Barbed Wire Boudoir

Revealing Comments

2011-08-21T17:07:00.003+01:00

I was on the phone at my desk in the open plan office, having a conversation with a lady who was waiting for an operation and consequently in some pain. "Oh, poor you," I sympathised. She went into some detail on the nature of the afflicted body part and how frustrating it was waiting for the medical profession to fix it. "Awww," I offered by way of response. And "Oh dear." I made noises indicative of my understanding and empathy.

While I was having this conversation a bad tempered male colleague at a nearby desk muttered "God, she sounds like she's having an orgasm," before gathering up his things and presumably moving to a less distracting part of the building.

Leaving aside the whole inappropriateness of this comment, I couldn't help but be amused by the unwittingly high level of intimate detail it revealed. As I later pointed out, I was making sounds of sympathy and concern and if that was what he usually heard, if that was what he thought an orgasm sounded like, then this was a pitiful state of affairs and he had been seriously misled by the women in his life.

These Pants Aint Big Enough for the Both of Us

2011-08-06T17:54:00.004+01:00

It is very difficult to get into my pants unless you happen to be me.

It's not that they are too small or tight. Quite the reverse. They are capacious, roomy, capable of fitting both my plentiful arse and a medium-sized roast chicken within their cotton/lycra confines should I so choose. They are big pants.

No, my pants are not going to be accessible for most because of the defensive forcefield surrounding them. An impenetrable barrier of superiority, self-worth, occasional violence and a triple stitched reinforced gusset.

Only the most interesting and determined of adventurers will get into my pants and even then the chances are I've already slipped out of them and into a concrete girdle.

What am I banging on about now, you may wonder? Simply this: the ease of getting into certain people's pants. I marvel at the free and easy nature of those sex bloggers who remove their undergarments for friends, partners, photos and readers with gay abandon. "Dear Mystery Blogger X," writes the enthusiastic reader, "I love your blog. Let's meet in the nearest budget hotel without delay and throw caution, and our pants, to the wind."

"You're on," replies Mystery Blogger X and the next thing you know there's another award winning blog post in the bag.

But where's the challenge, where's the mystery in such encounters? I blame our instant gratification culture. Life in soundbites. Long conversations, the art of letter writing, even lengthy blog posts have all declined in popularity as the convenience of instant messaging, Facebook and Twitter updates submerge more creative, time consuming passions. People view online personas much as they would peruse a fast food menu - lots of colourful photos of glossy dishes that bear little resemblance to what you eventually unwrap - and order accordingly. I'll have that one. And if it's taking too long I'll have that one instead.

Here in the Boudoir we'll have none of that. Fast is not a word which applies to me in any context. Obtaining anything of worth takes a certain investment of time which is why my pants remain so impenetrable to the casual chancer. That and the high elastane content.

Travellers' Tales #1

2011-07-31T13:18:00.006+01:00

So, there I was in my budget hotel room, sitting upon the white expanse of duvet and gazing at the banana I'd placed on the table, thinking "if I was a proper sex blogger that banana would be about to be deployed as an impromptu sex aid, most likely to the faux surprise of somebody tied to that table, and this duvet would become most horribly stained."

I am, of course, not a proper sex blogger so I merely ate the banana in an unrestrained fashion and the duvet remained unsullied.

I did rub the complimentary micro-soap over my lady areas in a steamy solo shower session later but since I failed to post photos of this online, with obligatory click-throughs of me with a loofah up my arse, it doesn't really count and I can't have an award.

The Art of Relaxation

2011-07-03T22:29:00.012+01:00

"I'm off to the spa," I announced.

"Great! Bring me back a can of Fanta and a pasty."

"No, not the Spar. The spa."

It was true. I was not heading off to forge a path to the pastry products through the local youths loitering outside the Spar shop but was instead departing for a place of warm waters, warm scented oils, warm towels, warm hands.

And hot stones.

This was to be a serious treat. Times have been hard lately and I haven't been able to run to a rub down with some tepid gravel let alone a hot stone massage. Fortunately I have generous friends who know the best kinds of presents to give.

I wasn't sure exactly what to expect, not having had this type of massage before, but I would heartily recommend it. If you like lying in a dimly lit room, listening to plinky plonky ambient music with heated, oily volcanic rocks on your spine then this is the treatment for you. Though, to be honest, I find just floating in the blue waters, or being fizzed and frothed in the jacuzzi, with a glass of something chilled and bubbly is my favourite part of the spa experience.

At least while you're in the water you don't have to wear the slightly too short, slightly too small robe and sanatorium style slippers. Entering the Relaxation Room when dressed in this institutional-like garb and encountering fellow spa attendees generates a vague One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest feeling. It's the background music, the crimson lipsticked young women with tightly restrained hair and pseudo medical style tunics who randomly appear, select one of the beslippered inmates and gently steer them into a private room for an unspecified treatment. On the plus side, when these towelling-clad women return they are not lobotomised and drooling, just a little bit drowsy maybe, with a slight oily sheen and smelling strongly of almonds. Which is good, as this apparent retention of their faculties meant I didn't have to smother them with one of the many scatter cushions, throw the hydrotherapy console through the window and take off across the golf course. I just took a voucher for ten pounds off my next treatment and left.

