Wednesday, 31 December 2008
This morning dawned foggy and frozen, however, and the thought of donning sheer stockings and a bit of lace was too much for this old trollop, so on went the thick, woolly tights instead.
Of course if you then get onto the bed and start flinging your legs about while wielding a mobile phone camera then you ought to expect company. Especially if that company is waiting for you to get on with cleaning out the litter tray and opening a tin of Whiskas (not necessarily in that order.) Despite my loving "bugger off out of it, you" he managed to get into every shot.
By the time he moved onto biting my shoes and digging his claws into my leg in a "use your opposable thumbs or the new tights get shredded" kind of way I accepted defeat and did his bidding. It was either that or run the risk of a punishment surprise in my sock drawer again. Here I am, great big arsey Luka, slave to a small furry feline. Any submissives out there who are in between relationships and missing some dominance in their lives, just get a cat. (NB. They are not for novices. Cats don't use safewords and no matter how much you cry out they will still happily run up your legs using only their claws in your bare flesh for leverage. And puke in your slippers for a laugh.)
Now that I have served the cat his lunch I am free to begin the New Year's Eve celebrations. I shall be staying in the warm and hoping my woolly tights don't discourage any potential saucing up when the clock strikes twelve. Maybe I should slip a bottle of bubbly down them, just to be on the safe side.
Sunday, 28 December 2008
While many were succumbing to post-festive season depression I lightened the mood with my hilarious Top Tips for Satirical Sex Bloggers. Why I didn't get some sort of award for it I'll never know. Not content to rest on my laurels I went on to post on the problems of dealing with Smelly People. I didn't get an award for that either, but I did get a strong reaction from Mystery Blogger Q who, mistakenly believing the post to be aimed at him, was so incensed he had to close his blog, change his name and start anew elsewhere.
Unperturbed by the maelstrom of Blog Drama ensuing behind the curtains of the Boudoir, I treated everyone to my thoughts on the vanilla sex lives of the animal kingdom. I also took the piss out of blogger charity publishing and intimate hygiene products. The laughs kept coming as I offended several bloggers over my controversial "stop slagging off your spouse online when you're spending their money and leaving them with the kids while you're out shagging" point of view and got myself turfed off a couple of blogrolls.
This Scentsational post really set the tone for the month. I went on to issue my Sex Blog Challenge and post my first proper HNT. To my complete and utter unsurprise I garnered bucketloads of comments for that, and subsequent HNT posts, while the doggerel I slaved over for minutes at a time and lovingly shaped into bouncy rhymes was met with a collective "meh". This taught me a valuable lesson and I now only give poetry readings with my tits out.
In an attempt to prevent too many innocent bloggers becoming unwitting April Fools I posted a satirical swipe at those who shamelessly thrust their online begging bowls at all and sundry. (If these people spent less time online posting about expensive knickers and hotel rendezvous and more time working and saving they might not need to do so much fucking scrounging. Mind you, there'll be slim pickings in 2009 for blog beggars, given the current economic climate, that's for sure. We're all fucking skint now.) April also saw a new commenter, "Grundy Boyo", appearing on my blog. In response to his endless questions about the ins and outs of the sex blogging world I posted a helpful guide to Blog Drama Club.
The month opened with a shocker, as Grundy Boyo was unmasked as Mystery Blogger Q in an ill-fitting disguise. I laughed, I did. Mystery Blogger Q, however, did not and he was forced to close his blog, change his name and start anew elsewhere.
I only went and got a Fleshbot, and me an anti-sex-blogger and all! Who'd have thought it? June was the month I also celebrated my Blogoversary, for which I wrote a tedious review of the year, much like this one, which generated hearty congratulations and a mystery abusive comment. Heh.
The heat flooded both my brain and loins and I found myself helplessly ejaculating deviant filth onto my blog, which was rightly Fleshbotted for being so intensely arousing. Unsatiated I hotly thrust forward my historical bonkbuster, The Improbable Adventures of Hermione Saucebucket. Why that didn't win an award I'll never know.
In a fit of creative naughtiness I lampooned a bit of blog drama that was currently happening elsewhere. My faith in sex bloggers was restored as the lampoonees were most gracious about my silliness. In contrast I went on to post on the surprisingly few arsey comments I get for being such an unremitting twat in public, which itself only managed to generate one arsey comment. Tsk.
This was a busy month for me. I got reviewed (though the review site in question seems to have since died on its arse), listed as a Top Sex Blogger of 2008, and stopped doing HNTs. That last one was tough as in return for keeping my tits in, I had to forfeit those 30+ comments a week from people I don't know that said "HHNT!" In the end I just had to be strong and deal with the loss in my own quiet way.
My favourite month. It contains my birthday, which is obviously a cause for celebration, and Halloween, my favourite holiday of all. I spent most of October in a state of happy inebriation and over-excitement which meant that no one was offended and no blogs closed.
The concept of Tantric Sex Blogging was born. My thoughts on the Painful Truth of blogging led to a mild outbreak of blog drama while my thoughts on the Naked Truth about sock puppets, bizarrely, led to full scale supersized BLOG DRAMA of gargantuan, vein-popping proportions. In fact, Mystery Blogger Q was so incensed he had to close all his blogs, change his name, change it back again, re-open his blogs by invite only, close them again, and then relaunch them and start anew elsewhere.
The season of goodwill and it showed in my hardly mentioning sock puppets at all now I am aware of the offense they cause for some people. A time for sober reflection, I found myself musing upon the nature of Regret and then toying with some Lego. Then I decided to get my tits out and the comments rolled back in again.
All in all, looking back at 2008, I'd say that went as well as could be expected.
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
To all of you that have come along with me, for jollity and cleavage shots, thank you. It's been fun!
To all of you that flounced off in a huff, sorry. But I only did it because it was funny. And true.
On balance, most people are very gracious. For every humourless fucktard that foams at the mouth in fury as they remove me from their blogroll there is a delightful, well-balanced, secure individual who, rightly, thinks I am great and have a fabulous sense of humour. To those charming individuals I raise my glass and bid you good cheer. To those joyless bastards who insist on taking this seriously I raise my glass and thank you for all the material.
Merry Christmas, lovely fellow blogonauts. May your stockings be as full as mine, overflowing with exactly what everyone wants at this time of year: a plump bird for Christmas. With booze.
Saturday, 20 December 2008
When he embraced me he put his face in my hair, nuzzling my neck, just below my ear. He told me I smelled amazing and bit me, hard enough to raise goosebumps along my arm but not quite hard enough to leave a mark. "Close the door," I murmured. "The dog is looking at me."
