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...

  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


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."