Look

2011-06-18T17:15:00.002+01:00

I have been gone, as you may have noticed, for quite a while. I had things to do in the Big Room.

Now I am back and eager to establish whether I have missed anything. I suspect not, but you never know.

Blogland is not how I left it. It is an ever shifting landscape, with blogs closing, blogs opening, bloggers leaving, bloggers returning, bloggers changing their identities, their genres, their partners, their minds. An absence of more than a day or two leaves the satirical blog saboteur at a disadvantage. Where is my material hiding itself these days?

I need to take a look around. It is good to see many of my

favourite people still actively posting. But what of those whose old blogs languish limply at the bottom of my inspirational blogroll, to the right? What are they doing now? Why aren't they here, with a cake and balloon and maybe a picture of their arse or a post about being smeared with taramasalata and then taped to the dishwasher? Perhaps they are all busy in the Big Room too.

Still, hundreds of sex blogs and bloggers, only one Luka. I can't look for them all. This is where you, dear, lone, languishing, loyal reader, come in. I need you to do some of the looking for me. Do you know the whereabouts of any fugitive sex bloggers? Maybe someone who used to post about group sex on a coffee shop sofa and who now posts about childcare arrangements, flowers or knitted cushion covers? Maybe someone who used to write at length, with pictures, about their legendary conquests and who now publishes articles on gardening, grouting and bicycle maintenance?

Perhaps you are a lost blogger yourself, someone who has given up the effort of writing lengthy blog posts in favour of the immediacy of Facebook or Twitter. Possibly you just couldn't see the point in continuing, now that the glory days of blogs and book deals are long gone. If so, and you happen to be reading this, unlikely as it seems, do reveal yourself. (No, not on the webcam. That's so noughties.)

Update me. Let me know where to look.

The Return

2011-06-12T17:02:00.003+01:00

I would have got someone to water the plants

And to cancel the papers and milk

I would have got someone to hold all my calls

And perform other tasks of that ilk

I would have asked someone to please feed the fish

And to turn out the lights I left on

I would have made somebody check on the gimp

If I'd known I'd be gone for so long!

Positive Thinking

2011-01-16T12:38:00.002Z

So, here we are, new year, same old January flurry of doomed resolutions and endless adverts for discount sofas and diet products on the telly.

As I roam the internet in my various guises I detect a common trait in some status updates, tweets and blog postings. A persistent, all pervasive pessimism. Some of this is to do with the time of year. The season of forced good cheer can be a depressing experience. Some of it is to do with the undeniably challenging financial situation most of us now find ourselves negotiating. Some of it is down to the individuals in question being resolutely miserable. There's nothing wrong with being miserable, of course. We are all gloomy from time to time. For some unfortunate souls this may develop into full blown depression and that, too, is something I can understand and sympathise with.

The problem is, the negative types I encounter on the social networking sites tend to be miserable and outgoing, rather than quiet and withdrawn which would suit me much better.

We all have our private troubles and inner turmoil. Some people don't wish to keep this to themselves, they don't even want to confide in a close personal friend, relative, priest or healthcare professional. No, they want the whole world to know that they are having a terrible time and nothing, no nothing, ever goes right for them. And should you make the mistake of posting a supportive comment, a link to an uplifting song, a positive story, you will then encounter resistance, self-pity and stubborn, self-indulgent negativity. "That might work for other people," they moan, "but it never does for me."

So, what option does that leave? If a response of "tomorrow will be better - chin up" is met with "it won't, I can't, I'm too miserable" and a response of "you're right, your life is unbearable, top yourself" is unlikely to improve the situation then the only option left is to ignore them. Or slag them off in a blog post.

A problem shared is not a problem halved, it is a problem spread about the place, like dogshit on a shoe. It spoils the atmosphere for everyone.

You're allowed to post that you're pissed off, that your day has been disappointing, frustrating or unsatisfying. You can complain about unexpected bills to pay, being out of work or unhappily married. Just don't let it be all you bang on about and spare me the melodramatics. While you have a roof over your head, a bed in which to sleep, food in your belly, access to clean drinking water, sanitation and medical care you're living the dream. Really. You might feel sad, down, lonely, depressed but that is a very different thing to your life being crap.

Positive thinking, people. That's where it's at.

The Charon QC Blogging & Drinking for BIG SOCIETY Award

2010-12-29T21:22:00.006Z

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.

Luka's Christmas Present

2010-12-21T12:20:00.006Z

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!

The Recalcitrant Recluse

2010-10-18T14:17:00.004+01:00

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.

Reasons to be Cheerful

2010-08-08T20:20:00.000+01:00

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:

My friends are so clever. But then I wouldn't befriend a dullard.
Pear cider is on special offer at the moment.
I still have all my shoes.
I have an emergency Cadbury's Flake in the kitchen cupboard.
I still find a lot to laugh about, every day.
I do not have a pet hair allergy.
I have tomorrow off.
I live when and where I do.
The Shawshank Redemption is such a good film.
Cats are quite small.

What would you add to the list?

Tumbleweed

2010-07-26T20:57:00.004+01:00

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.