This is my really real sexy sex. I don't have carefully cropped pictures to post, showing my nylon-clad legs in the air. I don't even have carelessly cropped pictures showing my jeans pooled around my ankles as I try to kick both them and my socks off simultaneously. Or my jumper caught halfway over my head. Or that erotic moment where you have to throw the cat off the bed and then brush the mud off the duvet. Or that special post-orgasmic pass-the-bog-roll snapshot. I have no pictures of these, partly because I have doubts they will win me a Fleshbot, but mostly because I can't be arsed to waste my precious shagging time looking for the camera. (It's never to hand, and when you do track it down the batteries are inevitably flat, and when you eventually find the remote control and raid it for a couple of AAs it's time to go to work and the opportunity is lost.)
I suppose what I am saying is that while it is fun to dress up and prepare, the reality is that many of my best experiences are those that are unexpected, unplanned for. The arms enfolding me from behind as I stand at the kitchen sink, the kisses on the back of the neck. The sleepy surprise of the half-awake lovemaking that occurs on those rare occasions when the stars and your pyjamas are in alignment. The slow-dawning joy of suddenly realising everyone else in the house has fucked off out for a bit and you can be rude on the sofa for a change. These moments have a tendancy to occur when one isn't wearing a corset and fishnets.
I am musing now on what eveyone else's really real sexy sex experiences are like. Have you been found irresistable whilst suffering from the flu, for example? Or been unexpectedly sauced up whilst gutting fish? Do tell.
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
Well, wonder no more. I am going to tell you all about the latest in luxury sex toys. So subtly designed it can be left lying casually on your coffee table and no one will suspect it was crammed into your gusset moments earlier.
Quality like this comes at a price. I didn't pay for mine, of course, (I was sent it free of charge in return for reviewing it on my influential and ever so sexy blog) yet, despite the fact I would never have been flush enough to buy it under normal circumstances, I will still look down my nose at those poor unfortunates who couldn't afford to buy it either and have to make do with inferior items from high street retailers. Oh, you poor souls who have to plug your gaping voids with reduced for a quick sale aubergines. My toy comes in its own box, you know, and is tiny, so tiny, yet still more than enough for my tautly tight mouses ear of a fanny.
No, until you have tried the Lego Cunt Wobbler you have simply not lived. Noduled for pleasure, it comes in a variety of colours and is guaranteed to leave you gasping (usually when you tread on it, granted.) A timeless, simple design, it just oozes class and creativity. The corners feel nice. I wouldn't put it up your arse though.
Monday, 15 December 2008
Affairs are undeniably expensive. Lingerie, hotel rooms, sex toys, phone calls, travel; they all cost money. Historically there has always been a degree of doublethink involved in such situations. I have known sex bloggers who will wail about their lack of finances, claiming to be on the brink of economic disaster, not knowing how they'll afford this month's mortgage payment or presents for the kids this Christmas. So no winter getaway for the family and knickers from Primark for the missus. Then they blithely fork out for travel tickets, a hotel room, lingerie for the lover and an expensive hunk of metal for them to wear up their arse on the ride home. And then go home to a row with the wife over the leccy bill.
But now, with times so hard, will it truly be possible to sustain these doublethink double lives without going bust or being busted? I predict a great deal more stories featuring sex in cars, sex with inexpensive household items and sex remembered from more prosperous times.
Friday, 12 December 2008
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
I go to the shops. I drink coffee. I eat lunch.
I stand next to people in supermarket queues. I sit at tables near other diners. I idly watch them if I have nothing else to hold my attention. I may overhear a conversation.
I have never, ever wondered if these people are about to have sex, talking about sex, have had sex or are currently wearing some sort of sexual appliance under their anorak.
So why do sex bloggers persist in believing the rest of the world is constantly speculating about them in this way? They seem to think they generate some kind of palpable aura that lesser mortals, who obviously aren't having sex like they are, detect when in their presence.
Every other post it's "are people looking", "are people listening", or "whatever do the staff think?"
I can tell you what the staff think. They don't give a fuck about your fuck. They really don't. Once you factor in the preoccupations and concerns most of us are channeling our attentions into at any given moment it is unlikely anyone really gives a toss if you have a dildo in your handbag. The sad truth is that many of the writers spewing out this ego-fuelled drivel are of-a-certain-age and therefore invisible to most casual observers anyway.
As for whether anyone suspects that respectable couple chatting over coffee are really a pair of lust-crazed shag monsters, well, no, I doubt anyone does. Middle aged people are not perceived as sexual beings in our youth-oriented society, by and large. The barista most likely thinks you are just a bit sweaty and flushed because of the menopause or something, if they register your presence at all.
Never mind wondering if anyone has noticed the condoms in your shopping basket or the fact that you only have your underwear on beneath your raincoat. If you're over forty you'd need to be stark bollock naked and sounding an airhorn to be noticeable in a crowd, so, trust me, no one's looking.
Sunday, 7 December 2008
Skipping merrily through my blogroll this week I came upon a comment thread which touched upon the nature of regret. The post in question was about infidelity and the comments were the usual self-serving, self-justifying witless selection of variations on "yeah, you go girl!"(Which roughly translates as "I don't actually give a toss about the rights or wrongs of the situation or the reality of the actual impact upon your homelife, I just want you to keep posting the titillating stuff." Most commenters either want a vicarious thrill or a justification for their own indiscretions. It is a mutual support group where self-awareness is handed in at the door in exchange for blinkers. But I become barbed and digress.)
One of the comments included the old chestnut that "you only regret the things you don't do." Which is utter, utter bollocks. There are lots of things I haven't done which I do not regret in the slightest. (I do not regret turning down the opportunity for a fumble with, oh, lots and lots of people. I do not regret deciding not to drive after a bottle of wine, or choosing not to do things just because everybody else was.) Conversely, there are lots of things I did do and regret mightily. (I shan't give examples, but I am sure you can think of a list of your own.)
Regrets are what differentiate the healthy from sociopaths. We make choices which harm ourselves or others and feel bad about it. It is not a badge of honour to regret nothing. It is a mental deficiency.
Friday, 5 December 2008
After numerous blog closures, concerns were raised that the blogger in question may have "done something stupid. Stupider than normal, even."
The blogger's disappearance was reported on Monday by a worried reader who had noticed a cessation of arsey blog posts and a total absence of snitty comments elsewhere. "When I checked my email I hadn't even had a threatening or offensive message, rebuking me for my commenting habits and choice of friends. It just wasn't usual."
The blogger was, however, found late Thursday evening when a passerby heard typing from a shed.
Our reporter managed an exclusive interview conducted through a knothole in the door.
"For reasons too dull to go into," the blogger said, "I have decided to relocate to my shed. In many ways confining myself to a small space and an even smaller group of readers is very liberating. In here I am free to tell it like it is without fear of contradiction. I can stick two fingers up at the world but can't be seen through the window. If an Englishman's home is his castle then surely his shed is his very own secure unit.
Will I be back? Too soon to say. While I have my thermos and my box of fishpaste sandwiches I am in no hurry to leave.
Besides, at least while I'm in here that bitch Luka can't post any more stupid articles about me."
