you now. I certainly do, but this chaise longue is a bit on the small side for the both of us."

Monday, 26 October 2009

The Luka Interviews - More Audience Participation!

"Now what?" I hear you ask.

"Now for my new project," I reply.

I am in the process of contacting a varied selection of Those Who Blog to see who is willing to lie on my virtual chaise longue and subject themselves to a Luka style interview.

This is where the audience participation bit comes in: who would you most like to see pumped for personal information? What questions would you most like to ask? If you don't want to risk offence in the comments box (you may, for example, be trying to schmooze your way to the Blogger A-List and a possible book deal, and not want to find yourself kicked off prestigious blogrolls when you ask me to find out if that certain someone is really a journalist/happily married accountant/man) do feel free to email your suggestions to the usual address.

Oh, and I'm not restricting this to Sex Blogs, I'm up for bothering anyone at all online.

Monday, 19 October 2009

Ask Luka - The Cybersex Query

Another week, another reader dilemma.

"Dear Luka

What do you do when someone only ever says hello online, in chat, when they want a wank?

It's really insulting. I can ping them with endless 'hey there's and 'how're you?'s and they just ignore me. That doesn't bother me particularly as I know other people have stuff going on in their real lives and can't always respond. What does annoy me is that when this person does finally deign to drop me a line it's inevitably because they are horny and want me to shove the webcam up my nightie.

What would you advise?

Fed Up of Hands Free"

This problem is more common than you might expect, Fed Up of Hands Free. While you don't specify gender in your email I'm assuming your masturbatory messenger is a man as this, in my experience, is very much a blokey trait. (Unless you, dear readers, know otherwise, and if so do feel free to educate me in the comments box).

The thing is, men are really, really good at compartmentalising. They can divide and sub-divide their lives into convenient packages - Work, Play, Food, Fuck, Toilet, Pub - and give each their total attention. Individually. The ability to focus so completely means that men can only concentrate on one compartment at a time. So while on some level they recognise you are a lovely person with a multi-faceted personality and deserving of an in-depth conversation about how your day went, they are unable to act upon it whilst already thinking about dinner, for example.

The more advanced male will make an effort later, once you fill his field of vision at some point. The less advanced male will not. He is unlikely to make contact until his bollocks need emptying and you happen to fill his field of vision at a serendipitous moment. At which point he is unlikely to ask about your day as he is now entirely focused upon his cock. It's not meant to be offensive, it's just that you're there, you're a woman and - should you prove willing to type a few "oh yeah"s and "fuck me"s or, even better, get your tits out on camera and insert various root vegetables up your flange - you're much cheaper than phoning a dedicated wankline.

In contrast the female ability to multitask means that while Mr Only Says Hi When He's Horny is going hands free in one window, you can continue several other online conversations, update your blog, watch a film, jot some notes for work tomorrow, organise your music collection and tidy the living room, so your time won't be entirely wasted if you decide to indulge him.

On the other hand you might think exchanges mostly consisting of "what are you wearing?", "mmmm", "I'm going to cum" and then watching a blurry webcam image of them spodging onto their keyboard are no big loss and just set your messenger status to "busy".

Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Ask Luka! Putting the Pro in Problem Solving.

This weeks conundrum comes from a Mr Tongue Tied of Anonymoushire who writes:

"I have a problem with the opposite sex. Specifically, in relationship to identity. The subject came up in a work gab session where 6 ... ahem, females, and 3 males ranging in age from 23 to over 50 were discussing appropriate ... ahem, female salutation, individually and in plural.
In business discourse a ....ahem, female is refered to as Ms. or Mrs.. But in adult bloggery, where a bit of ankle (or more!) can be exposed salaciously, I feel surnames may be too formal for the situation. The environment is a little more pub, bedroom, and shared shower--with a stranger who doesn't seem like one. I'm contorting sentences to avoid inappropriate use of: girl, lady, woman, women, Miss, Ms., Mrs., honey, bitch, cunt, madame, sweety, dear, and, and ... there's more.
I don't want to commit a horrible social faux pas. What is a good, generic address for a ... ahem, female who I would want to compliment for showing her charms?"

Luka replies:

There are no generic answers, sadly. It all varies according to circumstance.