A Poem About Deeply Unattractive People

2010-07-02T17:37:00.001+01:00

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

Have No Trousers

2010-06-24T08:25:00.004+01:00

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?)

Happy Blogoversary

2010-06-21T12:38:00.005+01:00

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!

Burlyesque

2010-06-14T21:30:00.001+01:00

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).

My Blog Rocks While Others Suck Cocks

2010-06-10T20:50:00.001+01:00

Top ten reasons why I am great and other bloggers (looks pointedly in certain directions) are shite:

I have no advertising
I have no Donate button
I don't post YouTube videos in lieu of original content
I don't post obscene or shocking images in lieu of good writing
I don't do reviews of sex toys, sandwich toasters or other blogger's terrible books
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!"
I don't take my blog seriously
I am not looking for a book deal
I won't schmooze those I think can promote my blog/increase my traffic/get me a book deal and ignore everyone else
I am very funny and attractive

Outing the In Crowd

2010-06-06T20:48:00.001+01:00

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?

Keeping it Real

2010-06-01T23:48:00.001+01:00

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.

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

2010-05-26T20:55:00.000+01:00

...CyberSex

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.
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.
Although widely regarded as a completely safe sex activity, cybersex can lead to soreness, irritation and copious discharge.
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.
The most commonly used word in cybersex exchanges is "yes". The most commonly used non-word is "mmmm".
The least commonly used phrase is "no". The least commonly used non-word is "wheeeee".
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".
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."
While cybersex can involve two or more participants it is still just elaborate wanking.
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.

The Public Decides - THIS is your Favourite Blog

2010-05-20T12:25:00.006+01:00

"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.

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

2010-05-08T00:34:00.004+01:00

...Sex Blogging

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sex bloggers have more self-awarded award systems than any other blogging group.
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.
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.
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.
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.

Carry On Shopping

2010-04-30T20:03:00.000+01:00

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.

All Work and No Play

2010-04-27T22:36:00.002+01:00

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.

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

2010-04-18T22:22:00.001+01:00

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.

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

2010-04-13T00:52:00.000+01:00

...Bras.

The first bras were simple devices composed of string and coconut shells.
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.
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.
It is a myth that feminists burned their bras in the sixties. The hairy leg thing is true though.
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.
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.
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.
The average woman owns 9 bras and of these wears six regularly. The other three are only worn in hotel rooms or HNT posts.
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.
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."

Inbetweener

2010-04-05T21:20:00.003+01:00

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."

Special Offer

2010-03-31T21:58:00.000+01:00

"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?

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

2010-03-25T23:24:00.000Z

...Masturbation

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.
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.
Masturbation is directly responsible for the development and continued enhancement of webcam technology.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.

Ten Things You Never Knew About...

2010-03-22T21:25:00.002Z

...Anal Sex

Only 5% of the population regularly engage in anal sex.
3% of this number are sex bloggers.
A staggering 87% of sex bloggers write about anal sex.
85% of this number do not have anal sex in reality. This is due to their heads obscuring access.
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.
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.
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.
Haemorrhoids can be temporarily relieved by anal sex as they are pushed back into the rectal cavity through dynamic thrusting actions.
But they do fall out your arse again later like a sack of water balloons. Swings and roundabouts really.
Anal sex is illegal in every country in the world!

*One up the bum, no harm done.

Stroppiness and Floppiness

2010-03-16T20:10:00.000Z

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.

Look At My New Underwear HNT

2010-03-11T00:01:00.001Z

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?

Fantasy

2010-03-01T21:38:00.001Z

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?

Comment Moderation

2010-02-22T22:42:00.000Z

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.

Comfort

2010-02-18T15:48:00.001Z

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.

To My (ex)Valentine

2010-02-11T21:59:00.001Z

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

Top Ten Tips for Offensive Bloggers

2010-02-07T20:55:00.001Z

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!

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Never post a picture of yourself. Someone may point and laugh at it.
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.
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.
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.

Those Burger Places Are Always Hiring

2010-02-01T23:22:00.000Z

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.

21

2010-01-28T19:32:00.001Z

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

2010-01-28T16:11:00.003Z

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 Fat – Why 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

Low Status

2010-01-24T20:55:00.001Z

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.

Space Hopper Sex Scandal Exclusive

2010-01-21T22:43:00.000Z

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."

Could it be Magic?

2010-01-18T17:33:00.000Z

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!

Squicked

2010-01-10T21:06:00.002Z

"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.

Luka's Guide to Sexercise

2010-01-05T23:39:00.002Z

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.

2009 Boudoir Retrospective

2009-12-31T18:03:00.000Z

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.

January

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.

February

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.

March

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.

April

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.

May

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.

June

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."

July

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.

August

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.

September

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.

October

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?

November

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.

December

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.

Thank You for the Laughter

2009-12-22T23:23:00.000Z

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

e[lust] #3

2009-12-17T00:52:00.003Z

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

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

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Spanksgiving
Wife Unsure About Sex With Others
Morning
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
Restraint
Prolific
The Tease
Cock. Confession #386
Shower
Cal's wisdom
Blinded and Bound
The Little Things...
lust
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)
Gush
Claiming: Assume the Position
Painting

Dear Father Christmas...