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Recorded to the highest production values possible whilst under the influence of two bottles of Pinot Grigio and a kebab, this is a true Christmas Classic, destined to become a treasured family heirloom.
From such sentimental, yet offensive, ballads as Little Bummer Boy through to the jaunty fun of Tingle Balls and the uplifiting Ding Dong Merrily Online these are seasonal sex blogger songs which will be a joy to listen to, time and time again.
Don't delay, buy your copy today! Simply enter your credit card details in the comments box below to ensure your stocking is full of Luka's ditties.
Remember - LingaLongaLuka is not available from any shops. Order today and receive a free festive sock puppet!
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
I have mentioned my lack of proper perversions before. I have all the standard ones certainly (who doesn't like a bit of dressing up, a bit of bondage or playing with their food?) but these are so mainstream I refuse to consider them officially kinky.
However, as I purred contentedly under the hands of my hairdresser today I was transported back to the days of my youth, when we would periodically be sent to see the school nurse who would inspect us for head lice.
God, I used to love that. I adored being checked for nits. I go completely spacey having my hair played with. It is an intense pleasure. Maybe it is a throwback to my ape-like ancestors and a time when we would bond by picking pests off each other. Maybe I am just a bit odd.
So I have decided that this is my fetish. Hair play, scalp inspection. Applicants for the role of Naughty Nit Nurse now being taken.
Sunday, 30 November 2008
After the shock revelations from the Boudoir last week there were fears, for some, that sex bloggers would be too scared to continue their activities for fear of exposure.
I can, however, exclusively reveal that nothing could be further from the truth.
"We are not ashamed of our hotel room antics," said Mystery Blogger X, when discovered hiding behind a skip in the Travelodge car park last night. "To imply that we have something to hide is disingenuous to say the least. I am very proud to be seen with my lover and she is just as proud to be seen with me. She's just popped into the skip for a moment to look for a contact lens."
When quizzed as to whether last week's Blog Drama had impacted upon them in any way they denied, absolutely, that it had. "No way," asserted Mystery Blogger X. "It takes more than a comedy posting on a shite blog like BWB to get me in a lather. It would have to be something really offensive, like maybe referring to a"five-in-a-box chat session" to make me lose my rag. Obviously, in those circumstances I might feel a moments irritation, hunt down every commenter in email and then close all my blogs, but who wouldn't?"
"Quite so," came a voice from the skip. "I may not like the childish tabloid tripe that spouts forth from Luka on a regular basis, or want my lover talk to her, or, indeed, be prepared to piss on her if she were on fire, but I will defend to the death her right to say it. As long as she doesn't say it to me. Or him. Or them."
Mystery Blogger X concurred. "We really don't care what Luka writes in the Boudoir as long as we have each other. When you are as secure as we are, a few silly words simply don't matter. When we are bouncing around on that Travelodge mattress together, I barely pay attention to the laptop I brought with me and hardly ever bother logging in to email comments. The sex is just too good to stop for more than a quick gander at my reader."
Friday, 28 November 2008
"What?" I hear you cry. "You mean you haven't been shouting from the rooftops about your clingfilmed arse and ridiculous posts about how awful sex bloggers are when you so obviously crave their companionship?"
"No," I reply. "You cheeky fucker. It has been my own personal space for frolicking and fighting and being a twat, free of the demands of hearth and home."
Yet tonight, I suddenly blurted out "I have a secret blog!"
I hope he likes all the bits about him.
For those sex bloggers in relationships this can be particularly fraught. Are we really as great as our blogs make us seem, or are we, in truth, a bit embarrassing to be seen out with? Are our lovers proud to be associated with us, or are they ashamed and would rather the world think they were shagging someone a bit less wanky?
Well, here are my top ten tell-tale signs that your sex blog lover believes you bring more shame than fame:
1. They tell you it works better for them if nobody knows you are their lover. (They may well say it's because they are "intensely protective of their privacy", while posting a photograph of their naked bits and a graphic desription of how big a wet patch they can leave on velour.)
2. They do not leave coded, pseudonymed comments on your blog to subtly let on that they have nobbed you, even though you do so on theirs all the time, and even widdled on their laptop to mark your territory.
3. You are never invited to their place, even if they live alone.
4. During sex they close their eyes or stick their head in a pillow.
5. They tell you it works better for them with the light out.
6. They like you best ball-gagged and wearing a full face gimp mask.
7. They tell you it works better for them if they call you.
8. They like spanking because then they don't have to look at you.
9. They like spanking with an implement as then you aren't actually in physical contact either.
10. They tell you it works better for them if you are not exclusive.
Have I missed any?
Thursday, 27 November 2008
I am glad I have such loyal friends
I am grateful I don't have to endlessly roam
Begging scraps of time someone else lends
I am thankful I have so much fun
I am glad I refuse to be cowed
I am grateful I don't have to ask anyone
If enjoying myself is allowed
I am thankful I have peace of mind
I am glad that I sleep well at night
I am grateful I don't live my life on rewind
Searching for every possible slight
I am thankful for all of these things
I am glad for more than I can list
I am grateful at last that the fat lady sings
Now it's over you will not be missed
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
Some are small and pink, like sea shells, some are like Spaniel's ears. They can be asymmetrical, fleshy or barely there at all.
Yet, reading sex blogs, most descriptions of ladybits read as if taken directly from the standardised porn ideal. That is, they are invariably "small", "tight", "delicate" and always "smoothly shaven".
Now, not everyone out there has a tiny, tight, teeny-lipped fanny. Some of you have (or have encountered and enjoyed) big lipped, luscious, accommodating cunts. Hairy ones, to boot.
I mention this because I think it's a shame that unrealistic porn star ideals have led to women getting ludicrous silicon breast implants and having their labia snipped off. In blogland, on supposedly "warts and all, this is really real, I really truly do have real sexy sex with real people" style blogs, one would expect a bit more honesty in descriptions of naughty bits.
There's nothing "bad" about having a big old blart. Let's have less fanny fascism in sex blogging and more appreciation of imperfection.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
We are currently cruising at a height way above some people's heads and will be arriving at our destination right on schedule.
We did experience some turbulence earlier, due to excessive wind conditions emanating from the south. While we may encounter the occasional bump if we should hit another pocket of hot air, I am confident we are through the worst of it now.
I am sending my trolley dollies round with complimentary wine and cheesey biscuits and please do take advantage of the duty free offers available. I can heartily recommend the fags and booze and my new fragrance, "Eau de Twats I Have To Deal With".
Thank you for flying Luka Airlines. No, don't undo those seatbelts just yet.
Monday, 24 November 2008
It seems a certain blogger has decided that this post was some sort of coded threat to him, personally, that I really was going to write some sort of expose. This is not the case. It was a bit of fluff. I did not think for one moment that anyone would think references to five-in-a-box chat sessions, sock puppets or raiding dustbins would be taken as any sort of serious subject matter.