For example, if, say, you wanted to greet a female blogger who writes informally about intimate matters and shows the occasional hint of cleavage for HNT now and then, you could probably get away with a "love", (Blimey, love, that was a cracking post on fisting!) possibly a "darling", (Adored your piece on butt plugs, darling!) or maybe even a "lady"(Lady, you surely know how to fill a vest.)

If, on the other hand, you were addressing a female blogger who has the words "sex", "positive" and "feminist" on her blog anywhere then you'd be wise to say away from "girlie", "bint", "twinkle" or "baby" and perhaps just stick with "woman".

In addition to the above, in general I would say these terms are more or less ok:


and these are to be avoided:


Although individual preferences do vary and one person's inoffensive "Morning, sexy!" is another person's trigger point for extreme knee in nuts action.

Of course you may well find that the simpler solution is to ask the female in question for her name.

Monday, 12 October 2009

Ask Luka!

Do you have a problem? (Well, obviously you do, or you wouldn't be reading my stupid blog, but you know, an entertaining problem, preferably about sex or a strangely shaped body part.)

Then don't suffer in silence! A problem shared is a problem halved and a post is born.

A reader writes:

"Dear Luka

I have been in a relationship with a lovely woman for five years now. She has two children from a previous marriage and I have a son who has now left home to go to university. I have often asked her to move in with me, but she refuses, saying it would unsettle the children. I understand her concerns, as our lovemaking is prolonged, noisy and often involves various kitchen utensils, but I've assured her I can bite down on an oven mitt or wait until they're out. Surely a loving relationship is a good role model for young people? I've been patient for a long time but I'm beginning to think of moving on if she's not prepared to make a commitment. Tell me, Luka, what colour knickers are you wearing today?"

Luka replies:

"Black, with pink trim."

If you'd like Luka to answer your queries or solve your dilemma please send your bizarre requests to the usual email address and remember to put "I Need Help" in the subject line for priority attention.

Thursday, 8 October 2009

Flesh My Bot

Thank you Fleshbot Fairy for helping my rather silly Audience Participation Sexy Sex Post reach a much wider audience than my usual hardcore posse of Boudoir bandits.

I wonder if all those visitors via Fleshbot thought my post was a genuine attempt at erotica, or if, among the purple prose and lurid linguistics of the sex blogging world, it is indistinguishable from the real deal?

I may never know but I like to imagine.

Sunday, 4 October 2009

Big Bosom Bunk Up - The Sex Post Climax! Now With Audience Participation!

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“To the shops.”

“But you’ve been gone over two weeks.”

“There was a queue.”

“Well you’re here now. Get your kit off and assume the position. We have an eager audience of readers awaiting the next interactive bit of hot love lava action.”

“Right you are.”

He was so understanding. Other men might get miffed if you left them toweling off after a steamy shower sex session, claiming you were just popping out for a packet of Hobnobs and another bucket of lube, and then didn’t come back for a fortnight.

“Did you re-grout these tiles while I was away?”

“I was full of pent up erotic energy. It all had to be channeled somewhere. I even took an industrial sander to the chip fat on the lino – it was a death slide before, you know. And then I fixed the leaky shower head.”

“I am impressed. You know how I love a man who can handle his tool. And my that’s a big one,” I said, idly fingering the contents of his overall pocket.

“If you think that adjustable spanner’s big you should have seen the laser screed when I did the driveway. That got the neighbours’ curtains twitching.”

“Mmmm….you’ve got my curtains twitching.” I slid my hands over his manly chest and gave him a saucy look. His nipples responded to my fingers and I felt his manhood pressing firmly against my thigh. Now I had somewhere to hang my hat, coat and scarf.

“I missed you,” he murmured hotly against my neck. “You are a bad, bad girl to leave me alone for so long.”

“I’m sorry,” I breathed as I kissed him better. “It could have been worse. At least this time you weren’t duck taped to the headboard with only a feather boa around your knob to keep you warm.”

He shuddered at the thought. I made it all up to him. I tickled and trickled kisses down his body, I tasted and teased, lapped and licked, my lips slick with pleasure and pre-cum, my chin as shiny and my satisfaction as complete as if I had devoured a plateful of hot, buttery crumpets. I took him to the brink, I could feel him holding back with every ounce of strength he had, his face contorted in an ecstatic grimace as if he were in the grip of an exquisite toothache.