2009-12-15T01:01:00.002Z

...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:

A pair of hold up stockings that actually hold up and don't roll down my pillowy thighs at inconvenient moments or, failing that:
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?)
A drum kit.
Big, comfortable pants that are also alluring.
Pubic hair to come back into fashion.
Stroppy, fat, older women to come back into fashion.
A Scalextric.
An Indian Head Massage or a Nit Nurse of my very own.
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.
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,

Luka

Luka's Christmas Party Survival Guide

2009-12-04T20:17:00.001Z

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.

What Not to Fetishwear

2009-11-29T21:10:00.003Z

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.

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.

Barbed Wire Bollocks Busters!

2009-11-25T15:08:00.001Z

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.

What's In It For Me?

2009-11-19T21:52:00.002Z

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?

Let It Grow

2009-11-15T20:14:00.000Z

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.

I Am A Top Sex Blogger of 2009, Apparently

2009-11-09T21:18:00.001Z

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!"

I Am A Great Read, Apparently

2009-11-08T00:34:00.003Z

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:

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.
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.
Cyberstalk various friends and acquaintances. This isn't sinister, it's just being interested.
Write something utterly hilarious and award winning.
Fail to keep my "no alcohol for me tonight" pledge.
Discover that I can't just have one biscuit after all.
Find a food item in my cleavage.
Stay up much later than intended.
Oil my sensual, naked body and take photos of myself to send to my favourite readers.
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.)

A Fairy Tale of Blogland

2009-11-03T12:38:00.000Z

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.

Luka Interview #1

2009-10-28T21:26:00.001Z

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."

The Luka Interviews - More Audience Participation!

2009-10-26T09:41:00.004Z

"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.

Ask Luka - The Cybersex Query

2009-10-19T22:17:00.003+01:00

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".

Ask Luka! Putting the Pro in Problem Solving.

2009-10-14T15:03:00.003+01:00

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:

Treacle
Sweetie
Sugar
Honey
Duchess
Princess
Missus
Flower
Petal
Kitten
Gorgeous

and these are to be avoided:

Tank
Tits
Babe
Granny
Tubs
Bitch
Cunt
Slut
Bitchqueen
Splitarse

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.

Ask Luka!

2009-10-12T21:00:00.003+01:00

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.

Flesh My Bot

2009-10-08T19:24:00.005+01:00

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.

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

2009-10-04T19:15:00.002+01:00

“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.”

Audience Participation Antici....pation

2009-09-19T10:09:00.003+01:00

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.

Saucy Raunchy Sexy Sex Post, Part Two PLUS Audience Participation

2009-09-15T19:20:00.000+01:00

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.

Saucy Raunchy Sexy Sex Post

2009-09-13T23:06:00.001+01:00

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".

Bonkers Blogger Found in Cat Flap

2009-09-07T20:15:00.000+01:00

"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.

Kebab

"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.

Quirky

"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."

Vole

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."

Flap

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."

Butt

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.

Birdwatching

Normal Service Has Been Lost

2009-09-02T10:23:00.004+01:00

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.

Letting Go

2009-08-24T00:29:00.003+01:00

She arrived in a cardboard box, nearly twenty years ago. The runt of the litter, she wasn't even chosen as a pet by my husband. She came free with his purchase of her sister, a somewhat larger, cuter kitten.

She was tiny, mottled brown and orange in colour, with large yellow eyes and pointy ears. She looked a bit like a gremlin but was far gentler in nature. She might take on a burly spider if feeling particularly fierce. She would follow me down the street as I walked my infant daughter to nursery school.

Her purr never worked properly. It stuttered like a faulty engine. I would wake in the night with it buzzing in my ear as she licked my hair and dribbled contentedly on my head. She always drank my water. If I put a glass down she would immediately put her head in it. She loved barbecues, appearing as soon as the coals were lit and begging shamelessly for food, taking off across the shed roof with a piece of sausage held proudly aloft.

She outlived her sister by eight years. I worried she would be lonely and brought new kittens into the house, which gave her a second childhood for a while as she chased them about. She grew skinnier, tattier, louder, madder. She became a suitable mad old cat for a mad old cat lady. She only wanted human food and would yowl incessantly, annoyingly, until I caved in and shared. She had a relaxed attitude to litter trays, preferring, in her old age, to go in exciting new places like games consoles, behind the television or in my shoes. She liked to sleep in a cardboard box on the landing.

She always hated travelling, being in the car frightened her. So the vet came to us because I couldn't bear to see her scared. The tumour in her abdomen, he told me, was the size of a cricket ball. I was doing the right thing, he said. Would I like to stay? Of course. I held her and talked to her and then she was gone.

My husband carried her out of the house in her cardboard box, an unwitting echo of her arrival so long ago.

It's no different to any other relationship, really. There will always, at some point, be a parting. It hurts and on some level we know it's inevitable but, for the most part, we forge ahead regardless, keeping our focus on the journey. If we didn't we would never have pets, children, lovers, careers or new shoes, we would be too scared of losing them. It's the only way to live but it leaves a hell of a bruise.