Two people commented on my post. Both have been subject to threats via email. I kid you not. Threats. If they wish to "get involved" with my "toxic vendetta" then they will have their secrets exposed in some twisted revenge scenario. Revenge for something which hasn't actually occurred. I haven't actually exposed anything real. It is satire.
My poor, hapless commenters have been told to delete their comments. For fuck's sake. These are utterly harmless comments which reference no one. How could they? I am utterly distraught that they have had to deal with threats and abuse in their inbox simply because they had the temerity to post "picgeaonts again?" and "naked scandal?" in my comments box.
It is beyond mad.
I contacted the irate blogger in question to assure him that no expose is intended or forthcoming and that the post was a simple continuation on a tabloid theme. I was told to take down the post and then he would talk, maybe, tomorrow. Until then, fuck off. So, that went well.
I am not taking down the post. It is a harmless post. It is full of obvious silliness and untruths - how can it possibly cause all this wankery and distress? I will not be bullied or threatened into censoring my blog. Conversely, I absolutely do not want my friends to suffer for my actions.
I don't mind what gets thrown my way, I deserve a few kicks up the arse now and then for the mockery I direct at the sex blogging world. I expect it. It's only fair. But when I find out other people are being intimidated because they comment on me - that's just not on. That's the mark of a true bully.
Luka finally tells her exclusive story.
"I am sick of all the secrecy in sex blogging. All those snide remarks and cryptic comments. It's time for the naked truth. In this week's special 8-page pullout feature I'll probably have some pics of me lounging about in lingerie and have exciting paragraph headings like "Sleazy Sex Act" or "Raunchy Romp". I'll probably get a "Steamy" in there too. Get ready for my shocking exposés on:
- My Late Night Five-in-a-Box Chat Sessions
- Sordid Sex Pics Online - Just Whose Body Part is Whose?
- Sex Blog Stalkers - The Shame of the Top Names Found Raiding My Dustbin
- The Pussy-Whipped and Cuntstruck - Who's Really Working Those Sock Puppet "Alpha Males"?
- and Much, More More!"
Friday, 21 November 2008
These little areas of unfilled space are the signs that your legs are well toned, shapely and socially acceptable.
I stood before the mirror, legs together, and saw not one chink of daylight between them. Well, maybe at the ankles. A bit.
I was so upset at this undeniable sign of imperfect legs I didn't have the heart to do the exercises after that, and watched the rest of the video from the sofa, with a pie.
Years later I still have big, pillowy thighs. And a large soft belly. Sturdy hips, burly forearms. Phenomenal bosoms. My shape doesn't concern me anywhere near as much as it did in my more impressionable days, although even now I occasionally succumb to Cosmo Complex.
I mention all this solely because I was looking at this bosom's eye view of my thighs and thinking how they spill over my stocking tops like bread rising over the top of the tin. Mind you, they'd keep your ears warm on a cold night, and that's got to be a bonus.
How about you? Have you a dusty collection of discarded fitness videos too? I have my doubts anyone can be arsed to flail around in front of the TV for long enough to achieve that elusive perfect body part.
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
After reports this week that an International Top Sex Blogger was bad in bed I can confirm that the Boudoir has received an email from someone named "Mystery Sex Dude" in which they claim to be have been grossly misrepresented.
"I can't believe you would stoop to publishing such obvious falsehoods," writes Mystery Sex Dude. "Everything I write on my blog is true. To imply otherwise is intolerable and I may well sue you, your anonymous informant and anyone who ever comments upon your stupid, childish blog for defamation of character. I am good in bed and I have been Fleshbotted and Sugasmed and that proves it. You've seen my blogroll? That's not just a list of blogs I like to read, that's a Who's Who of lucky tarts who've had a go on my love prong.
Anyway, I should be the one complaining about her," he went on. "She emailed me to say she enjoyed my writing and led me to believe she was up for anything. She sent a picture of her arse and everything. Then when we met she turned out to have numerous hang-ups and wouldn't even touch my nob without first putting on a pair of gardening gloves.
As for me 'not touching the sides', that's rich! She told me she had a fanny 'like a mouse's ear' but when I got down to it, it was like fucking a welly top."
Mystery Sex Dude concluded by boldly stating "You're a total cunt, Luka, and you are under no circumstances to publish any part of this email."
Monday, 17 November 2008
That's the sensational claim an anonymous sex blogger made to our reporter at the Boudoir this weekend.
Our informer, who would prefer to keep their identity under wraps, says that the online Lothario claimed to be a raunchy, 5-times-a-night sex god in the lurid posts he published on his blog, yet when she met him in real life he turned out to be "utterly normal".
"If anything he was a bit bland," she said. "I was expecting someone larger than life, with an enormous todger and a sack full of kinky toys - a bit like a rude Father Christmas, I suppose. I should have known he didn't really exist. Instead he was a completely average, mundane mortal, with an unremarkable willy and a packet of condoms. Turned out he was more dud than stud."
When pressed for details our crestfallen correspondent continued: "Well, you know. He didn't make me wet just looking at him, I didn't come like a steam train during our first frantic fumble in the back of his van and he did not make me feel like I was being split asunder when he plunged into me. To be honest, he barely touched the sides.
I really feel there should be some sort of regulatory body set up to ensure this kind of blatant misrepresentation doesn't keep happening. I would hate anyone to go through the same disappointment and financial loss that I have. That's £3.20 bus fare I'm never going to see again."
Our informant concluded, sadly "I just hope my story serves as a warning to others. Those sex bloggers, they promise you the moon on a stick and a stick up the arse but the reality is that they often don't even know how to undo a bra and come in their pants before you've got your tights off."
Have you had a bad sex blogger shag? Contact our confidential informant line and give us all a laugh.
Saturday, 15 November 2008
Which is a poncey way of saying that if you write honestly about real people then there is a chance that they may be hurt by your words. Oh, and that what you might perceive as the truth about a situation may not be their perception of events at all.
I write pretty much whatever falls out of my brain and onto the laptop with little thought to whether if might upset anyone or not. Well, that's not strictly true. I care about my loved ones, my family, and would, therefore, never post anything that I thought might upset them should they chance upon my online witterings. That's just inbuilt and automatic. Of course, I mainly post about the failings and frailties of sex bloggers and I don't really give much of a toss if they decide to get a cob on just because I've pointed out that Sugasm is a pile of tiresome old wank or something.
I commented on a post by AAG earlier this week where she asserted that if you read something about yourself on a blog that hurts then it's probably true. I gave an "amen to that, sister", as I was pushed for time and only had a couple of words to spare. Of course, many people pointed out that just because something hurts does not make it true. Lies sting just as much.
Nonetheless, in my experience, here at the Boudoir, I'd have to say that those who have thrown the biggest shit fits after reading a post of mine are those who saw themselves within it and found it didn't match their carefully cultivated self image. My caricatures don't make people look particularly attractive and not everyone can cope with being given the verbal equivalent of a comically big nose. Then there are those who want it to be about them, even when it isn't. If the cap fits, wear it, the saying goes, but fucking hell, I've known some who insist on jamming it on, pulling it down over their ears and refusing to accept it's not their size even when the brim comes off in their hands.
