Wednesday, 29 December 2010

The Charon QC Blogging & Drinking for BIG SOCIETY Award

As I sit here sipping my not-quite-chilled-enough, not-really-my-favourite Chardonnay because I finished all the Pinot Grigio unexpectedly early, I gaze upon my latest award with a sense of completely unearned pride.

Do go and visit the entertainingly bonkers, yet informative and insightful, Charon QC if you fancy an award of your own to enhance those parts of your blog which look somewhat forlorn and neglected. It covers those stubborn understains that you just can't shift from velvet upholstery and flock wallpaper beautifully.

I am most grateful for this pleasingly relevant and appropriate award as it is far time my efforts in this area were acknowledged and rewarded. The composition of my hilarious ditties, my groundbreaking posts and photos of me in my underwear simply wouldn't occur without the ingestion of several bottles of vino blanc on a regular basis.

Also, no sex bloggers like me any more and none of them will give me an award.

Tuesday, 21 December 2010

Luka's Christmas Present

As you can see, I have spared no amount of time or expense in creating a wonderfully festive blog post for you, my loyal reader.

It's that time of year again when I like to pause a while and take stock of the year just passed and the future unspooling before me.

Then I like to have a drink or two to take the edge off it all.

Live in the present, that's my advice. It is the only way to be happy. Let the past rest easy in its grave and future lie cocooned in its womb. This, after all, is why Christmas, Yuletide, the Mid-Winter Solstice is such an important, longstanding part of our culture. You need one day out of the year to just enjoy the moment. To eat, drink and be merry and not give a toss that tomorrow you'll be fat, hungover and broke. A day of not dwelling on the consequences of eating an entire tin of Quality Street nor remembering what happened last time, just going for it in the spirit of immediacy. This is the real joy of Christmas, I feel.

So, raise your glass in a toast to the here and now. Merry Christmas you lot!

Monday, 18 October 2010

The Recalcitrant Recluse

I wasn't going to do Halloween this year.

I can't tell you what's been going on in my Real Life(tm) because I made such a big la-la fuss about not doing so earlier this year. Damn.

Anyway, things have been such that I haven't spent much time in the Boudoir (you may or may not have noticed) and I decided not to hold my annual Halloween Party, the reasons for both being that I have been so very preoccupied elsewhere.

Then friends began to ask what the plan was for Halloween this year and I said maybe I'd do something. Nothing big and elaborate. I might go as far as buying a pumpkin and a bag of Haribo Horror Mix. Maybe.

Then I found myself in a shop, holding a little novelty Halloween top hat in my hand. It had a skull emblem and some black netting. I tried it on. It sat at a jaunty angle among my curls and immediately made me smile.

From there it was one short step to going down the whole Wicked Lady route and now I have a frock coat, thigh boots, a pistol and a riding crop. And a jaunty little hat.

And now I find myself hosting a Gothic dinner party and will have to accommodate lots of people after all.

I am rubbish at remaining a recluse.

Sunday, 8 August 2010

Reasons to be Cheerful

While my real life has been eventful, stressful and a great big steaming pile of donkey doo lately there are many ways in which things could be worse. I am grateful for my good health, good looks and the continued well-being of my loved ones. I am also glad that:
  1. My friends are so clever. But then I wouldn't befriend a dullard.
  2. Pear cider is on special offer at the moment.
  3. I still have all my shoes.
  4. I have an emergency Cadbury's Flake in the kitchen cupboard.
  5. I still find a lot to laugh about, every day.
  6. I do not have a pet hair allergy.
  7. I have tomorrow off.
  8. I live when and where I do.
  9. The Shawshank Redemption is such a good film.
  10. Cats are quite small.
What would you add to the list?

Monday, 26 July 2010

Tumbleweed

Things have been quiet online because things have been anything but in real life.

These are hard times and I have to commit my energies to fighting offline battles rather than on virtual bad poetry, dodgy photos of my latest bra and observations on the silliness of sex blogging.

I'll be back.

Friday, 2 July 2010

A Poem About Deeply Unattractive People

They say beauty is only skin deep
But you're ugly deep down to the core
You're grotesque to the bone
And that's why you're alone
Your ego has become an eyesore

It's not that you're too hard on the eye
In good light you are passably fair
But what really detracts
Are your self serving acts
When your unlovely soul is laid bare

You can change your appearance it's true
But you can't hide the fact you're a cock
In cross sectional view
It goes all the way through
Like a drab stick of repugnant rock

Thursday, 24 June 2010

Have No Trousers

Happy Have No Trousers Day!

In response to the poll in the post below I am giving the punters what they want. As you may correctly have guessed I shall post all three options and spread them out a bit in a shameless bid to pad my material for at least a week.

So, to those who voted for erotic photos I apologise and instead present this poorly shot mobile phone image of me before putting on some trousers and going to work.
The above is what the burlyesque movement is all about. A lacy bra, a bellyful of good stuff and thighs that can crack coconuts. If only I were holding a sack of nutty slack instead of a mobile phone, or maybe a squalling toddler on each meaty hip. Still, I did my best to capture the essence of burlyesque in the minutes I could spare from my busy day. So many people to please, only one Luka.

Now I must away to finish honing my literary gems for your delectation and delight.

(What rhymes with cock-knocker?)

Monday, 21 June 2010

Happy Blogoversary

The Boudoir sprang, fully formed and magnificent, from my mental loins 3 years ago tomorrow!

The world of sex blogging didn't know what had hit it. It didn't even notice what had hit it for the most part. I am like an annoying gnat whining around the steaming nether parts of a giant beast.

I may post something special to celebrate my longevity in this fleeting online world.

Choose from the following options:
  • Erotic photos of your glamorous hostess
  • An epic poem about the deeply unattractive
  • A disturbingly arousing short story

Cast your votes now!

Monday, 14 June 2010

Burlyesque

It's all the rage these days, burlesque.

Everywhere you look there are workshops, classes, performances, news articles and clothing companies all jumping onto the burlesque bandwagon. Burlesque enables women to embrace their femininity, sensuality and sexuality in a positive, empowering way, apparently. It isn't just about getting pissed with your girlfriends, putting on several layers of marabou feathers and tightly winched elastic and then taking them all off again while jiggling around on the village hall stage with your tits out. That's just a common misconception based on most amateur burlesque acts seen on YouTube or at fringe festivals.

The reason burlesque is on my mind is that I received a special online offer earlier today, on pasties. I was very excited until I realised this wasn't a Greggs deal on meat and potato pastry products. It has nothing to do with pies at all. No, these pasties are little sticky-on tasseled, sequined things that you put on your nipples to entertain and delight. Like these:

Now, I have a problem here. I have made enquiries and they just don't make pasties that fit the larger-nippled woman. Those dinky little fairy hats wouldn't cover my extensive areolae. If I am to take up burlesque I am going to have to make my own out of a couple of paper plates and some glitter glue.