Undisguised

2009-08-17T19:53:00.001+01:00

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?

In the Company of Pooves

2009-08-10T19:23:00.000+01:00

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.

Sex Blogger Sex Scandal Sex Exclusive

2009-08-03T00:45:00.001+01:00

"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.

Muffin

"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."

Ordeal

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."

Frenzy

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."

Knitting

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."

Unfashionable

2009-07-27T00:17:00.001+01:00

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

You Know He's Over You When...

2009-07-20T21:00:00.000+01:00

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

You Know You're Over Him When...

2009-07-15T22:39:00.000+01:00

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?

All Day Confidence and a Complimentary Wet Wipe

2009-07-02T21:20:00.000+01:00

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!"

Fowl Play

2009-06-29T12:28:00.000+01:00

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?

Salute to the Sun

2009-06-23T21:24:00.000+01:00

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.

T(wittering) On

2009-06-16T12:14:00.001+01:00

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.

Hot Naked Icon Action

2009-06-08T20:44:00.000+01:00

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.

Plagiarism

2009-06-03T22:47:00.002+01:00

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.

The Joy of Flirtation

2009-05-29T22:12:00.000+01:00

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?

Unfluffy

2009-05-26T19:57:00.000+01:00

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.

A Very Public Affair

2009-05-20T15:39:00.002+01:00

Now, this may come as a surprise to some of you (those who have never read my blog before, or have been trapped in a concrete bunker on Mars for the past year or so) but I am not overly fond of adultery bloggers.

That is not to say I tar the whole genre with the same brush. There are some who write sensitively and honestly. Then again, there are some who write with a thinly veiled glee at how clever they are at this duplicitous lifestyle and a desperate need to be found sexually appealing by strangers.

Still, these I can understand. I get what they are doing and why. I have a harder time getting to grips with those who seem to have lost the ability to use private email, letters or the telephone and instead conduct their break-ups and make-ups as publically as possible, via the medium of blogging.

Is it a wannabe celeb thing? A chance to feel a tiny bit like Katie Price and Peter Andre, to feel like the world is watching your love life through a lens and that everyone is agog to know what happens next? Does it add that sub-Hello magazine touch of glamour as you slop about your council flat in your Matalan dressing gown, cheap mascara streaming through your fake tan into your balled Kleenex, as you detail the minutaie of your illicit relationship to an undiscerning handful of online misfits and social inadequates who just love to watch a train wreck?

Does it stem from a desire to wallow for a just a brief moment in the low wattage spotlight of what paltry online fame you can generate as the author of yet another unoriginal, uninspiring sex blog? "Look, we are sex bloggers, we both have blogs, we are fucking each other! Look, we are like a blog celebrity couple! Oh no, we have split up. Boo hoo. Oh no, we are back together again and we are in love forever. Smooch smooch. Except now I've dumped him." And so on.

Or is it, as I suspect, more about the fact that such people need an audience to validate what they have? After all, when you are meeting up with someone other than your life partner for secret sex you can't just turn to your friend, family member or colleague and ask their opinion on what your lover just said or did without giving the game away. It starts to feel unreal, this secret relationship that exists only online, in hotel rooms, in your memory, in a bubble. Rather than talking to each other in private it all comes out online. Tearful recriminations, doleful dumpings, lurid tales of spunk and sodomy, along with declarations of undying love, all carefully performed to the peanut gallery. On a repetitive loop. Because that makes it better, more special, more real, like a proper relationship, and not just a fantasy fuckfest.

It all comes back to the philosphical question of: if two sex bloggers shag but nobody blogs it, did it really happen?

Wobbly and Dangerous

2009-05-19T01:01:00.008+01:00

After a Russian themed party weekend, which is most likely to make you feel sore all over the next morning?

Vodka jellies...

...big Red Luka...

..or a terrifying combination of both?

Maybe It's Because You're a Londoner (That You Forget Other Places Exist)

2009-05-13T21:15:00.001+01:00

I am entertaining again this week. Once more I shall be the hostess with the mostess and welcoming my friends as they arrive at Lukaland for a few days of over-indulgence. Many of these are friends from London. They have to come to visit me as I refuse to visit them. I hate the city.

Not that they mind. I live in a spectacularly beautiful place and am blessed with idyllic surroundings a million miles removed from the grimy, litter-strewn streets of London. No advertising hoardings here, no gum-caked pavements, no filthy blasts of diesel fumes from thundering buses, no crushes of bodies swarming mindlessly for a tube train because there won't be another for at least - oh - two minutes. It is peaceful here, it is green, lush, full of wildlife and friendly people with whom you can make eye contact, or idle conversation in the post office.

Yes, my London chums enjoy their escapes to the country and happily indulge my reluctance to travel to them. I have been unable to cure the other few million London-dwellers of their insular behaviour though. To this day most Londoners refuse to accept there is civilised life beyond their urban sprawl and seem to think living like a battery hen is not only desirable but aspirational. There is a mindset of self absorption, a belief that things that happen in the city just do not, cannot, occur elsewhere. Snow happens often and abundantly in other areas of the country, for example, yet a flake or two in London and it's front page news.