I've had all sorts of guilt trips laid at my door for the hurt caused by my cruel prose. What a load of cobblers. I didn't force any sex blogger to post pictures of various household items up their arse/write disrespectfully about their spouse/be a twat in public, I merely pointed out that they had. And that I found it funny.
So, what, precisely, caused the wounded feelings? It certainly wasn't that I had told an untruth. Quite the reverse. It is self sabotage, every time. We always believe the negative about ourselves and find it harder to accept praise. What we perceive to be the truth in another's opinion is what hurts.
Thursday, 13 November 2008
When I am sad he comforts me.
When I am frightened he holds me tight and vows to protect me.
When I am bored he amuses me.
When I am badly behaved he forgives me.
When I am being an arse he tells me.
When I am amorous he makes love to me.
When I am surging ahead he keeps up with me.
And when I am cold at night he lets me wrap my chilled body around him and leech away his body heat.
Monday, 10 November 2008
This should never be contained within a single post. That is a waste of valuable blogging material. The most mundane twenty minute coupling can be broken down into a lengthy series of vignettes. Random snapshots of hotel scenes, fragmented conversations, photos of disembodied limbs against a background of stained nylon carpet or MDF headboard, these all help bulk out your basic, flimsy material.
Luka's Tip of the Day: To really eke out your material try using a gimmick such as writing your post in 50 words or less. It'll take for-fucking-ever to finish writing up your afternoon delight at that rate and everyone will think you are clever.
I lounged back in my chair, gazing down fondly as my lover parted my hairy knees and smiled up at me. "I'm doing nowt until I've finished this," I asserted, through a mouthful of pie. Undeterred he set to, lapping away like my lady parts were a dripping cornetto on a hot day. He was good. So good I almost put my pork pie down. Almost.
Suddenly he plunged his mighty love prong right up me, and I screamed and convulsed and fucked him right back, smearing lard and crumbs all over us both. Thank fuck I didn't spill my pint as well!
Saturday, 8 November 2008
Over the posts ahead Luka's Guide to Tantric Sex Blogging will cover all aspects of dragging out your sexual shenanigans from boring build-up to arse-numbing retrospection. Every issue comes with a unique Luka-style example of the featured technique and builds into a comprehensive collection with its own imitation leather binder.
This is key. Don't just launch straight into a detailed account of your afternoon of condoms and carpet burns. That wastes valuable blogging material. You can fill your blog with posts over many days, weeks, even months about the search for a willing partner, your successes and disappointments, hopes and fears, your lists of requirements, arranging the venue, and even packing your bag. You might think it would make pretty tedious reading but there are many who will hang on your every word, agog, wide-eyed with wonder at the saucy daring of walking through public areas with a vibrator in your bag.
The trick is to imbue every dull detail of planning a couple of hours out of the house with a disproportionate amount of suspense and erotic meaning.
Luka's Tip of the Day: Never use email when you could blog it instead! Don't just write privately to your paramour expressing your excitement about meeting them, that is a waste of valuable blogging material! Write open letters on your blog so that everyone knows you really are going to be doing it - with another person! - because that's the sexy, wild, crazy, articulate, desireable blogger you are.
Soon, Darling, Soon
Gird your loins, my beloved, I am on my way! My heart pounds, my breathing quickens and my seat moistens as I count the hours until I am sat on your face once more. I smiled a secret smile as I placed the items for our tryst upon the supermarket conveyor belt. What would the checkout girl think, I wondered, as she rang in the cucumbers, clothes pegs, peanut butter, KY jelly, latex gloves and cat food? Would she guess at the afternoon of pleasure ahead of me? Would she detect my air of barely suppressed sexual excitement? I rubbed my nipples a bit, through my anorak, and winked at her. I bet she was slightly shocked, envious and aroused. I just bet she was. Probably everyone else in the supermarket was, actually, as the kind of sexual chemistry we have cannot be hidden or undetected by lesser mortals who don't get to shag like we do. It comes off me in waves and droplets. You can't miss it.
I shall be with you soon, my passionate love sausage. I can imagine you now, preparing the room, waiting for my knickerless arrival. Hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, light the candles, run your nob under the tap and drape yourself across the stained duvet in a frenzy of anticipation. Be ready. I am on my way.
Issue Number 2 coming soon - order your copy now!
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
I have natural curls, false eyelashes and necessarily big hoop earrings.
Do you see what I did with my garter there? I gothed it right up. I like how I am pointing at it in case you didn't spot it. That is helpful and could stand me in good stead in any future glamour modelling where I am required to point at my nipples or flaps similarly.
Sadly all the best pictures of me making a drunken arse of myself are way too identifiable and my partners in crime must remain anonymous, so these random body parts are all I can show you. Which is probably a relief for all, really.
Proper satiric sniping service will resume shortly.
Monday, 3 November 2008
I have had a long, long, long weekend.
I have hurt my back, and I suspect it was from jumping to the left in ridiculous heels whilst doing the Timewarp again.
I can't even think about how much food and drink I have consumed. My wobbly bits have developed bulges which have started to sag a bit and that can't be a good sign.
My costume was not quite as I envisaged. The fishnet body stocking was good, but the thing about fishnet is it snags on absolutely everything. Try fixing a garment involving hooks and eyes over the top of one and you will see what I mean. I ended up with most of the contents of my lingerie drawer hanging off me as I cried and fruitlessly tried to unhook them from the fishnet without ripping great big holes in it. I failed, of course, having no patience whatsoever, so decided to embrace the big fuck off ladders and holes as part of the gothic charm of my halloween outfit.
When I finally finished dressing the look was more Betty Boobs than Betty Boop. My husband said "I feel like I should be winding down the car window and offering you money". I gave him an eloquent look. "I'm not saying that's a bad thing!"
The party was fun, and my houseguests stayed all weekend. Every time I went into the kitchen some wonderful new meal had been prepared and was waiting for me on the table. The fridge was always full of wine and cheese.
I really should do something healthy now to detox, but I feel somewhat knackered. Instead I shall sit on my arse for a bit and see if anyone fancies a peek at the party photos. Interested?
Tuesday, 28 October 2008
I am one of those annoying people who won't let anybody else touch the music system at parties. But then again, that's fair, as most of the time what other people want to put on is a load of old wank that would clear a dance floor quicker than announcing the buffet's open.
While I may ring the changes with new additions to the playlist from party to party, there are some songs on which you can rely. It is a given that come the end of the night, full of wine and emotion, there will come a soulful rendition of Town Without Pity and/or No More "I Love You"s. Much like the National Anthem playing at the end of transmission on TV, this is a useful musical cue and after the requisite token resistance I allow myself to be put to bed.
I can't possibly be alone in this. What's your end-of-the party drunken singalong song?