It is much the same story with the rest of the burlesque attire. If you are a wasp-waisted Dita Von Teese type you'll have no problem finding gorgeous retro-style corsetry. If you are a beer-bellied Luka Van Driver type you may find it more of a quest.

Still, I am nothing if not resourceful.. Therefore, undaunted, I give you a whole new art form: burlyesque.

It is much like burlesque but is exclusively performed by burly women. Or men. I am all for equality. All you need is a willingness to embrace your sexuality, some sequins, a feather boa and the ability to heft a hundredweight bag of coal while taking your tights off. The first burlyesque workshop will be held in the basement of the Boudoir next Tuesday 7pm. Bring your own pasties. (Pies accepted).

Thursday, 10 June 2010

My Blog Rocks While Others Suck Cocks

Top ten reasons why I am great and other bloggers (looks pointedly in certain directions) are shite:
  1. I have no advertising
  2. I have no Donate button
  3. I don't post YouTube videos in lieu of original content
  4. I don't post obscene or shocking images in lieu of good writing
  5. I don't do reviews of sex toys, sandwich toasters or other blogger's terrible books
  6. I don't treat my readers like a witless bunch of dullards who will accept any old shit and stump up any amount of cash because they don't want to be the first to say "but the Emperor's naked!"
  7. I don't take my blog seriously
  8. I am not looking for a book deal
  9. I won't schmooze those I think can promote my blog/increase my traffic/get me a book deal and ignore everyone else
  10. I am very funny and attractive

Sunday, 6 June 2010

Outing the In Crowd

Elsewhere on the net arguments continue as to whether there is an In Crowd in sex blogging. There is some debate over the existence of cliques and certain territorial markings.

I don't profess to be clued into exactly what the A-list sex bloggers are bitching about between themselves this time but I can clear up any ambiguity for them.

Yes, of course there are cliques. To deny this or to feign incredulity ("where is this In Crowd of which you speak?") is disingenuous to say the least. We all have people we chum up with, those whose company - virtual or otherwise - we prefer over others. Sex bloggers are no different. To pretend you are somehow devoid of the same characteristics that define the rest of the human race is pushing it a bit.

So, yes. There is an In Crowd. Though for those sex bloggers who like to fuddle-duddle with each others wibbly-wobblies and then write about it afterwards it's more of an In-Out, In-Out Shake-it-all-About Crowd.

Next Week: Sex positive feminist blogging - is it as much of a joyless, dry wank as it sounds?

Tuesday, 1 June 2010

Keeping it Real

I have been blogging here, in the Boudoir, for a goodly while now. Years, even.

I have teased you with glimpses of my wobbly parts, my mad professor hair and snaggle-toothed smile.

I have entertained you with my big and clever swearing.

I have made you laugh with my well-turned phrases and comedy cucumber.

I have left you cold with my poetry.

Yet I have never let you see the real me.

And I never will.

Yes, rest assured that in a virtual world where every other anonymous blogger seems to be throwing aside their pseudonyms and joyfully exposing themselves you can rely on this one to keep her realistic parts under wraps.

Bloggers across the net are discarding their nom de plumes and embracing the fact that they can now write about their real lives, their actual friends and family, without giving the game away. It's like the current appetite for reality TV, for gossip magazines, for all the mundane and humdrum details of people's lives to be laid bare and discussed endlessly. It's undeniably real and undeniably dreary. I don't want to watch some pot-bellied oaf scratching his arse on reality TV. I want to watch a bloody good drama where beautiful women do terrible things to handsome men. Or something. I want escapism, sequins and a soft focus lens. If I want reality I'll close the laptop.

With that in mind, and assuming there are others like me, I will be residing in the Boudoir, and resisting the urge to witter on about my career aspirations or family escapades, for the forseeable future. I may post occasionally about my cat but other than that I'll try to keep it unreal.


Wednesday, 26 May 2010

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

...CyberSex
  1. While many people believe that typing smut one-handed to an online acquaintance does not count as infidelity the truth is it can lead to marital discord and genital trauma, especially if you forget to erase your chat history before your partner returns from the shops.
  2. In the days before webcam technology and high speed broadband the concept of just waggling your bits on camera until they went off seemed a far distant futuristic fantasy. Early cybersex was very much like early computer games - entirely text-based and taking all night to plough through. This was not altogether a bad thing as it meant only the literate could indulge and those unable to string a coherent sentence together were left to languish in online libido limbo until Twitter was invented.
  3. Although widely regarded as a completely safe sex activity, cybersex can lead to soreness, irritation and copious discharge.
  4. Never assume cybersex is a private act. Transcripts of your steamy exchange with Well_Hung_Studmuffin69 may well crop up on various social networking sites or provide valuable blog-fodder.
  5. The most commonly used word in cybersex exchanges is "yes". The most commonly used non-word is "mmmm".
  6. The least commonly used phrase is "no". The least commonly used non-word is "wheeeee".
  7. The most commonly used opening line for those initiating cybersex is "what are you wearing?" The most successful opening line, however, is "I have just paid £20 into your Paypal account. Now get your kit off".
  8. The most annoying question in cybersex is "what do you want me to do now?" or any variation thereof. The answer is always going to be "fuck off", "pay £20 into my Paypal account", or "develop some way of allowing me to zap just enough volts through your keyboard when you type such inane drivel to leave you essentially unharmed but with terribly soiled trackie bottoms."
  9. While cybersex can involve two or more participants it is still just elaborate wanking.
  10. Spodging into a sock while watching middle aged sex bloggers overseas wobbling their breasts about on cam does not mean you have lost your virginity. Only your dignity. And that £20.

Thursday, 20 May 2010

The Public Decides - THIS is your Favourite Blog

"What's that," you cry?

"My favourite blog? I never fucking voted for you."

Well, I respond, as anyone who has followed the British General Election malarky over the past few weeks will know, you don't always get what you voted for. You may prefer some other, well-written, informative blog altogether. You may even have voted for them. But the fact is, it didn't count and I have been officially notified that this blog, the Barbed Wire Boudoir, is, in fact, your favourite blog.

So you're stuck with it. I have been awarded an award and now I am giddy with power.

This is it:

I know.

It not only makes your eyes bleed but "favourite" is spelt wrong. It is fugly. But it was handed to me with great affection and sticky fingers by Curvaceous Dee so I will put it on the virtual mantelpiece of the Boudoir until such time as I accidentally dust it too vigorously and it meets with an untimely end on the flagstones below.