“Not yet,” I said, pausing in my ministrations. “Wait.” I had to have him inside me. Besides, much as I adore pleasing him with my mouth I was beginning to get jaw sprain and spunk is one of those acquired tastes, like marmite. It’s delicious in tiny quantities but you wouldn’t want to swallow a mouthful of the stuff.

I rummaged in his bathroom cabinet, searching for the extra-large glow-in-the-dark condoms we’d been saving for a special occasion. “Where are the johnnies?” I asked as I routed through the toothpaste, diarrhea medicine and flatulence remedies.

“Behind the bog rolls,” he shouted back, sexily.

“Ah yes.” I returned, triumphant. I straddled him womanfully and swiftly sheathed him. His rampant cock pulsated and glowed like a radioactive salami. I’d never wanted him more. My flaps were all acquiver with excitement and awash with ladyjuice.

Inch by aching inch I lowered myself onto his novelty condomed cock and lost myself in glorious sensation, the rich red scent of lust, the smooth caress of the cries of pleasure, the purple pulse of passion, a wonderful blurring of the self in sensual synesthesia.

We both climaxed noisily and colourfully in perfect unison, because we are so much better at sex than most people.

“That was amazing,” I gasped when I recovered the power of speech.

“Yup. I’m famished. What did you bring back from the shops?”

“Fruit cake. A stottie. Muffins. Assorted foodie items the like of which you may have seen on certain sex and baking sites or Masterchef.”

“No bacon?”

“I’ll pop back out and get some.”

Saturday, 19 September 2009

Audience Participation Antici....pation

I am impressed at the creative and disturbing suggestions that have been made in the comments of my previous post. I shall most certainly endeavour to weave all of these bizarre requests into the concluding installment of Big Bosom Bunk Up.

But not yet.

I am off on an adventure for the next week so you deviant bunch of perverts will just have to wait.

Tuesday, 15 September 2009

Saucy Raunchy Sexy Sex Post, Part Two PLUS Audience Participation

Yes, it's once again time to relax with my amazing erotic storytelling abilities, a glass of wine and a box of tissues.

And now with Added Audience Participation (at the end, so it doesn't interefere with the frenzied wanking.)


"That was amazing," I gasped between breaths, my heart pounding, the sheets and my lover entangled around my legs.

"Yes, " he agreed. "My ears are still ringing and I think I've lost a filling. And my watch."

It had been an ecstatic, noisy, energetic coupling, a hedonistic interlude in an otherwise mundane day. Our bodies were slick with the fluids of love; sweat, semen, ladyjuice, WD40 and Ribena.

"Let's hop in the shower," I suggested, peeling myself off the mattress with a sound much like unfastening velcro. A shared shower is always a sexy idea. All that steam, all that slipperiness, and all in an area the size of your average phone box.

"It's a bit of a tight fit, isn't it?" I mumbled, face squashed against the tiles as I tried to reach around the manly bulk of my man's powerful physique for the soap. "Still, you seem to be enjoying it!"

"That's the loofah."

"Is it? No, leave it where it is."

I straightened up, soap in hand, and ran its slippery surface over his rippling pectorals, sliding lower until I encountered his huge throbbing manhood. How could I have possibly mistaken the loofah for this? His cock was so much bigger, for a start, and so very hard. This man's powers of recovery were truly impressive. He'd already had three enormous orgasms just from giving me oral pleasure and now he was pulsating and primed for more. I considered myself a very lucky girl indeed, until I remembered that I'm incredibly alluring, sexually talented and enduringly moist so, really, it's what I should expect from a lover. Anything less and I'd probably call him a poof and kick him out of bed.

"Take me now," I cried, all in a lather. The bubbles and steam had made me giddy and reckless.

"How?" He had a point. We were crammed so tightly together we were probably having sex in many different ways already. We grappled like two oiled wrestlers for a minute or two. It was highly arousing, as anyone who's tried to catch a greased pig will know.

"I know, I'll raise myself up by hanging onto the top of the shower cubicle like this and then you can- oh. Fucking flimsy shower cubicles."

"At least there's more room now. Let's play Prison Drama," he smiled dropping the soap on the floor. "Pick it up."