Friday, 17 October 2008
I laughed. A lot. My daughter came to look over my shoulder. "It's so nice that men have to wear these sorts of stupid outfits as well now," she opined, after the initial shriek of hilarity.
We were particularly taken with the skimpy camouflage knickers, above.
Tell me, I have to know - has anyone ever bought this sort of thing for the men in their life not as a joke? Men - have you ever purchased such an outfit to liven up things in the bedroom? And if so, did it stimulate more than a bout of giggling?
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
I have grown used to reading lengthy justifications as to why certain bloggers are driven to spend occasional afternoons bouncing around on a hotel mattress with someone they met off the internet. Given that some spouses out there are sexless, joyless, control freaks, focused mainly on their work or the children, and with very different needs (they want to unwind with a cup of tea in front of Gardener's World, their partner wants to bounce around on a hotel mattress with someone they met off the internet and then post pictures of it on their blog) it is only to be expected that their hard-done-by partner should slope off for a bit of fun elsewhere.
(See, here I am taking the piss, but these "they made me do it, look, here's my tale of nobbing Nigel from Accounts" blogs are phenomenally popular. What's that all about? Is it the cyber equivalent of a soap opera, only with more flap shots?)
Desensitised as I am to these "I hate my spouse but I'll still spend their money/eat their cooking/wear the shirts they laundered/leave them with the kids while I'm out nobbing/give them an occasional shag" blog posts I was still stunned by the latest effort over at the Philosophy of Infidelity.
A light hearted jolly romp of a post about wishing your spouse would die.
I am somewhat comforted by the comments, which indicate that no, not everyone does think that bereavement would be the "easier" option for the family, actually, but it still ranks as a new low in adultery blogging. And that's saying something.
Monday, 13 October 2008
I have been busy accumulating various items for my chosen outfit.
CRAP COMPETITION ALERT!
So far I have:
- one long sleeved fishnet bodystocking
- red high heeled shoes
- false eyelashes
Thursday, 9 October 2008
Sunday, 5 October 2008
What advice would you give someone who had inadvertently eaten an entire packet of Hobnobs the very day they'd vowed to lay off the biscuits for good? I know it's wrong but I can't resist the evil lure of that fucking seductive biscuit tin.
(I have similar questions regarding wine, chocolate, pasta, Kettle Chips and pies.)
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
I am all for celebrating womanhood and baring our blart boxes as a gesture of sisterly solidarity, yet I feel that the menfolk are missing out somewhat.
So I am proposing my own, deeply artistic, celebration of manhood.
I am an experienced willy artist. I have adorned countless text books and posters with manly appendages. I can do spunking or non spunking. I can do hairy balls and everything. I have my own felt tip pen.
If you are a man and have a willy you would like to see in artistic form in my upcoming Cockfest, do send your pic to the usual address. Total anonymity assured. Unless it is a particularly good one. Or funny.
Thursday, 25 September 2008
Oh, how I love Halloween. The carefully selected playlist, the props, the food, the atmosphere. I love the fake cobwebs, the rubber spiders and those crappy little bottles of fake blood. I enjoy the bad sound effects, the scary pumpkins and the sheer creativity of it all.
The dressing up, however, is my favourite part of the occasion. Over the years I have donned my devil horns, been a dark angel with a halo of thorns and black bat wings, cavorted as Catwoman and been the Nurse Who Makes You Feel Worse.
This year I have set the theme as Heroes and Villains, but who, I ask you, who shall I be? I have already been a wicked Cruella, perfected my stony glare as Medusa, and danced a magnificent Timewarp as Magenta. I have been casting my mind back over all the literary and cinematic heroines (and anti-heroines) I can recall. Perhaps I shall be Ripley and run around in just my vest and knickers, periodically lobbing my cat in his carrier through random doorways. Or maybe I could have a cyber session and be the Borg Queen. I just can't decide.
Tell me, talented and creative readers of the Boudoir, what would be your fantasy fancy dress outfit? Have you ever tried to create it, and if so did it meet expectations? Did you look like a real Starship Trooper or just a twonk in a foil covered cardboard box?
Monday, 22 September 2008
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
Yet there are still plenty of other women out there who, inexplicably, find total bastards irresistible. This in itself is not news and the loneliness of the nice guy and the success of the bastard has long been lamented over solitary drinks in late night bonding sessions between entirely pleasant, yet single, men.
With the advent of the internet and the increased popularity of blogging you no longer have to go out to the pub to see the allure of the bastard. This phenomenon can now be witnessed on your very own monitor in the comfort of your own home.
Along with the sad online tales of women done wrong, yet still in love with the cad in question, you can now read the thought processes and strategies of actual blogging bastards. You can read about how they are driven to do what they do because their missus has let herself go. You can learn about how they only accept offers from those with perfect bodies. You can read about how clever they are in their deceits, how many women they have on the go simultaneously, none suspecting of the others existence. You can see firsthand how little respect they have for women, how self-centred and unlikeable they are, how shallow, vain and dull. None of it is left to guesswork or chance, there is no doubt, no speculation, no "he's just a rogue" or "he just hasn't found the right one yet". No. It is there, in inarguable pixels, on your screen. He's an utter cunt.
What I find bewildering and perplexing though is the vast numbers of women commenting on these sorts of blogs in a frenzy of knicker-wetting hysteria. Not only do they quite obviously find this kind of cunt-like behaviour appealing and arousing, with their heavy handed flirtatious remarks and hearty slaps on the back for bad behaviour, they also turn on their own with a vicousness I find remarkable. "She sounds like a total bitch" they will say, of some poor unknowing woman who has had her failings blogged by a bastard. "Ditch her," they cry. "She deserved it," they screech, after a tale of shabby treatment unfurls.
If you have ever wondered what the kind of women who enjoyed taking their knitting to executions do in today's modern world I can tell you. They comment on bastard blogs. They wait for some cunt to virtually put his woman in a cart and parade her past their unsympathetic gaze so they can throw their abuse at her. "She's a witch," the bastard proclaims. "Burn her!" cry the harridans, wishing they could fling stones too. "Burn her and then fuck me, big boy!"
It is a strange competition for the approval and attentions of a total fuckwit. I don't really understand it, given my preference for the nice guy.
Someone enlighten me. What is the appeal of the bastard? Am I alone or are there others who find they prefer somebody who is pleasant to the women in his life? Or is the desire to be treated well by someone who genuinely likes you the last remaining kink? Is it now out of step to get wet for respect?
Edit: I am away for a couple of days now so forgive me if there is a slight delay in responding to comments.
Sunday, 14 September 2008
I can glean an awful lot about behind the scenes maneouvres from a change to a blogroll.
It's a bit like reading tea leaves or divining the future from chicken entrails. I see a name added and think "ah, they're chummy. I wonder if they'll shag". I see a name removed and think "ooh, they've fallen out. I wonder if they shagged?"