I have even had would-be suitors, smitten, unsurprisingly, by my online display of wittily turned phrases and plump body parts, discard me as a potential plaything simply because I do not live in London. While I am not actively seeking would-be suitors, being a disgustingly smugly satisfied married woman who no longer does that sort of thing, I enjoy the thrill of flirtation and the excitement of possibility as much as anyone. I am left to surmise that anyone who does not understand that a fine specimen such as myself is well worth a couple of hours travel time and a tentative exploration beyond the concrete cocoon of the city is spectacularly blinkered and a mammoth twat to boot.

How strange, I think, that these people would expect me to get on a train and travel for hours through the arse end of every town en route (a depressing composite of concrete, bad graffiti, scraggly weeds and warehouses) and then toil through the termite mound of London just to spend a few precious hours in the glow of their company and yet wouldn't dream of taking the same journey themselves, in reverse. "A meet in the country?" I sense them think in perplexity. "How perverse! Where would we have coffee? Where are the hotels that rent by the hour? How can I work my urbane charm, how can I make my excuses and leave, speedily, when far from the city? Can I really be arsed to travel for fucking hours when all that awaits are fields of straw-chewing yokels and the spectre of an unfulfilling flirtation ankle deep in mud whilst sucking on a turnip, alluringly?"

Thank goodness for the enlightened, my beloved Londoners who have made the journey to Lukaland. They shall be fed well and plied with the finest alcohol. There will be music, dancing and laughter. They will trade their urban night time soundtrack of car alarms, thudding baselines pounding from passing hot hatchbacks, wailing sirens and the constant rumble of traffic for the hooting of owls, the wind whispering through the trees, lowing calves and wine-fuelled lyrical outbursts from yours truly. Now how can any city compete with that?

The Glutton's Lament

2009-05-06T21:38:00.002+01:00

I have overindulged
I am bloated
It's true
I have drunk too much wine
My poor liver!
I knew
I would eat my own weight
In fine cheeses
Bread too
When throwing a party
Over a week
Or two.

Luka Learns How to be Selfish

2009-04-21T23:24:00.004+01:00

Where have I been, you ask?

Out in the real world, I answer.

I've had a minor social experiment, a personal life change. A readjusting of my life/work/online balance. It has been successful and has done me much good. I still need to trim a bit of fat, to cut back on all those things which do me no good, but overall I am moving in the right direction.

I don't know about you, but my life seems to be stuck on fast forward at the moment. A blink and another month has gone. I try to slow it down but to no avail. Perhaps this is an unavoidable part of growing older.

So, with time an increasingly scarce commodity, I have been spending that which I have on my nearest and dearest, rather than frittering it away on those who do not love me anywhere near as much. It is a benevolent selfishness. I no longer waste my resources on unrewarding enterprises. I only give time and love to those who give time and love back to me. It has taken me years to wise up to this and I can't help but wonder how much more I will have learned in another decade.

What wise words would you pass on to yourself if you could travel back ten years in time?

20

2009-04-10T10:37:00.000+01:00

I have been celebrating for the past few days. I have a vast bouquet of flowers overflowing the vase in the living room, a fridge full of wine and a belly full of bubbly and good food.

This week has been the anniversay of my wedding, a whole 20 years ago. (Though we were together for five years before that.) It has been a lengthy journey to get to this point, filled with a blend of scenic good times, broodingly bad times and vast stretches of mundane times. There have been times that we have fought, times it looked like we were going to crash and burn, and times we took each other for granted and wandered off to see if there was something or someone better over the horizon. Yet, somehow, we have managed to stay not just married, but happily so. We still enjoy each other's company. We still find each other attractive. What it all boils down to is that despite how difficult and annoying we can both be, we would rather be together than apart. So we are.

If that's not worth raising a glass to I don't know what is.

So, in honour of my double decades of wedded bliss I shall give you my 20 top tips for a long-lasting relationship:

Spend lots of time apart. This will ensure you always have new and interesting things to tell each other and will enhance your enjoyment of the time you do spend together.
Never assume you know someone completely. You don't. You have secrets and so do they.
Don't expect things to remain as they are forever. No relationship exists in stasis. It will develop and change over time. Those who adapt will survive.
While relationships change people do not. Accept the person you love for who they are. You will never change them into someone they are not, so don't waste their time, and yours, by trying.
Encourage your partner in their endeavours, even if you think they're destined for failure. If you don't they will either resent you for standing in the way of their dreams or go ahead and do it anyway. Then, if they make a go of it, they will think you are a faithless git who never believed in them and if they fall on their arse they will accuse you of never wanting them to succeed in the first place.
Talk. Your loved one is not a mind reader.
Listen.
Indulge in playfulness. A bit of silliness goes a long way, whether it be an impromptu water fight over the washing up or a join-the-dots puzzle composed of chocolate buttons on your belly.
Never sulk.
Do not go to bed on an argument. Always stay up and fight. Get it sorted.
Sex is important. But it isn't everything. There will be times when you are not in synch. This does not necessarily spell The End, especially if you remember point 7, above.
Do not be fooled into thinking that the grass looks greener outside your marriage. As has been pointed out before, affairs exist in a bubble of unreality. Introduce mortgage payments, childcare, domestic chores and the mundanity of everyday life and suddenly the grass looks that little bit more uniform. Lovers are like zoo animals. Exotic and fun to vist but you wouldn't want to live with one.
Balance brutal honesty with kind lies.
Don't bear grudges. You either forgive someone or you don't and you most certainly shouldn't claim forgiveness and then re-open old wounds every time you argue.
Do not air your grievances in public and most certainly not online. Far better to see point 7, above.
Make the same effort as you would with someone you were meeting for the first time. Presentation never loses its importance.
Apologise but remember that sorry doesn't always make it all better. An apology is not a Get Out of Jail Free card for bad behaviour.
Beware complacency. Just because things seem to be ticking over nicely now doesn't mean they always will. Anything will die if you neglect it for long enough.
Voice your appreciation. If they have cooked you dinner, made a cup of tea, mended the hoover, or just look very nice in those trousers, it is good to let them know you noticed.
Never stop seeing your loved one. It is easy for a long term partner to start blending in with the wallpaper. What surrounds you every day blurs into the background over time and you stop really seeing it at all. Who you fell in love with in the first place is usually still there (see point 4, above - people don't really change, perceptions do) you just have to look past the accumulated assumptions of the years. If you don't lose sight of each other you'll find it harder to drift out of reach.