Audience Participation Bit: Super-hot anal action ahoy! But what key words or phrases would you like to see in the next installment? What would enhance your one-handed reading pleasure? Don't be shy, let it fly. Fill my box with your hot vocabulary and I shall incorporate it into a Fleshbot/Sugasm/Guild of Erotic Writers/Sex Blogger of the Year award-winning post.

Sunday, 13 September 2009

Saucy Raunchy Sexy Sex Post

This week I am delighted to present a preview of my new erotic memoir "Big Bosom Bunk Up". I shall be publishing this much-admired and highly acclaimed piece of literate smut in installments as it is just too sexy to post all in one go. Your seats will be ruined. This gives you a chance to fetch a towel.


"Strip," he growled, his manly lip curling in anticipation, his manly chest chair curling in perspiration.

His powerful physique stood silhouetted against the sunshine streaming through the window of the Boudoir, broad shouldered, narrow hipped and with an erection you could hang your anorak on. I was so excited I could barely finish my tea.

Under his unwavering gaze I began to unfasten my cardigan, my eyes never leaving his as I wrestled with those oversized buttons. Jauntily I flung the garment aside, knocking over a glass of water and the bedside lamp in the process, and posed panting in my amply filled vest. It was a deeply erotic moment and obviously testing the resolve of my eager companion. I could sense his fingers itching to tug the vest top over my head as I seductively struggled with it, arms in the air, face obscured, and could almost feel his steel will pressing upon me as my exposed bosoms jiggled temptingly with my efforts. "There," I gasped, as I finally emerged, triumphant. "Just the jeans to go!"

He could hold back no longer. With an exultant cry of "For fuck's sake!" he pounced upon my feminine form and practically tore the fabric from my body. There was a slight delay at the shoes, which should have been taken off first, really, but he soon made short work of those, flinging them to the far corners of the room, startling the cat.

"Oh," he breathed as he masterfully parted my knees and knelt between them. "What a gorgeous view. Like a fluffy black cloud over a marshmallow mountain, and twin peaks beyond. I shall have to explore."

"Oh my," I gasped as he began his ascent, my mind whirling with too many double entendres to articulate. I could wax lyrical on protective equipment, helmets, getting up and staying up, falling into crevices, that sort of thing, but sensation was overtaking speech. "There, yes, oh god, there!" I eloquently cried as he found his first fingerholds. "Avalanche!"


Check back soon for the next installment, which features "throbbing", "pulsating" and possibly "spurting". Oh, and "moist".

Monday, 7 September 2009

Bonkers Blogger Found in Cat Flap

"Luka had her head up my cat flap!" a fellow blogger sensationally claimed last night.

Boudoir Babe Luka, 35, is well known for her sporadic outbursts of filth and bad poetry but has caused concern of late by her lengthy absences and depressive posts.


"I knew she'd been a bit down lately," said Mystery Blogger X, who prefers to remain anonymous. "Things have been tough for Luka for a while now but we all thought she'd just have a kebab and a bottle of Pinot Grigio, do some drunken sweary blogging and be right as rain in the morning. It usually works a treat.


"I think her cat dying just pushed her over the edge. We'd find her cradling tins of cat food in the pet food aisle in the supermarket. Then we found her trying to knit a replacement cat out of the fur she'd saved from the hoover bag. When I tried to talk to her about it she chased me round the room with the crevice nozzle. That should have alerted us that there might be a problem. But then again she's always been quirky."


Mystery Blogger X went on to describe how Luka became increasingly distanced from reality. "She started to claim to be able to talk to cats and even said she was writing a novel dictated by the stray tom who lives in her wood shed. I read a bit of it while she was in the loo and it was dreadful, just page after page of vole dismemberment scenes and badly faked paw prints.

When she returned she tried to sit in my lap and rub her head on my chin. I was flattered, and a little bit aroused, but I knew this wasn't right. I knew she'd gone proper mental."


Mystery Blogger X's fears were confirmed when she found Luka stuck in her cat flap later that evening. "I woke up in the middle of the night and went downstairs to get a drink of water. I heard this strange noise, a sort of strangulated yowling. It was coming from the back door and when I went to look I saw Luka with her head stuck through my cat flap. I think she was after the bowl of cat crunchies I keep in the kitchen. After the fire brigade cut her free she took off across the lawn and attempted to leap over the fence."