Thanks, Dee, I'm glad this is your favourite blog and I am quite sure you speak for everybody.

As usual there is an expectation with this award, a caveat, a bit of smallprint. I'm supposed to do the following:
  • Post the award on my journal. (Done.)
  • Post a video of yourself playing your favourite instrument, a picture of a pet or a long post about your favourite book. (If only I still had that video of me playing the pink oboe! I couldn't get much of a tune out of it but my fingerwork was impressive.)
  • Choose some more people you think deserve the award. (Well, they might deserve it, but does anyone really want it? I have to say I was thrilled to see Dee had tagged me, purely because I had fuck all else to blog about this week and this was an effortless fix. I'll post a pic and think about it.)
Me and some pets.

Ok, I've thought about it. I pass on this beautiful award to Carnalis because she is a bit mad, has a great arse and hers is truly one of my favourite blogs, Sulpicia as she is a bit mad and the bright colours of the award may trigger some spectacular word association and Walker who I find entertaining even when he's just describing a walk to the shops. And is a bit mad.

Saturday, 8 May 2010

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

...Sex Blogging
  1. Despite the proliferation of sex-themed blogs on the net these are the work of just 5 sex bloggers, which is the sex blogging community in its entirety.
  2. The reason people believe there are so many more sex bloggers than this is because these 5 bloggers are in constant flux, closing blogs, re-opening them, changing their names, changing their partners, changing their preferences, starting new lists, new communities, closing them again, getting exposed and then reinventing themselves and beginning the cycle anew.
  3. Sex bloggers do not have as much sex as you might think. Their sexual encounters mainly consist of photographing their own body parts, masturbating and writing pornographic emails to other sex bloggers.
  4. When a sex blogger does have sex it is nearly always with another sex blogger. This provides valuable material for both parties. With care they can stretch the tale of a quick lunch-hour seeing-to in a Travelodge over 4 or 5 posts and blogging the inevitable falling-out, getting back together and splitting up again can be spread over a further few 6 weeks.
  5. The first sex blogger posted under the name of Peachy Keen on the popular blog "I'm a Happy Hooker - the sensual exploits of a girl on the game" in 1994. Peachy went on to build up a huge fanbase, had several books published and a mini-series made for TV before being exposed as Derek Dirtbox, a 56 year old mechanic from Dagenham.
  6. Sex bloggers have more self-awarded award systems than any other blogging group.
  7. The most comments ever received on a sex blog post was a staggering 5067 on an entry called "Fuck Me, I'm a Rogue" - a fascinating insight into why the author only shags fit birds (no fat chicks) - on the popular blog "Caddish Cunt". Of those 5067 comments 5065 were from females sending their overwhelming approval and damp underwear to Caddish Cunt. The remaining 2 were less approving and from fat chicks.
  8. On average sex bloggers start posting about non-sex-related items after just 2 months. The only bloggers who can post relentlessly on just one topic are special individuals who carry notebooks and find it hard to maintain conversations at parties.
  9. The most earnest sex bloggers are those who label themselves as sex positive and educational. They write very long, worthy posts and engage in intellectual debate about feminism and sex workers. Their blogs still have lots of pictures of tits and arse though, so you can still have a wank.
  10. Despite the number of adverts, promotions and outright pleas for cash found on most sex blogs, sex blogging is not a good way to make a living. All 5 sex bloggers are forced to supplement their incomes by dancing for pennies outside PC World or giving handjobs to sailors. They make it sound good when they blog about it later but it's no way to live.

Friday, 30 April 2010

Carry On Shopping

He was an older gentleman in a tweed jacket, tall and with an impeccably groomed beard. He looked very respectable.

His shopping trolley was blocking the end of the aisle in the supermarket and he gallantly moved aside and waved me through. I continued on my way, he on his.

Then, of course, we met again on the next aisle. We were now stuck in that situation where you are travelling one way round the shop and they are travelling the other, which means your paths cross every time you enter the next aisle. This can cause a degree of social discomfort when it occurs with someone you know. After the first delighted greeting and bit of chit-chat you both go on your way and then see each other again by the loo rolls, then again by the frozen goods and yet again by the wines and spirits. Each time you meet you have to give a little greeting, a smile, a nod - something. Eventually you both start to pretend you haven't seen each other as it is all so tiring.

In this instance I did not know the gentleman in question, but now we had made social contact of a sort we were in that position of having to acknowledge the other. We smiled and pushed on.

I spent some time in the world cuisine section choosing what to have for dinner. After due consideration I put a jar of black bean sauce in the trolley and headed for the next aisle. I instantly encountered Mr Tweed-Jacket coming the other way.

"Ah," he said with pleasure. "Here's that lovely-looking woman again."

What a nice man, I thought to myself.

"Yes," I replied. "We can't keep on meeting like this."

At which point he performed the most professional letch I have ever seen. He said nothing. The facial expression, the sweeping gaze from toe-to-top, the glint in the eye, the twitch of the waxed moustache, the pursing of the lips and the gutteral explosion of air were eloquent enough. It was an entirely visual display yet I still felt like I had had my arse pinched and my bosoms honk-honked.

I was nonplussed. I could summon no response other than a flustered smile and a "must get on." I took my trolley far, far away to the other end of the shop and hid out in the fresh fruit until I was sure he had gone.

Tuesday, 27 April 2010

All Work and No Play

I am working long hours at the moment. I barely have time to catch up with my personal email let alone find a window for trawling the web for sex blogging shenanigans to point and laugh at.

I know this leaves a gaping void in the lives of Luka lovers everywhere but I will back to fill it in short order. I shall be responding to comments and posting acerbic nonsense again before the end of the week.

In the meantime here is a camera-phone self portrait of me at work, in my worky waistcoat, working hard which you may print out and draw comedy glasses/stubble/moustache/black teeth upon if you feel the need for that quick fix of childish humour you usually find here.

Sunday, 18 April 2010

No Hawkers, Pedlars, Tradesmen or Short People Who Smell of Dung

From time to time I find that I am asked to review things.

Sadly they are mostly terrible things with no redeeming features. Awful sounding products like Strawberry Lube or Big Boy Butt Plug and Bottle Opener. I wouldn't mind if I were asked to review something fabulous but no. Which is one of the reasons I do not do reviews. The other reasons being that they are boring as fuck to read and that I do not want the people with terrible products to review knowing my address.