Wibble Wobble

2009-04-06T20:36:00.002+01:00

When he pounds my body in that energetic way I can see, and feel, my belly and bosoms undulating like an enormous, Rubenesque jelly. On a plate.

Everything is in motion. No rock hard porn star tits for me, nipples poking resolutely ceilingwards. No flat washboard stomach, no taut thighs. My body behaves as if an internal wave machine has just been switched on. I make a mental note that belly surfing should be a recognised sport.

Should I have kept my basque on for a more pleasing effect, I wonder? Tried to tame the wobbly bits a bit? It seems my concerns are unfounded.

"You're fucking beautiful," he murmurs, gazing fondly down upon my breasts as they quiver like two cherry-topped pink blancmanges on a bouncy castle. "You're so gorgeous."

It may just be that he loves desserts of course, but I am immensely cheered nonetheless.

Subdued

2009-04-01T22:47:00.003+01:00

I have been less inspired barb-wise lately.

I still find sex bloggers hilarious and frustrating in equal measure, I still have lots I wish to highlight and much I long to lampoon, yet I find my time is currently taken up with more pressing issues. When I do find I have a few minutes at the laptop I tend to fire off a couple of pithy tweets rather than expanding my thoughts into a whole blog post. Blogging lethargy has me in its grip.

Not that I am alone. Many of my favourite blogs have gone quiet or disappeared altogether. There must be something in the air. Or maybe it's just real life reclaiming its rightful priority in the order of things.

So, my apologies to those who still stop by here hoping for an invigorating shot of vitriol in the mornings. Normal service will be resumed as soon as my motivation levels rise accordingly. In the meantime, should you be so inclined, do feel free to suggest topics for me to cover. You may well hit on something I can't resist getting my teeth into.

A Flawed Premise

2009-03-28T21:50:00.000Z

"Still, at least I'll have some shocking stories to tell the other residents in the old folks home when I'm 80."

I encounter this line from time to time, spoken in response to my questioning as to whether the deceit and heartache is worth it all, written as justification for illicit liaisons and multiple duplicities.

The flaw in this reasoning, however, is that when you are old and living in the residential home for the elderly your fellow inmates won't care because:

A. They have done all the same things themselves (yes, other people have had sex too!)
B. They have gone senile
C. They assume you have gone senile
D. You never told them at all because you really have gone senile and can barely remember your own name let alone any sexual conquests and spend your time asking if anyone has seen Dave, drooling and shitting your pyjamas.

That's the thing about sex. It just doesn't last as long as you'd like, not even in retrospect. It is very much an act of the moment, fleeting, transitory. Enjoy it but don't pretend it's something you can impress others with in your twilight years. What will truly cause excited whispers and envious glances in your direction as you sit in your wipe-clean, high-backed chair is the number of people who still come to visit and remember you are alive.

Invest!

2009-03-23T21:40:00.000Z

The perfect investment opportunity has arisen for all Barbed Wire Boudoir fans, everywhere.

I have been working tirelessly on my new project - Barbed Wire Boudoir, the Musical - for some weeks now. That's why I have been so unnaturally quiet lately. All my creative juices have been flowing into this particular endeavour.

The production is of a groundbreaking and unique nature, being performed entirely by sock puppets in a cardboard box theatre.

In this manner I hope to keep costs down without sacrificing my artistic vision.

Even so, I find I need at least a further £15.50 to stage Barbed Wire Boudoir, the Musical. I need a bit more felt and some sequins, plus a new bulb for the fairy lights.

If you have more money than sense and want to help finance my dream please contact me at the usual address. In return for your backing you get your name in crayon on the front of the box and a sock puppet of your own.