My imagination frolics, wild and free, across all possible permutations. I know many blogs are added to lists simply because the author enjoys reading them. Many are removed simply because they have ceased to post. Yet, still, it is far more entertaining to ascribe Dangerous Liaison style motives to such public declarations of favourites.
Tell me, truthfully - other than a blog closing, what would lead you to remove someone from your blogroll?
Friday, 12 September 2008
There were so many things I thought I would leave because if the world ended it really wouldn't matter any more. Now that it hasn't I am left with the following which I will now actually have to do something about :
- A forgotten birthday
- A voice mail about the forgotten birthday
- Several texts wanting to know if I want to meet up next week as a belated birthday celebration
- A big fuck off overdraft
- Road tax
- That funny intermittant whistling noise from the front wheel of my car when I drive at certain speeds
- Shaving my legs
- Pretty much anything work related you can think of
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
Creating a badly focussed image of my own arse, cleavage or shoes each week was beginning to feel like a chore rather than a pleasure and I just couldn't find the time or inclination to respond to all the vacuous "Happy HNT!" comments with vacuous "Happy HNT!" comments of my own.
Also, it seems to me that each week the "half" part of "Half Nekkid Thursdays" is increasingly abandoned as HNTers post ever more explicit images and positively pornographic click-throughs. I love the idea of body confidence and some of the photography you find on HNT posts is just stunning, but, equally, there are an awful lot of pictures that look distressingly like butcher's shop windows. I really don't know how to comment on those:
"What a charming shade of pink your insides have"?
"Great foreskin, clever composition, loving your hairy nads"?
What the hell is all this willy-waving, flange-flashing all about? What the yellow rubbery fuck is half "nekkid" about that?
So, given my disenchantment I think I shall retire my cleavage for a little while and go comment on posts where I don't have to unwittingly see the contents of anyone's undercrackers while trying to eat my breakfast.
Monday, 8 September 2008
But no. I have received fuck all on the freebies front. So, if, like me, you haven't been sent a free sex toy to review because you haven't littered your blog with adverts and are prone to honesty, despair not! I am here to help you make an informed choice as to what everyday household items can also be used as sensual playthings.
Leaving aside the obvious choices (cucumbers, electric toothbrushes and sitting upon the washing machine when set to the spin cycle) there is much to be said for exploring more obscure yet creative options. Yes, today we look at the erotic potential of the humble tea towel.
One of the big selling points for the tea towel is that most of us already have one, they are easy to clean (simply toss into the washing machine - then sit on it for the spin cycle if you are still hot to trot despite all your hot tea towel action) and come in a variety of colours and designs. Feel like getting kinky with something adorned with the legend "A Gift from Cornwall" or pictures of steam trains, kittens or maps of the county? No problem. Want to do something unspeakable with a piece of fabric embellished with the butterflies of Britain, London buses or scenes "Frae Bonnie Scotland"? The tea towel can meet your needs, no matter how bizarre or specialised.
Folded over they make a wonderful impromptu blindfold. If you have a drawer-full of tea towels languishing unused, why not go for the full BDSM Tea Time Scene? With your partner securely bound to a dining chair with tea towels, blindfolded and gagged likewise, you can then torment their helpless and vulnerable form with a flick of the wet tea towel you now brandish. With a bit of practice and a quick snapping action of the wrist you can arouse them until you can hang your tea towel off their nipples. If you want to play out the entire scenario you can then move onto fun with sugar tongs, biscuit crumb torture and hot and cold play with chilled teaspoons which you then warm up when stirring your hot tea.
NB. Do check your partner was up for the BDSM Tea Time Scene and didn't just genuinely pop by for tea. The vicar still won't meet my eye these days.
Friday, 5 September 2008
I am in most excellent company, reading through the rest of the names included there, though I do feel a bit of a fraud. Wasn't I the one who boldly stated "this is not a sex blog"? Didn't I mock awards, Half Nekkid Thursdays, sex toy reviews and, well, the whole sex blogging community?
Yet just this week I have been reviewed and found myself included on a list of top table, A-list sex bloggers! Plus of course there are my two Fleshbots. Two. Oh, and all the HNTs.
Have I been assimilated? Am I losing my edge? Or is it more that not all of the sex blogging community is afraid of, or feels sullied by, a little bit of satirical sniping now and then? I would hope it is the latter as I would hate to think I am no longer the grumpy old ratbag you have all come to know and tolerate. Do tell me if you think otherwise though.
Thursday, 4 September 2008
Monday, 1 September 2008
Over at Your Girlfriend's Diary you can now read for yourselves what The Reviewer thinks my blog is about, what I do well, where I go wrong and, most importantly, why I do the mean things I do.
Your Girlfriend's Diary is a recently established blog which aims to demystify the workings of the female mind through the medium of sex blog review. Having rejected conversation and excessive alcohol consumption as ways to communicate, the only remaining option to learn what your woman is thinking is to read her diary, apparently. But failing that a random sex blog will do. If you ever thought that perhaps what women really want is a range of household items inserted in various orifices, to overuse the words cunt and fuck, to write hyperbolic descriptions of mediocre shags and to have it away with pretty much anyone rather than you, then this site will confirm your suspicions!
(To be fair, the author does acknowledge his Flawed Premises. The simple truth is you will never, ever really know what anyone else is thinking or the motivations for their behaviour, as so few of us are honest with ourselves, let alone anyone else.)
So, do go and take a look. Let me know if you think he's got me banged to rights, or not.
My only real criticism is that nowhere in my review does it mention my fantastic shoes. Oh, Mr Reviewer, you still have much to learn about what women really want!
Friday, 29 August 2008
All work and no play has made Luka as grumpy as fuck. The crotchety old ratbag.
I have some time off coming up in a couple of weeks. I really, really need some fun, some rest, some relaxation, some joy.
If you had fuck all spare cash but time aplenty, what would you do with yourself?
Best suggestions will be blogged for your entertainment.
Thursday, 28 August 2008
Like many others I find scent to be the most vivid way to recall a place, a time, a person. A certain smell will immerse me in the past with an immediacy that words, images or sounds just cannot match.
I wear different fragrances for different moods. Light and refreshing when I need to be energised, sultry, headier mixes for when I want candlelight, wine and passion.
I wonder if someone, somewhere, has walked down the street, caaught a hint of a familiar perfume and was transported, instantly, back to my Boudoir, to me?
I do hope so.
Monday, 25 August 2008
Blogs on hiatus, the pause button pressed, while bloggers go on holiday, move home, deal with traumas, issues and angst, build a shed, put up some shelves, bath the cat or whatever it is they have to do that means they won't be able to post for a while.
So, it is with great regret at my lack of an offline life, that I now inform you that I am not going anywhere.
I am here for the forseeable and will continue to bring you high quality swearing and judgementalism for the months ahead.
Please leave your "oh my god, I am so not going to miss you at all!" comments below.