To those pedlars of vibratory plastic tat who are tempted to knock on my virtual door I say take your tawdry goods and hawk them round less discerning blogs. The Boudoir is a haven of high standards, exquisite taste and expensive luxury items. If you're not offering me a solid gold dildo and caviar lube then I can't help you. There is no place in my life for lube that tastes like shampoo or a weakly buzzing cock ring less powerful than a gnat secured to your todger by an elastic band. You need to look for blogs where the air fairly crackles with the static electricity generated by the nylon undergarments on display and the offer of a free go on what looks very much like a dog toy will be warmly received.

That said, I am prepared to review cheap wine if any off licence proprietors happen to be passing and need a bit of a boost for the 3-for-a-tenner range.

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

...Bras.
  1. The first bras were simple devices composed of string and coconut shells.
  2. Before modern cup sizes were invented bras were sized according to the materials used in their construction. Interestingly there are similarities between this system and that with which we are familiar - our A cup roughly corresponds with the ancient Acorn brassiere, a C cup with the aforementioned Coconut bra and our H cup with the historic Hubcap.
  3. Eight out of ten women wear the wrong sized bra. This is because while the importance of being properly fitted for a bra is well known the reality of being squeezed into a small, inadequately curtained cubicle with your top off so some bossy middle-aged woman with a tape measure can twang your elastic and prod you about a bit can be off-putting. Rather than endure the measuring procedure many women opt for the "fuck it, that'll do" approach.
  4. It is a myth that feminists burned their bras in the sixties. The hairy leg thing is true though.
  5. The world record for the greatest number of marshmallows contained within a bra while worn belongs to a Mrs Edna Storridge of Dudley who managed to insert a whopping 347 before being asked to leave the shop.
  6. It is a myth that wearing a bra prevents sagging of the breasts in later life. Breasts have no muscle tissue and will inevitably sag as skin tone is lost due to the ageing process. Of course, wearing a bra will lift sagging breasts into a more youthful position but should you choose not to at least your knees will be warm.
  7. Bras should not be worn for more than two days in a row as the elastic needs to rest so that your garment retains its shape and support. For the same reason it is best to handwash your bra or blast it with Febreze and waft it around a bit.
  8. The average woman owns 9 bras and of these wears six regularly. The other three are only worn in hotel rooms or HNT posts.
  9. The most popular colour choice for a bra is white, closely followed by black. Ironically the least popular choice is grey although 99% of white bras will end up this colour after being washed with the black ones.
  10. The long service award for a bra in everyday use belongs to an elderly Triumph Doreen owned by Mrs Edna Storridge of Dudley. Despite 56 years of heavy duty bolstering the garment still retains a degree of elasticity and original stitching. "It's the only bra for me," asserts Edna. "It may look a bit grey and saggy now but then so do my bosoms. And it's easier to get on and off the bus than a trolley when you need to carry a week's shopping."

Monday, 5 April 2010

Inbetweener

This is one of those posts. A filler post that falls between more substantial posts. I am unapologetic. While the rest of you have been enjoying a four day weekend, scarfing down chocolate, Tweeting, watching the Sound of Music and getting shitfaced on economy lager, I have been hard at work with no time for dicking around online.

I would just like to add that despite my current state of alcohol infused exhaustion I am still a champion of the blogging world, coming up with fresh material every week and pissing all over other wannabe satirical sex blogs. Or just sex blogs. Or blogs, even. Most of the blogs that first inspired me to put vitriol to keyboard have gone tits up now. It's just not that easy to keep coming up with the goods. I make it look easy, but you actually need a modicum of talent and creativity to keep going for more than 6 months.

So, to all you failed or lapsed bloggers I say "Hah! Losers!"

To my blogging peers I say "You rock! But not as much as me."

Wednesday, 31 March 2010

Special Offer

"Bank Holiday Bonus Bundle" the email proclaims, complete with jolly exclamation mark. It's a bumper bonus Easter special, a popular assortment of sex toys at a bargain price!

Who, I wonder, is this aimed at? I don't know about anyone else but Easter, to me, means a crazy weekend of work and as much chocolate as I can eat. To others it means roast dinners with the family, maybe a Simnel Cake, a hot cross bun or two. To still others it means Jesus dying for our sins (then popping up again a few days later for a wave and a cheerio) and a nice church service.

Bank Holiday weekends. I can see the link when promoting (optimistically, given the typical British weather, I grant you) barbecues, outdoor furniture, and lawnmowers. I can see why people in the holiday mood might want to stock up on food and drink, examine the sales in sofa/carpet/DIY warehouses or visit tourist attractions.

But who, exactly, thinks "Ah, the Easter holidays eh? Four-day weekend, right? I better buy a Bank Holiday bundle of batteries, lube and a selection of vibrators." Who associates an extra Sunday with a need to buy as many budget sex toys as possible?

Emails along similar lines appear in my inbox prior to every public holiday and special event throughout the year. Halloween, Christmas, New Year, the Grand National, the Olympics, the General Election - all have their own dedicated sex toy promotional email. I know a wank is good for relieving the tension in times of stress, but really, my initial requirements for most of these occasions are usually more clothing or refreshment oriented. I don't often think "fuck almighty, if only I had a pink rabbit-style vibrator at a discount price for this Shrove Tuesday." A pink vibrating silicon dong might keep me occupied for a bit but even so, that still leaves 23 hours 42 minutes of Bank Holiday tedium to fill - 23 hours 42 minutes which might be better serviced with a plentiful supply of food and drink to be consumed upon my new sofa.

Am I out of step with this? Are my priorities hopelessly skewed? Are the rest of you planning a marathon masturbatory Easter Monday while the kids are out egg hunting? Does the thought of a public holiday send you running to the closet with a cry of "I haven't a thing to fetishwear"? What's the most bizarre offer to be found in your inbox?

Thursday, 25 March 2010

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

...Masturbation
  1. The longest wank session in history was by 15 year old Kevin Spodder who, while left alone at home after his parents won a luxury round the world cruise on a TV gameshow, indulged in a 91 day tugathon. During this time Kevin only left his room and laptop to order pizza, fetch more loo roll and go to the lavatory. His amazing feat was not without personal cost - he suffered terribly from dehydration and chafing - but Kevin staunchly maintains that if his parents were, once more, to leave the house for an extended period he would do it all again.
  2. While it is commonly believed that humans are so highly developed we enjoy sex for fun whereas animals have sex mainly for procreation the reality is that many species apart from man indulge in masturbation. Female dolphins, for example, have been observed using mackerel as masturbatory aids, whereas orangutans fashion dildos from wood or bark. The proof of the high intelligence of these mammals is not that they use sex toys for solo pleasure but that they refrain from endlessly reviewing them afterwards.
  3. Masturbation is directly responsible for the development and continued enhancement of webcam technology.
  4. It is also the driving factor behind the invention and development of the internet, mobile phones, vibration technology, mansize tissues, prize winning marrows and body lotion.
  5. While many religions condemn masturbation as a sin none have ever adequately explained why a deity would design a body with the genitals within arms reach if they didn't want them to be fiddled with.
  6. In the course of his lifetime the average male will masturbate enough times to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool with spunk and use enough tissues to create a life size papier mache model of Barry White.
  7. In the course of her lifetime the average female will masturbate enough times to fill a sex blog with daily award winning descriptive posts for 15 years and use enough batteries to power an atomic submarine.
  8. The earliest known depiction of masturbation is shown in a cave painting in southwestern France. The scene features bison, deer and hunters gripping what at first glance appear to be spears.
  9. The term "wanker" was first coined by Shakespeare in Henry IV Part One. In Act 5, Scene 1 an exasperated Henry utters the immortal line "No truly, tis more than manners will; and I have heard it said that unbidden guests are often welcomest when they are gone. Especially that fat wanker Falstaff."
  10. While no one still believes that masturbation causes harmful effects such as hairy palms and blindness it is worth remembering that it can still cause cramp and a loss of vehicular control.