Renewed

2009-03-18T22:00:00.000Z

A fingertip tracing the line of my jaw

A soft kiss where my neck meets my shoulder

The weight of a hand firmly placed on my back

An exploratory touch that grows bolder

Lips brushing over the pulse in my throat

Exhaled words fan the spark to a smoulder

Letting go, a surrender, joyously lost

A renaissance as we both grow older

Unnecessary

2009-03-16T17:30:00.002Z

If it's better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all
Is it better to have broken bones
Than never to have climbed the wall?

If it's better to have tried but failed
To struggle even if in vain
Is it better then to just endure
To persist in that which causes pain?

Retail Therapy

2009-03-11T21:46:00.000Z

I went shopping for lingerie. After my experience with the magic knickers I was searching for something flattering, comfortable and unlikely to cause stress fractures. After a while, as I looked for something that would lift me here and pull me in there, I became aware that it was unlikely I would find the ideal garment. I actually tried to put on a body shaping elastane cocoon in Marks and Spencer and had to give up, exhausted. It got as far as my knees and then rolled itself up into a thick sausage of lycra fabric, tightly cinched my legs together and refused to roll up my body any further. It was like trying to put on a wet swimming costume.

Deciding that underwear that gives you an unwanted workout and sheen of sweat while cutting off the circulation in your lower legs wasn't for me and should, in fact, be lobbed forcefully through the changing room curtains in the general direction of the perky sales assistant who recommended it, I returned to the lingerie department, discouraged and dishevelled.

I had originally been thinking along the lines of "if I can only find the right underwear I won't need to lose weight." This is stupid thinking. Even if I managed to wear something so tight it squeezed all the lumps and bumps of my torso into a smooth and shapely form the fat would simply be displaced elsewhere. I would have great big wobbly arms, ankles or a fat neck.

Time for a rethink.

I bought perfectly ordinary underwear, the kind which does not purport to have magical powers. It covers and supports the parts it's supposed to and lets the rest hang free, undulating gently, unrestrained. I also bought exotic oils and lotions to massage into my skin. My thoughts had turned from the delusional retail Utopia I had fondly imagined and were now counselling acceptance of what nature had seen fit to bestow upon me. "If I rub gorgeous smelling creams over my body, leaving my swells and hollows soft and scented," I reasoned, " then I don't really need underwear at all."

The Thing About Twitter

2009-03-07T21:44:00.002Z

There has been a lot of media attention given over to Twitter lately. Discussion has ranged from the fascinating fact that famous people have been known to use it (yes, you can join the other 35,483 followers of your favourite celeb and get updates from their glittering lives straight into your drab little laptop - who knows, one day they may even reply to a Tweet of your own and for a brief yet gusset dampening moment you can pretend you are friends) to the chances of it rotting your brain.

I have had my own discussions with non-Twitterers who wonder what the appeal is and perceive it as the ultimate in vanity, this expectation that anyone should be interested in the minutiae of your life.

They have a point. There are a great many Tweets concerning what's for dinner, whether the author is ready for a nap or not, links to boring old shite nobody else gives a stuff about, those fucking annoying "Blip" things which just let you know what music someone else is currently listening to and announcements about cups of tea. Why do we feel the need to share this with the world? Twitter has aged a generation before its time, turning us all into elderly parents endlessly stating the bleeding obvious and alerting us to the trivial: "Ooh, I think I'll have a cup of tea", "it's a nice day" or "I think I'll have haddock for supper tonight".

The rest of the Tweets I read are thinly veiled boasts: "Have just finished writing a novel," "Had lunch with Alan Rickman and now off to photoshoot" or "Amazingly hot sex with 6 of the biggest cocks in Swingerland - fanny on fire, but worth it!"

Still, my argument is that the use of Twitter is no more vain or shallow than blogging. There is nothing you'll read on Twitter that you can't read more wordily on blogs. And that, of course, is where the benefit lies. Many Tweets may well be utterly pointless and/or annoying but they have the great advantage of being short. When time is lacking and I haven't the option of a lengthy writing session I can post an arsey, acerbic comment on Twitter and feel I have done my bit to rebuke the world for failing to meet my exacting standards yet again.

Now I am off to see what everyone had for dinner and who is bragging about the fact that they, you know, do it.

Luka's Fantasy Fuckfest

2009-03-05T18:00:00.004Z

I am not sucking that
No. You can suck me
Then go. Don't come back
Unless it's with tea.

Magic Knickers

2009-03-02T22:51:00.003Z

You know the kind. They are made of super stretchy lycra and are designed to pull your buttocks up, your stomach in and make you look toned and gorgeous (despite the fact that all your fat is now simply hanging over the top of the waistband). As undergarments go they are in the "tight" department. Putting them on is no mean feat.

I mention this because today I horribly injured myself in the mundane act of pulling on my knickers this morning. Seriously. I simply stepped into my magic knickers, pulled them up and - twang! - something gave. It was not the knickers. It was not even, thankfully, my bladder.

No, it was something in my ribcage. Something less elastic than my magic underwear simply snapped and I was left gasping and flopping around like a fish out of water. Whatever it is, it hurts like a bastard.

Bad magic knickers. Black magic knickers! I have the evil sort. I should have opted for white. Not only do they not make me look like the woman on the packet they also gave me some sort of internal rupture.

Am I cursed? Or has anyone else managed to hurt themselves quite badly in a truly trivial way?