Mystery Blogger X shook her head, sadly. "It's not easy watching an overweight woman in a leotard trying to lick her own butt while lying in the remains of your garden fence. Not without laughing anyway.

"I just hope she gets the help she needs now. It's sad that she's had to be taken into care but I couldn't keep letting her crap in the flowerbeds."

Luka remains under sedation in the secure wing of the Fussy Pussy Cats Home. Visiting hours are from 7 to 7.15pm and no catnip allowed.


Wednesday, 2 September 2009

Normal Service Has Been Lost

My apologies. I can't do barbed or funny or even mildly twat-like at the moment.

I can't be arsed to bang on about it here, because it's A. depressing and B. of no interest to the majority of casual passersby.

Normal service will be resumed when I am happy again.

Monday, 17 August 2009


I have written before on my distaste for sex toys which have, bizarrely, been designed to look like cute animals. It's just not right.
Today it occurred to me that these infantilised, neutered noncocks probably only appeal to those women who also prefer their sanitary products to look like sweets. For some individuals there is obviously a great deal of potential humiliation in having a product in your possession which looks like it might be applied to a personal use. (This is why people knit those strange toilet roll covers, I suppose. How on earth do they cope with the actual toilet itself, I wonder, just sitting there unshrouded, inviting and clearly awaiting a warm arse?)

There are women out there agonising over how to discreetly hide their jam rag when popping to the bathroom while their male counterparts quite happily shout their requirements for more bog paper from the smallest room in the house for all to hear. Men are a lot more comfortable with their bodily functions. They announce their toilet intentions, march off with adequate reading material and proudly warn you not to go back in there for ten minutes.

Sadly this is not always a two way street. I had a neighbour once who hid her sanitary towels in the cupboard uder the sink as her husband couldn't bear to see them in the bathroom. I suggested she start keeping the loo roll in the same place, as if the thought of a bit of red ruining those pristine white bundles of cotton was distressing, how on earth could anyone be expected to cope with the trauma of what happens to to the toilet paper?

I so thankful that I am not afraid of my body, its needs and functions. I am sometimes surprised by it, but we mostly amble along together in a comfortable alliance. I don't mind people knowing I am a woman and therefore have a vagina. It's ok if they see my period paraphernalia in the bathroom. If I want to wriggle around on a piece of vibrating silicon for pleasure I would prefer it not to look like a teddy bear, dolphin, rabbit or kitten. I am not a little girl misusing the contents of the dollhouse, I am a woman and I like a nice phallus.

What's wrong with that?

Monday, 10 August 2009

In the Company of Pooves

Heterosexual men are so difficult to have as friends.

There is always - always - the spectre of sexual involvement hanging over friendships with the opposite sex. While it is fun to flirt and the frisson of possibility can be most pleasurable, it can also become tiring and, in extreme cases, embarrassing, damaging and unsightly.

This is just one of the many reasons I so enjoy my time in the company of pooves. My friends are not of the high camp variety. Well, maybe one or two have their moments. But in general they tend to ride motorcycles, have beards and drink beer. They love good food, good ale and travelling. When they travel to see me I get to enjoy all the things I like about being with men - motorcycles, beards, beer, to name a few - without any sexual undercurrents. Well, none eddying in my direction anyway.

They spoil me rotten, bringing me fine wines, cooking me fine food, entertaining me with excellent conversation and bestowing all the hugs and kisses I could wish for. It's like an endless courtship, these tactile, attentive things that heterosexual men tend to stop doing once they've nobbed you a few times.

I have spent the past few days in the company of my pooves. I am feeling much improved for it.

Monday, 3 August 2009

Sex Blogger Sex Scandal Sex Exclusive

"I was molested by Top International Sex Blogger" reveals Boudoir Babe.

Popular online cynic and sex blog satirist Luka has been molested while drinking coffee with a well known sex blogger, it was revealed last night.

"After months of pestering I finally agreed to meet up for coffee," explained curvaceous Luka, 32. "I thought Starbucks would be suitably public and unerotic. I had consistently made it clear that my intentions were purely platonic.


"At first it all seemed to be going well. He was friendly, courteous, well dressed and fragrant. He paid for the drinks and made charming small talk. Then he offered me a muffin, I said I wasn't sure I could manage anything too big, and the next thing I knew he had his hand on my knee and I dropped my spoon. It was so unexpected."