Monday, 22 March 2010

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

...Anal Sex
  1. Only 5% of the population regularly engage in anal sex.
  2. 3% of this number are sex bloggers.
  3. A staggering 87% of sex bloggers write about anal sex.
  4. 85% of this number do not have anal sex in reality. This is due to their heads obscuring access.
  5. Anal sex was invented by Arthur Pewtey of 2 Lancaster Gardens, Chiswick, in 1973 when he slipped while stepping naked over the coffee table and accidentally impaled himself on a rolled up copy of the Radio Times.
  6. The biggest butt plug in the world is currently owned by Mystery Sex Blogger X who was sent it to review in 2005. Unfortunately it got wedged in the letterbox upon delivery and despite the application of several thousand gallons of lube there it remains to this day. It is crafted in fluorescent purple medical grade silicon and has the famous Latin motto "unus sursum bum haud vulnero perfectus"* inscribed upon it.
  7. Despite commonsense precautions and the use of enemas anal sex still results in over 52 million poo spores exploding into the atmosphere and settling in your butter dish every time you take it up the Spam Fritter.
  8. Haemorrhoids can be temporarily relieved by anal sex as they are pushed back into the rectal cavity through dynamic thrusting actions.
  9. But they do fall out your arse again later like a sack of water balloons. Swings and roundabouts really.
  10. Anal sex is illegal in every country in the world!

*One up the bum, no harm done.

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

Stroppiness and Floppiness

I don't get on well with male sex bloggers.

I don't get on well with all female sex bloggers, true, but I do get on with at least some of them. I exchange emails, I engage in chat, I share the occasional glass of wine and bowl of cheesecake, that sort of thing.

The male sex bloggers though are a different matter. I am not matey with any of them. I have pondered long and hard on why this might be so and have concluded that this is largely due to the fact that I am not one to comment adoringly and send fan mail. I am more one to read, enjoy, and then take the piss. And why not? There are already legions of soggy-gusseted women out there boosting male sex blogger egos and angling for a fumble. When I scroll through those "ooh, that was hot" or "I wish it was me hogtied over the footstool with a gladioli up my arse" comments I couldn't possibly post anything but silliness. Which leads to not posting anything at all much of the time. Oh, those male sex bloggers can be a humourless lot.

It's all so one dimensional. It appears that unless there is a potential fuck in the offing - no matter how unlikely, just as long as the faint hint of promise is there - your average male sex blogger just isn't going to bother with even basic acknowledgement, let alone conversation. Perhaps this is a case of perceived rudeness on both sides.

It all seems awfully shallow but what else could possibly explain my lack of male sex blogger buddies? The alternative is that I am just terribly annoying and unlikeable - and that, surely, can't be right.

If you are - or have befriended - a male sex blogger do let me know where I am going wrong. Remember to mark your entry "If you're not a groupie I go droopy" and send to the usual address.

Thursday, 11 March 2010

Look At My New Underwear HNT

It has been quite a while since I treated myself to decadent underwear. During the long, cold winter I have bought industrial strength knickers, sturdy bras and warm woolly tights but I haven't bought anything frivolous for far too long.

Maybe it's because spring is in the offing, maybe it's because I needed a boost, maybe it's because I drank a bottle of Pinot Grigio and went shopping online. Whatever the reason I found myself happily accepting a parcel from the postman (is there anything finer than sending yourself a present and not remembering until the package arrives?) and hurriedly retiring to the Boudoir to try on my new garments.

I was so pleased with the results I took a few poor quality webcam shots so I could share my nylon-clad pillowy thighs with the world.

Anyone who thinks purple leopard print is a bad choice for the wobbly of belly is clearly misguided. It is the only choice for those who want to look like they have lovebites all over their (lilac) ladyparts. A mottled mons effect, that's what I, as a big woman, have been waiting for.

I decided to share my pillowy bosoms with the world too. The pendant is a gift from a friend and I am pleased I now have underwear to match. I will think of her every time I put on my purple leopard print mega pants.
Here you go, this is the whole ensemble. What do you think?




Monday, 1 March 2010

Fantasy

At some point in the conversation there will come a variation on the following question: "what do you want?"

They want me to articulate my desires, my fantasies, my preferences and needs. "What do you like to do?" they ask, hoping for a lurid, lubed-up, lust-fuelled depiction of my erotic escapades.

I can't be bothered to answer most of the time. Writing about my libidinous tendencies tires me out far more than enacting them. It is dull, it does not arouse me and it would be misrepresentative. I spend more time thinking about cheese than I do about orgasms. I want wine, happiness and shoes more than I want it up the arse. I suck sweets more often than I suck cock. And I am very happy with that. I enjoy my sex life, I value that facet of myself, but I do not rate it more highly than all the other threads in my intricately woven life.

However, for those of you who really would like to know what my innermost desire is right now, my ultimate fantasy, I am going to share the following scenario. I hope it warms you in all your important places. It does me.

*****

"Come," he breathes, leading me by the hand into his shoe shop and off licence. "I want to see you drinking Pinot Grigio and trying on slingbacks." He is a charming man - funny, articulate, with warm hands and a delightful smell.

"Oh my, this is all so sudden!" I gasp, accepting a large glass of something chilled and strolling over to the knee high boots. "Goodness, you don't often see boots so perfectly tailored for the larger calf."

"Your big legs are beautiful. Let us retire to my flat above the shoe shop and off licence and I will massage them with this gorgeously scented oil. Relax on this rug before the open fire and allow me to massage all of your aching muscles. I shall put your wine just here, see, and get you a straw."