Saturday, 23 August 2008
It would be so easy to let the glitzy lifestyle and glittering comments go to my head.
So I periodically remind myself that not everyone thinks I'm great. Some people think I am a colossal twat and are not afraid to say so.
Here are some of my favourite arsey comments from the archives:
- Don't you just love the way that a post - nay, a blog - that targets blog cliquiness has managed to build its own clique of resolutely non-cliquey folk, busily deriding every perceived clique, other than, er, that is, their own. Ironic.
- Defensive responses merely seek to confirm your role as someone who may indeed have A Levels in insensitivity, Thatcharism and general all-around nastiness.
- You're a terrible writer.
- Have you ever considered writing out your blogreading requirements and issuing them to bloggers in advance? Surely this would help with the clearly onerous and unrewarding task of having to force your way through disappointing writing.
I'm sure if people knew what your requirements were, they would strive to meet them, because after all, the petulant reader should never be neglected.
Alternatively, you could try getting out more.
- wank me off
- If you really want to do this sort of thing properly, why not try the pub car park at closing time? It would be more dignified ...
- Yawn. Another insecure twatess smugly showing her ego to the world.
- That's the risk one takes when associates with ungracious brats.
- Ad Hominem? Oh, I'm sorry, I've obviously misunderstood. I've seen so many personal attacks on here over the months I thought it was the done thing. Clearly, the rules are not what they would appear. Not for me, in any case.
Wednesday, 20 August 2008
In a Speedo swimsuit.
That is the best I could come up with for the HNT Olympics theme. It has been a very busy week and I am not what you might term "sporty".
I did consider bending over and claiming to be Mount Olympus, but even that felt like too much of a workout. Mind you, wriggling into the swimming costume in the first place worked up a bit of a sweat.
I am off to recline on a lilo, with a long, cool drink in hand. Now if that qualified as an Olympic sport I could really go for gold.
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Name a sin and I've probably tried it
If I choose to decline
To post details online
It does not mean I'm trying to hide it.
I work on the assumption that somebody who knows me in my Real Life (tm) will at some stage read this blog.
It is partly, but not solely, why I try to be respectful of my loved ones at all times. I allude to my failings, my indiscretions and vices, but I don't go into details that may hurt another should they chance upon this information unexpectedly, online. I will discuss such things in email or chat, but not for public entertainment.
I am often surprised at how much people reveal about themselves on ordinary, safe for work blogs, but the things that are put into the public domain on sex blogs go beyond surprise and venture into astonishment territory. It is not simply the ill advisedness of some of the material, but the unthinking callousness of it. The lack of empathy for those who might read by chance one day and be cut to the quick by the facts of their private life laid bare for others to dissect. The casual cruelty of elevating a lover to a higher status, the paeans of praise, the weekends away while the other half was at home minding the kids, the money spent on hotel rooms and sex toys while they were at the supermarket dithering over which economy brand washing powder to buy. The posts on the tightness and novelty of a cunt which is deemed superior to that which only squeezed out their children. The posts on the longing for their lover and the distress and disappointment of waking next to their husband. These posts are written while in the post-coital glow and without a thought for how their real life partners will feel - and given the statistics it is more likely to be a "when" than an "if" - upon reading them.
There have been so many sex blogs which have been through just that and had to shut down, fast. Often they reappear, with a new name, but the same material, and the cycle repeats. Is it stupidity or the thrill of discovery that motivates these people?
Sadly it is an example very few seem to learn from. No matter how often a blog vanishes, after its tawdry tales of illicit sex are read by a disgruntled spouse or partner, new ones spring up every day with their self justifications of unfulfillment at home, lurid descriptions of infidelity glorified and pictures to illustrate. The photos are what perplex me most. Just in case a passing spouse wasn't entirely sure their other half was shagging their way through most of blogland, a photo of their genitals, a familiar hand with identifying wristwatch, a distinctive mole, an unmistakeable location - all these visual clues will quickly help to confirm the shakiest of suspicions. Why post them at all? Seriously, does anyone know? Is it to prove that their lover is not a mutant, and has got all the rude bits you would expect plus the requisite number of limbs? Is it a form of trophy? "Look, I have done it! I have been in the vicinity of this arse and here is the proof! Am I not a sexual deity? Other people let me near their arse!"
Answers to the usual address in the comments below, please.
Sunday, 17 August 2008
Yet, at the prospect of some rare time alone together, I was still as excited as I would be at the thought of seeing a long distance lover.
My preparation began in the morning, in the shower. My anticipation continued through my working day. Once he was on en route to me I raced upstairs to change into something wildly impractical and uncomfortable and waited for him, alluringly, among the playthings I had so carefully selected and arranged in advance.
It was worth the time and effort. What transpired upon his arrival in the Boudoir would be worthy of a Fleshbot, Sugasm listing and some sort of award from the Sauce Board for the kind of mind-blowing kinky sex that can be heard from space, if I were the sort to pen such intimate details.
Luckily for you I shall draw a discreet veil over the sticky bits and move straight on to the cosy cuddling up afterwards with a good curry and a DVD.
That's what I call a good night in with the other half.
Do I sound smug? I suppose I might do. There are a lot of sex blogs that wax lyrical about the pleasures of a lover. Tales of hotel room encounters and stolen moments. There is much crowing about capabilities, much strutting and posturing over sexual prowess. There are blogs which feature a different partner in every titillating post. In the Boudoir I like to redress the balance and remind everyone that excitement, passion, creativity and great big duvet dousing orgasms are not the sole domain of the illicit lover.
It takes more effort, of course. You can't just opt out of your responsibilities and bugger off for a bit, while claiming to be at a conference, for example. You have to take care of the mundanities of everyday life in order to clear a space for hedonism and that is sometimes hard work. Of course, that is why it is so much easier not to bother sometimes, lament that something is missing and go looking for an instant fix.
The problem with that, though, is that you still have to return to your real life at some point. A temporary time out doesn't mend whatever is broken at home.
Now, I know kinky sex and curry isn't the answer to all marital difficulties, but I do feel that any sort of effort has got to be beneficial. Some bloggers invest so much in a lover, not just having their affairs, but paying for hotel rooms, gifts, meals and so on, and then writing them up in lurid detail afterwards that I wonder how much equivalent time, money and attention they have left to give at home. But that is the drawback of judging people from what you read on blogs, as what you see is completely one-sided.
I can only try to learn from my own mistakes and be grateful that I am fortunate enough to have a husband who wants to make the effort too.
Update: Since publishing this post I have had an online chat with Mystery Blogger Q who says that I come over as sanctimonious. I would just like to re-iterate that I hold these opinions because of the choices I have made myself, sometimes ill-advised ones. I am not, in this post, "berating" people for having affairs, for that would be hypocritical of me. I am, rather, saying that giving an equal level of care and attention to one's spouse as one would to a lover is a mutually beneficial act that reaps dividends. I've gone on about this before, I know, here and here.