Luka bravely continued to describe her ordeal. "His hand was large and muscular, with hairy knuckles, and it completely enclosed my feminine kneecap, squeezing and manipulating my smooth, vulnerable girl skin, while he told me he was sure I could find room for a little something. I couldn't believe it. This was happening in full view of the other customers but nobody said a word. I had to empty my Chocca Mocha Latte into his lap and run away."


Luka continued with a warning to others: "I am sure there are some women out there who welcome such sordid shenanigans and would be both pleased and flattered to have such a renowned sex blogger saucing them up in Starbucks but frankly I'm not one of them. I would advise your readers to take care when accepting apparently harmless invitations to share a hot drink. All too often it's just a poorly disguised ruse for a caffeine fuelled lust frenzy."


Her disturbing experience has not discouraged Luka from making online friends, however. "Next week," she says, "I am meeting a very well established knitting blogger for sushi and a full body hot oil massage in the Chiswick Travel Inn."

Monday, 27 July 2009


I won't be a victim of sexual fashion
I don't want to follow the style of the crowd
I'm able to demonstrate suitable passion
In spite of pubes that would make Chewbacca proud

I don't want to be fucked in my raddled old arse
My fanny won't squirt jets of cum in the air
A threesome? An orgy? They're a surburban farce
Enjoyed the most by those who simply weren't there

There's a lot to be said for being out of style
(No razor rash, sore ring, no sheets to get dry!)
A sexual maverick, a Fleshbot exile
It's not fashionable but it's well worth a try

Monday, 20 July 2009

You Know He's Over You When...

  • He's put the gifts you've bought him on ebay
  • He's told his friends to tell you he's dead
  • You've had one text from him in the last six months and that was almost certainly in error as it appears to be for someone named Ken
  • He moves house without telling you
  • Given the choice between fuddle-duddling with your wibbly-wobblies or creosoting the shed, he chooses the shed
  • You spot his new advert on a popular find-a-social-inadequate-and-fuck-them website
  • He has a new answerphone message that invites callers to speak after the beep, unless they are you, in which case you can fuck off
  • He forgets your birthday
  • He forgets your name
  • You spot him leaving the church with a woman in a big white dress

Wednesday, 15 July 2009

You Know You're Over Him When...

  • You realise the special song you used to share is actually crap
  • You've used his old letters to line the cat litter tray
  • You no longer brood, darkly. The most you can summon, should you think of him at all, is a dismissive "twat"
  • You've deleted his name from your phone
  • You've deleted his emails
  • You've deleted all his pictures
  • Where you had his name tattooed as a gesture of love you have now added "is a twat"
  • You can't think of his sex face without laughing
  • You've cut your hair short
  • You've grown your pubes long
  • You haven't checked your phone for messages all day
  • The thought of not seeing him again fills you with relief
  • You consider telling him what a colossal twat he is but really can't be arsed
  • You so want him to find happiness elsewhere you buy him an online dating membership
  • You have difficulty recalling his face
  • You have trouble remembering his name

Have I missed anything?

Thursday, 2 July 2009

All Day Confidence and a Complimentary Wet Wipe

Since no fucker's been astute enough to offer me a publishing deal I have been forced to find other avenues to exploit my online presence. Having studied the market and rejecting several, frankly stupid, ideas I have decided to launch my own range of feminine hygiene products.

The Luka Garden Gusset range is no average jam rag I can tell you. Most fanny mats end up going into landfill and contain nasty bleaching chemicals and plastic to boot.

My environmentally friendly versions are made from recycled cotton nighties filled with super-absorbent compost and scented with real lavender. Menstrual blood contains many nutrients and minerals which make wonderful fertiliser, so instead of going into the bin these little beauties can be recycled as growbags for your tomatoes. Or wardrobe fresheners, if you don't mind running them under the tap for a bit first.

You can wear one with absolute confidence whether you're rollerblading in your white trousers or sitting on the sofa eating chocolate Hobnobs in a curry stained t-shirt and grey knickers. They won't let you down. Well, they might. But you can relax in the knowledge that you are protecting the planet whilst protecting your soft furnishings.

Luka Garden Gusset Towels come in a range of sizes to suit every woman. Choose from Light Flow, Steady Stream, Raging River or Torrent.