"Mmmm....you're very good at that. There aren't many shoe shop and off licence owners who could give a hot oil massage without becoming uncomfortably aroused and trying to lift my towel off my buttocks with their stiffy."

"No need to concern yourself on that score. While I obviously find you incredibly attractive I am actually just going to give you the massage you so desire and alleviate your aches and pains. This is not about me getting my rocks off and all about making you feel good."

"Fuck me!"

"No. I am concentrating on un-knotting the tension between your shoulders. Then I shall run you a hot bath and pop out briefly for a bar of Galaxy."

"Will you get me a kebab and a bag of doughnuts too? And then can I put on my dressing gown and watch zombie films while you bring me drinks and play with my hair?"

"Of course!"

"Oh my god. That's it. You have it all. I have it all. I have had an allgasm!"

****

So there you have it. My fantasy. How does it measure up to yours?

Monday, 22 February 2010

Comment Moderation

I have had to turn on comment moderation for all my posts. Bloody spammers.

Once upon a time I just used to leave my comments open to all, no moderation required. I don't know how I escaped the incessant spamming for so long but for years I only received comments from genuine Boudoir browsers, intent upon telling me how funny I am.

Recently though I have been plagued by comments in Chinese and links to sites sellling get rich quick scams or dodgy viagra. I can't help but wonder if my brief surge of popularity is to blame. You know, when I was a Top Sex Blogger and a Wank Week Roundup Star Choice. Thankfully interest has now waned again yet the spam remains. So, I've had to go for the comment moderation option which makes me feel very dull and unedgy. Still, rest assured that I will never moderate a comment that isn't spam so do feel free to call me a cynical old ratbag and fat knacker if the urge comes upon you. I will post it.

Oh go on. I'm so bored with the spam.

Thursday, 18 February 2010

Comfort

The desire to protect our loved ones from the things that could hurt them is one most of us have. We shield our precious people from as many knocks as we can, acting as a buffer between them and harsh reality. When you love someone it is often the case that you are able to manage your own pain for better than you could manage theirs. That's why I understood entirely when my mother said she hadn't mentioned anything earlier. They didn't want to worry me. No point in getting everyone upset before all the facts were established.

And I was not to worry now, she said. Many men of my father's age develop prostate cancer and, with treatment, go on to die of something entirely unrelated years further down the line. The consultant was lovely and very positive. So not to worry.

I am worried. Of course. I won't let on. My desire to protect my loved ones is as strong as theirs.

Thursday, 11 February 2010

To My (ex)Valentine

I used to adore every hair on your head
I used to believe every word that you said
I used to enjoy having your hand in mine
But now I can't stand you, my (ex)Valentine

I used to think your funny ways were so cute
I used to find all of your jokes such a hoot
I used to say your odd behaviour was fine
You're really a nobhead, my (ex)Valentine

I used to excuse all the times you were rude
I used to fret if you were in a bad mood
I used to wait for you, patiently, in line
Now you can fuck off, my (ex)Valentine

I used to think you were a wonderful guy
I used to think of you, look dreamy and sigh
I used to think your arse was full of sunshine
But you're full of shit, my (ex)Valentine

Sunday, 7 February 2010

Top Ten Tips for Offensive Bloggers

Would you like to write a truly offensive blog but find it hard to type more than a couple of words before your brain hurts and you have to have a lie down and a wank? Would you like to feel like a bit of a hardcore renegade with no respect for society's rules but your mum won't let you go on the computer after 8pm? Fear not, my top ten tips for would-be Offensive Bloggers are guaranteed to help you achieve your goal!
  1. Be adolescent. In actuality or mind only, as long as you have that insecure, inexperienced inner teen you'll be in with the dim crowd, able to convince yourselves that you're trailblazers, doing something cutting edge and original.
  2. Check out your nearest playground. Look for the kids pushing smaller kids off swings, the ones throwing rocks at the child who seems a bit different to the rest or the kids pulling the wings off flies. These are your ideas people and target audience. You will do well to keep them in mind as you blog.
  3. Always go for the obvious. Remember - you are an Offensive Blogger not an intelligent one. Stick to topics like "This person is fat" or "This person is ugly" or even, for the more advanced Offensive Blogger, "This person is fat and ugly". Anything more complex, like "This person has objectionable political views" will only confuse your readership. Like the kids in the playground, they just want to know when and where to throw the rocks.
  4. Do not over-exert yourself by reading the blogs of those you wish to be offensive about. All you need to do is look at the pictures and decide whether to call them fat, ugly, or fat and ugly. This kind of comedy gold will make your readers howl like hyenas.
  5. Upsetting someone through offensive blogging is your ultimate aim and when you succeed you will forget all about your solitary existence, wanking into socks and worrying you have abnormal genitals. For a brief moment you will feel like you're swimming in the deep end of the gene pool! Savour it, treasure it - it's the only trophy you are ever likely to own.
  6. Ignorance is your strength. Do not be ashamed when you don't understand the counter-arguments to your offensive posts from more intelligent bloggers. Be proud of your ability to offend and be sure to slip in a few fat or ugly insults wherever you can should you choose to respond. This will impress your readers who will hoot and throw rocks.
  7. Never post a picture of yourself. Someone may point and laugh at it.
  8. Remember, no subject is out of bounds if you want to be a truly Offensive Blogger. Except current affairs, environmental issues, philosophy, the arts or relationships. These are beyond you. But any other subject is fair game, especially if you can post a picture of someone fat or ugly to illustrate.
  9. Post several pictures of people who would point and laugh at your abnormal genitals if they could see them and claim that you would not have sex with them. Because they are fat. Or ugly.
  10. Do not worry that people may see through your renegade rebel "I'll say anything, I'm that offensive" persona to the insecure adolescent who really sits behind the keyboard. Only the more intelligent bloggers can tell and as your readers are a bit thick they'll still think being a cunt is cool.

Monday, 1 February 2010

Those Burger Places Are Always Hiring

I like reading blogs. Well, certain blogs; good, well-written blogs. I like reading them and I particularly like reading them at no personal cost to myself. Call me tight, call me mean, but I like to come to the end of a post and find I am still as well-off as when I started. Sadly, perusing blogs lately has become the online equivalent of navigating the chuggers on the High Street. They all want your cash and are not afraid to annoy you to get it.

"Buy my book," they cry. "Go on. Well at least take a look at my Amazon wishlist and buy me something."

"Click on my links! Go on. It'll take you to some sponsored site that is suspect in the extreme but I get a fiver each time some twat falls for it! Go on, click it!"

"Subscribe to hear me read my posts! Yes, all you sad, lonely wankers without real friends can pay to hear someone you sort of know reading poorly written sex scenes and saying the word 'pussy' on your very own laptop! I've got a paypal account and everything."

"Sponsor me. Sponsor my friends. Support the work of the Domestic Dildo Divas, bringing silicone dongs to underprivileged housewives the world over. Send us a tenner. Go on!"

"Donate! Hit the button! Pay my bills, pay my lawyers, pay my way!"

It all boils down to the same thing: Give us your money!

Fucking hell, you think, I only wanted a browse. And unlike the High Street chuggers there's not even a handy face to punch.

Now, I do understand that some bloggers are hard up and are trying to supplement their income through blogging. Some are trying to launch a career. Others are just out for what they can get. Whatever the reason this constant wheedling for cash is a pain in the arse.

I have no advertising on my blog, no paypal account and no begging bowl to pass around so have no idea if blogging really is a lucrative source of income. I can't imagine it brings in that much, especially for the crappier writers, and imagine they'd make more money actually begging outside M&S, sitting on a frayed blanket, with a dog on a string, bearing a piece of cardboard with "Will Blog 4 Food" crayonned on it rather than virtually doing so. It would entail getting off their arse and leaving the house though, which is just as much effort as getting a job, hence the appeal of the blog beg.

Poor hard-up bloggers. I can hear the howls of protest, the reasons, the justifications now. I am unmoved. I am not exactly frolicking in piles of cash and lighting cigars with fivers myself. Money a bit tight? You could save on the leccy bill and go offline for a bit, that should do it.

Thursday, 28 January 2010

21

It has been a celebratory week in the Boudoir. I am a Good Mother. I have successfully raised my offspring to adulthood, hale, hearty and whole.

There has been champagne, cake, balloons, cards, presents and parties. There has also been much reflection upon times past, the transition from 1989 to 2010, the differences between who we were then and the people we are now.

For the past 21 years I have been largely, sometimes wholly, focused on my daughter. She is the magnetic north to which my internal compass always swings. While I will always need to know that she is OK before I can be I know that the next 21 years will inevitably bring a distancing. She will have her own home, her own priorities, her own magnetic north. I will no longer know every little detail of her life from what she had for tea to whether she is still in the bath. This is right and natural and means I have done my job. I have not raised a social inadequate, hurrah!

I would be lying, though, if I said I didn't feel a nostalgic pang or two when I look at those gappy-toothed smiles in school photos past. When did this little girl become the confident, funny, beautiful young woman who strides through life in what looks suspiciously like my shoes? My work here is done. What next?

e[lust] #6 - your Wank Week Woundup

Frankly, you can stop reading now, as I'm not in the top three this week. I would do the "read more" cut thing to save you from having to over exert yourself scrolling to the bottom, but I can't be arsed to figure it out.

Proper post coming right up, I promise.

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Exposing My Self to Airport Security - I stared right at her until she looked away and called for assistance for a pat-down search. I gaped, chin dropped: holy shit, they're gonna give me a pat down cuz I'm packing a silicon cock.

Prefect’s Prerogative - When I neglect this duty, or don't perform it to his satisfaction, he makes me light a fire in his room, and stand in front of it in just my school shirt and white socks.

Attention Women: There is Something Wrong With Your Vagina - Yes, that’s what your vagina needs: a breath mint. Because, just like vagina shouldn’t smell like vagina, it also shouldn’t taste like vagina.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

The Perfect FatWhy do clothes designers assume that if you're plus-sized you're 1. over 5?9? and 2. over the age of 45 or “matronly and modest”? At the age of 32 I am not yet ready to dress like my grandmother.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Zipless- “I have some Scotch in my room—maybe you’d join me? You know, in the interest of not drinking alone…” She smiled. Perhaps she could yet salvage the day’s ending.

See also: Pleasurists #61 for all your sex toy review needs.
Also in recent sex news, check out the coverage of the Adult Entertainment Expo that happened in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago. You’ll see videos and articles from our fellow sex-bloggers on fun things like a rodeo penis and new sex toys not even on the market yet!

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Arousal is not consent
Psychosexual: Does the G spot exist? Do I care?
Reputable Help for Haiti
Squicked
That'll be 151 Nickels
The Case of the Mysteriously Vanishing G-spot
Transtastic: Joking About Being Trans
Vegas – Day One – Diva’s Quick Recap
Vegas – Day One – Tess’s Thoughts
Why Don’t They Just LEAVE?

Kink & Fetish

Anatomy of a Mindfuck
Bad Submissive
Claiming: Go Pantiless After
Dating Refresher
Electric fuck
Fetishes and me
Kinky With Class
Laziness never pays off
Piercing reversal
Resolution
Titty Fuck
The Coffee Date, Part 2
The Job Interview
Without Reason

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

BDSM Relationship Advice for Newbies
Greedy For The Verse
Hang Ups and Hand Jobs
Ivy Madden
If she had just been a better wife…
Insomnia
Swinging
The Sexiness Beneath
Weightlessness

Erotic Writing

42DD
A Different Kind of Fuck
Across the Room
All in a Play Party’s Night
Amazing Night
Bedtime Story
Behind You
Breathe and Let Go
Done by a Clown
Evening Home
Glow
Lick You As Long As You Like
Moments of Clarity
Naughty Neighbor
Saturday Night’s Alright (For Swapping)
Sex and Video Games
Slip sliding away
The Slut Chronicles #11 ~ The Dinner Party
Thursdays
Tyler
Visitors in my Bedroom
Wicked Wednesday: Altitude
When you Talk About Maelee

Sunday, 24 January 2010

Low Status

There have always been those who suffer from moments of utter bleakness, those who can't see a way forward. Some go on to believe the world would be a better place without them, or, in the case of one acquaintance, that this life is just a stepping stone to the next level, and opt out of the game altogether. That acquaintance of mine gave no hint of what was on her mind, she just took a bottle of pills, locked herself in her car, in a sealed garage, and left the engine running. A real belt and braces job. She had set her outbox to send the explanatory emails long after she had left this world and joined the queue for the reincarnation she firmly believed in. She had no intention of being prevented from leaving.

In comparison there have always been those who threaten to kill themselves who actually just want some love and attention. From the mascara-streaked girls sobbing hysterically outside bad parties to the distraught young man shouting through the letterbox of his ex-girlfriend's house, we've all heard those cries of "I'll do it! I'll throw myself under the next bus!"

Recently I have noticed a new, technologically-enhanced slant to this. People who would, in the past, ruin a perfectly pleasant night out by getting drunk and faux-suicidal or pestering you with late-night anguished phone calls are now embracing the immediacy and audience of social networking sites and posting status updates along the lines of "Life is so dark. Eveything is shit. Tell me why I should go on living?"