Order now and I'll chuck in a FREE wet wipe to smear things about a bit give you all day freshness.

But don't just take my word for it - here's a completely genuine review from a satisfied customer:

"Usually when I'm on the blob I just sit around the house feeling fat and spotty, crying and eating crisps. Then I tried a Luka Garden Gusset towel and it changed my life. I experienced the kind of freedom that only those who have a small tomato plant germinating in their underwear can fully appreciate. No more daytime telly and a hot water bottle for me when I'm up on blocks - now I play tennis, go to important meetings, snorkel and shave my armpits. Thank you Luka for the gift of Garden Gusset!"

Monday, 29 June 2009

Fowl Play

It is the same old story.

Girl meets interesting new blog.

Girl reads blog daily and enjoys it.

Blogger gets publishing deal and turns into a chicken.

"Book book book book book book book." Strut. Crow. "Book! Book book."

It is intensely irritating. The kind of posts which attracted readers in the first the place are now only to be found in the archives, entirely replaced by self promotion and shameless hawking for trade. Fuck right off, I say. I'm not giving some online tosser £12.99 to read their recycled dross when they can't even give me the time of day because they're too busy schmoozing the "A-list" bloggers who also have publishing deals. (Mind you, that said, I don't even give my favourite established authors my hard-earned £12.99, being a massive fan of the public library and second hand book shop. Still, it's fun to be offensive, so fuck off, blog book authors I say, again.)

Maybe it's just me though. Tell me, have you ever purchased a blogger book?

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Salute to the Sun

It's been a demanding few weeks, hence my lack of online presence.

I can't share all my dramas and woes as that would reveal far too much about Who I Really Am, and that would never do. Suffice it to say that a couple of events have had me doubting my judgement and calling myself several kinds of fool. It's enough to make a woman tense and irritable.

Wine has helped, of course. I have eaten too many crisps though and an unfeasibly large amount of chocolate. These are the oral pleasures I habitually turn to when in need of comfort, and I really shouldn't since comfort is so readily available from many other, less lardy, sources.

Exploring these alternative avenues led me to my first ever yoga session earlier today. Bearing in mind I am a complete beginner, I can look back at my attempts to contort my body into new and interesting positions and say, with some pride, that I am absolutely terrible at yoga. I spent a great deal of time giggling uncontrollably though, which I am sure does a body just as much good as being able to get your big toe up your own ringpiece.

Tomorrow I shall try modern dance.

Tuesday, 16 June 2009

T(wittering) On

Sometimes it can be useful to update a group of people at once on something important, useful or entertaining. I can see how the ability to send an informative text or short online message to the world at large could be worthwhile.

I can even see the psychological benefits of always having someone to share your news with, to celebrate or commiserate accordingly.

Yet when I go to my Twitter page I am bombarded, swamped with the minutiae of other people's lives.

The level of information deemed worthy of transmitting to the planet at large is staggering in the depth and breadth of its tedium. Tweets about breakfast, tweets about the weather, tweets about other tweets. This is the kind of excessive detail I would find arse-numbingly dull from my nearest and dearest and I actually give a fuck about what they're up to. If my daughter, husband, best friend or mother phoned me up every five minutes to tell me "I'm having my first coffee of the day", "I fancy some toast" or ""I might buy some trousers" I would have to have them sedated. It's just not normal.

Who are these incessant babblers of crap and why do they spend so much time on Twitter? It's not that they don't have anything else to be getting on with, surely? Many of them appear to have jobs. Jobs which involve sending out a message on their caffeine intake, what they fancy for tea tonight and how incredibly stressed and busy they are at work today every three minutes. Which is odd because when I am at work I simply don't have the time for this sort of obsessive compulsive behaviour, even if I did happen to have the inclination.

There are one or two Tweets of Interest. Links I would have missed if someone else hadn't flagged them up. The occasional snippet of genuine interest. Most of it, however, is the kind of stuff you'd only pretend to be interested in if you were humouring someone (eg. the nodding and "uh-hum"ing one does when engaged in a one sided telephone conversation with an elderly relative) or hoping for a shag (eg. the nodding and "uh-hum"ing one does when stood at a bar with a talkative drunk who, though boring, has big tits and may well be up for it).

Why do I still bother with it then, if I hate it so much? Fuck knows. Much like blogging I just seem to wander in now and then, hurl a bit of abuse and stagger out again. I shake my fist at the television too.