I am a compassionate woman. If I thought for one moment they had any intention of doing themselves harm I would be on my way quicker than you can say razor blades. But I know that if they were seriously thinking of checking out they'd be unlikely to pop into Facebook first, to do a quick status update, let alone stick around to read and reply to all the comments.

As for arousing my concern the whole procedure is counterproductive. I read such updates and am instantly annoyed. I ignore them until they stop being attention-seeking twats. Their life may well suck right now. Mine isn't always a ride on rainbows to the sweet shop but I still consider it far too valuable to waste on talking people out of doing something they have no intention of doing in the first place.

I know what they really want is a hug. They know what they really want is a hug. I really wish they would just fucking ask for a hug. I'd give it, gladly.

Thursday, 21 January 2010

Space Hopper Sex Scandal Exclusive

International Top Sex Blogger Luka, 37, has been spotted cavorting in disreputable nightspots with the new playmate in her life, a large orange space hopper.

Our reporter caught up with bouncy Barbed Wire Boudoir babe Luka as she rode up to the bar for another pint of Pinot.

"I've never been happier," asserted Luka as she wobbled gently on her oversized rubber ball.

"Unlike some over-inflated egos I've bounced around with in my time, Spacey is smooth, fun and uncomplicated.

He also has ridged horns and a smile like mine.

What's not to love?

Mind you, he's crap at holding his drink."

Monday, 18 January 2010

Could it be Magic?

Today I keep thinking about people who have hurt me. The bastards.

Forgiveness is a fine thing. Bitterness only corrodes the vessel containing it. It is best to learn from such things and move on.

Yet still I find myself making vegetable voodoo dolls and visiting arse grapes upon them.

"Hemorrhoids, hemorrhoids, hemorrhoids," I incant, cackling madly to myself and affixing a bunch of seedless red to the parsnip doll's derriere.

Of course the whole thing is merely an exercise in venting emotion and can in no way cause actual harm. Or can it? If you've ever upset me and now can't sit down without wincing and reaching for your inflatable rubber ring do let me know!

Sunday, 10 January 2010

Squicked

"Did you like that?" he asked.

"Um...no. I was squicked by the sisterly love thing."

And just like that he went offline.

It had begun a short time earlier, with a detailed, and frankly suspect, tale of love in a jacuzzi with a couple of lovely ladies who fortuitously happened to be there.

I am used to men trying to impress, possibly seduce, me via the medium of bullshit. You can't write a sex blog - even a satirical anti-sex-blog - without the occasional email or chat session that ends up on the ferry to Fantasy Island. It is a rare and unusual man who can get me on board with him. Most make the mistake of assuming that simply offloading their desires on me is sufficient to engage my libido. They rattle off a list of I would like to do this, and then I would like to do that. Remarkably few bother to find out what I would like and, to be fair, those that do ask me what I really want right now usually get the reply "a bottle of wine and for you to fuck off".

This instance was no different. Why this particular would-be Lothario thought a female-male-female threesome was my bag, I don't know. It is a tediously common male fantasy of course. Still, I can work with it up to a point and see where the scenario leads. However, in this particular scene the females in question were allegedly sisters. Sisters who find themselves exploring the contents of his swimming trunks and finish their journey of discovery with some sisterly love of the oral variety. Which, unsurprisingly, squicked me entirely.

Why? Why oh why oh why would anyone think this could ever, ever appeal to me?

It's like those fantasies men - and women - have regarding twins. Yuck. I mean, how does that work? I couldn't even have sex in the same room as any other family member, let alone want to witness them in a sexual situation. Anything beyond that makes me want to scrub my brain in a bucket of bleach. Every strand of DNA in my body strains in the opposite direction, trying to get as far away from the threat of webbed feet and banjo music as possible.

Just for the record, for anyone else thinking of trying their hand at a bit of Luka-lovin', I am also squicked by sex involving kids, animals, shit, piss, dead people and the clinically thick.

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

Luka's Guide to Sexercise

Feeling a tad on the wobbly side after the excesses of the festive season? Finding yourself opting for elasticated waistbands and XXL underwear? Having to really crop those HNT/Facebook pics?

Well, worry not, for I have the perfect way to tone up and slim down whilst simultaneously engaging your erogenous zones in a whole new and exciting way.

"But Luka," I hear you cry, "sexercise is nothing new. Cosmopolitan has been going on about it for ages."

"Ah," I reply, "but no-one does sexercise like Luka does sexercise. My sexercise plan is guaranteed to work because A) it's great and B) you don't even need to find someone else to do it with. Yes. This is Solo Sexercise!"

That's right. Solo Sexercise. It's the best way to release those endorphins and burn off those excess calories without having to make conversation afterwards.

You will need:

A towel
Comfortable pants

The Warm Up

It is essential to limber up properly before attempting the positions described below. Believe you me, a pulled muscle in the groinal area is not something you want, unless walking like Igor with a hernia is your ultimate goal. I suggest you position your towel on a comfortable surface - the bed, the sofa, the bus seat - and assume a relaxed position. You can sit or lie down, whichever you prefer. Now clench your pelvic muscles. Clench them as if you are trying to suck a pencil up your bottom (if you are a sex blogger this will come easily to you. If you are not a sex blogger, keep practicing. Do NOT use an actual pencil, even if you have put an enormous gonk on the end of it.) Now relax. Repeat until you feel a warm glow.

The Workout

Position 1 - The Car Wash

Give your body a full on sensual massage with wide circular window washing movements. This is particularly effective while in the shower with a genuine sponge and lots of soap, but is just as entertaining when performed on the beach or stuck in a traffic jam. This really works the upper arms and cleavage.

Position 2 - The Doggy Scootch

In this position you emulate the classic bottom-along-the-floor manoeuvre beloved of dogs appearing in family portraits or in the background of local news footage or wedding videos. If you are on a chair or bus you can simply scootch back and forth, if you have the luxury of floor space you can see just how far you can travel before you succumb to friction burns. This gives a great workout to those gluteals and also really tests the elastic in your gusset.

Position 3 - The Fiddler Crab

Now your nether regions should be nicely warmed up and ready for the full benefits of solo sexercise. Simply place your hand inside your comfortable pants and have a good old rummage around. Once you find a rhythm that pleases you maintain it for as long as you can without disturbing anyone else in the house/on the bus/in the library. This should give you a powerfully muscled arm in time. You may want to alternate limbs.

Position 4 - The Fish Out of Water

If you have performed the preceding sexercises correctly you should find yourself flopping about and gasping for air in a most energetic manner. Your stomach, back and leg muscles should all be a-quiver.

The Cool Down

Readjust towel if necessary. Ditto comfortable pants. Stretch.