Monday, 8 June 2009

Hot Naked Icon Action

Look at those little piggies. Not even a lick of nail polish to hide their brazen nudity. It's positively indecent. I shall take them away and cover them up with leather, buckles and studs immediately.

Next week: Luka exposes a burly forearm.

Wednesday, 3 June 2009


Ealier today I received an email from a very nice anti-plagiarism crusader informing me that some of my posts were being cut and pasted onto some dreadful godforsaken blog on the find-a-social-incompetent-and-shag-them site Adult FriendFinder. Apparently someone calling themselves FoxyNE was busy pillaging sex blog sites far and wide and posting their contents as her own.

I was somewhat surprised to learn my words had been looted too, as, to be frank, I would have thought that you'd want to post something sexually stimulating or alluring on AFF. I mostly babble crap and stagger around being offensive. It's a bit of a poor do if you haven't the wit to think of saying "sex bloggers are silly" or "you're a twat" for yourself.

So, off I went to check out the offending post for myself but, of course, I wasn't able to view it unless I became a member. So I did just that. Pulsating with righteous indignation I became a huge, throbbing member, thrusting into the dank ringpiece of the internet that is AFF blogs.

Once signed up I immediately tracked down the post in question and composed a friendly little heads-up comment, thusly:

"Foxy, you are a terrible and unrepentant plagiarist. You have stolen this almost verbatim from the post Great Expectations on the most excellent blog Barbed Wire Boudoir. I am reliably informed that this is not the first time you have done so, nor is this the only blog you have ransacked for material to pad out your own pathetic attempts to string an original sentence together.

Rest assured this will be flagged up to you, your handful of readers and the site admins at AFF each and every time you show yourself up in this tawdry manner. Try a little self respect for heaven’s sake, possibly try an evening class or two on writing. Maybe get a life so you can write about your own instead of leeching from your betters, you sad, sorry individual."

I hit send and saw that my comment was awaiting blog owner approval. I did not hold my breath. However, a short while later the entire post was deleted, so score one to Kick Arse Luka. There are still a plethora of plagiarised posts which have not been deleted however, and much as I may lampoon sex bloggers I do not like to see them being ripped off. They spend a lot of time and effort thinking up new ways of saying "he put his willy in me and it did feel good and I did squirt my love jam up his curtains" and for someone else to take that hard work, format it in lurid pink, cover it in nausea inducing glittery icons, put it on a sex site and wait for the accolades from "SuperDong of Dorking" to then trickle in is just galling in the extreme.

Readers and fellow bloggers alike I implore you, whenever you encounter plagiarism of this sort do flag it up and do please join me in being a total pain in the rump for such ripoff merchants. Together we can't actually stamp this practice out at all, but we can make the occasional plagiaristic fantasist stop for a moment, readjust their wig and their wife's knickers as they type in the darkened living room, curtains drawn against prying eyes, and think "fuck, I've been rumbled."

It is a lost cause, but a fun one to play.

Friday, 29 May 2009

The Joy of Flirtation

I do like a flirt.

The very best kind of flirting leaves me giddy and a little silly, as if I had just necked a bottle of champagne. Only with less burping. Mostly.

Oh, a quality flirt is an uncommon treat. I savour them when they occur. I enjoy each parry and thrust of conversation, the pleasurable jolt of eye contact. I savour every delicious moment of understanding.

A skilfull flirtation is like a Funsize relationship. All that promise and possibility condensed into a five minute phone call or chance encounter in the newsagents, and with none of the bad bits. No regrets or recriminations, no drama, you just smile and move on to the rest of your day.

I like a good flirt. Bad flirts, on the other hand, are, at best, like being slobbered on by an over-exuberant bloodhound and, at worst, like being chatted up by Dirty Bert the comedy perve. A clumsy attempt at flirtation is just awkward and embarrassing for all concerned.

So, tell me. When did you last enjoy a really good flirt?

Tuesday, 26 May 2009


When being accused of not caring
I smile and say "Thank you for sharing.
Feedback such as yours
One simply ignores
Or I'd never be funny or daring.

Some take candour for lack of concern
The truth hurts but it ensures we learn
I don't deal in fluff
The love here is tough
But it's real, as the smart ones discern.