(R)chived

RATED (R)UPERT

2007-07-27T03:06:00.000-07:00

I started Rated (R)upert with a plan to bring myself closer to me, through my writing and perverseness. So, I uprooted a relationship, found another, carried on with Muffboxfilms until I found the right rubber stamp "Closed for business" - and whipped up Rated (R)upert, the all encompassing "Me" Blog (and it wasn't no 70's revival BTW). Then bit by bit, I began my interest in anti-erotica ... the whole idea of perversity on principle able to be fluent in other dialects other then the often unimaginative sex and sexuality genre (Is there room for Feminism in the bedroom, can Marxism join in too, does body image have Feng Shui and what is the average velocity of attraction but now for the weather ... oh sorry that was the weather, now for the nudes) or the endless stream of delectably deliberate sensuality (his eager hands ruffling my downy fanny feathers, I took his hand by the cock, and we sighed in confusion), even the biting clamp of domination has its no through road (I cracked the whip ... oh bugger, I haven't got a spare) - so creative smut is where I am heading.

I like changing perspective, I like thrusting myself against ideas that may or may not work - I dislike jerking around for what seems like an eternity with same set of values - to use an Orwell title, I have to "come up for air". Rated (R)upert attempted two things for me, the first was that bringing myself and my pornographic side closer, into a ball, and then growing some tentacles. The second was to "look back" at Muffboxfilms, which proved utterly useless and only served to rearrange the same furniture instead of assimilating it into my current world. Now I feel I have thoroughly made my octopus, it is time to give it coat-tails and a top-hat, bring it on stage and dim the lights. I am not anticipating the next stage to be some kind of major move forward, more an urge forward at this point. I'm not going to create a persona, or apply my Blogging to any particular style, rather I am looking to now unlearn some of the processes it has taken for me to get here.

These following chapters from Rated (R)upert I have chosen for Blogging merit and not for anything particularly profound - please feel free to poke your noses into my archives, I believe there are something like two hundred posts. Come see me at Fancies and Fuckeries ... link and be merry!

SEX
Dirty girls and horny boys
Rub-a-dub-dub ... four in a bed.
Anal and why until now ...
Rupert's Obscenity Report
Home Erotica
Dirty Monday Menage et Tois
Sex of convenience
One degree of Andy Warhol

MASTURBATION
Dancing 'round the May-pole.
Masturbateous Interuptus

SWINGING
Getting into the SWING of things ...
Creative orgies
The Life Style
Preperation for a swinger's party
"Erotic nitemares beyond any measure"
Ten Point Blank Tips On Swinging

VOYEURISM
Hitch Cock
Up Robe de Chambre
Sex in the city

CREATIVE COCK PICS
Cock Mosiacs
Snap your chap.
Naked Bike Ride
Odd sensations
Royal Male
Porno Bird and Cosmic Cocks.

FANTASY
Keeping up with the Ruperts
Some of my home cooked truth
Phlogged

SEX WORK
Porn is a four letter word
Guiness book of kink
Do not go gently into that good blog.
Rupert played guitar, jamming good with Lube and Willy
Re-erected in California
Who let the Rupert's out - blah, blah.
Woody ... well, in the filmmaker sense.
Post, post against the dying of the monitor light ...
Crackhour Transient Mousetrap
Everyday People
Portrait of the pornster as a young sprog

RELATIONSHIPS
Fucking in the name of...

PORN
"Twas brillig and the slithy toves" and not to mention horny as fuck.
Are you being served?
A Cockwork Orange
My little phony
DIY Porn
Soviet Smut
Fingered and Nailed
Only fools Russian
What porn do you watch? Nun.
Real Martian Porn
Novelty Cocks

JUST SILLY
Getting into the Bolivian dictionary
To do list ...
Marbles
Lure of the lewd and other news.
Penis Prints
Woman arrested for flashing
The Aussie Hot Dog
Nigerian scams on Adult Matchmaker
Fuckness Instructor
In the end there was the word and it was Zzzzzzz
Friend of Rights

SEXUAL IDENTITY
Hair Here Hair
Manscaping
Interlude: or how I lost my virginity.
Sexual Identity: part one.
Sexual Identity: part two.
Sexual Identity: Part Three.
Sexual Identity: Part Four.
Sexual Identity: Part Five

RANTS
Sighs of the times
The cogs in my brain go 'round and 'round
10 things
Banana in Pajama
Nudists bug me

MISCELLANEOUS
Cock Deco
Night of the Living All Nighters
Birthday Post - 30 years of Me
Craziest Cock
Passing by ... Frumpinwampah from girls
Tip of the iceberg
"The Insatiable Wench"
Wuthering Heights
Fondness
Yes sex please, I'm Venetian
A dash of post
Between a rock and a fortunate horse.
Ground control to Major Tom
Keeping up with the Phones

My feet in the air and my head on the ground ...

2007-07-18T03:25:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm doing the Prince thing for a bit and have changed my Blog title to a symbol, but keep the links the same, as I am pressed for brain space, and wedged up against a weekly ... see ... can't even ... finish ... my ...

Now ...

That is one of my favourite shirts with white buttons, now most have been ripped off from hasty sex sessions, my ripping of, to get undressed mainly - it also has a few cigarette burn holes lovingly sewn up by lovers over the years.

and

Then ...

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Cock Noir - Mood Red

COMMENTS FOR THIS POST WERE

Goose and Gander said...

Oh good golly, don't DO that! *catching my breath* I hate it when cocks sneak up on me like that....well...I don't actually hate it....
wink
G

rupert said...

Hi Goose, I just woke up can you believe - got a little depressed last night, so I'll accept all those hugs you can offer me. So, I slept, and slept, and slept, until I had to wake up for no better reason to wake up. I'm just priming myself for the quiz show audition tonight.

Rups

AlwaysArousedGirl said...

Yes, sneaky cocks...almost as bad as pussies that give you looks.

Good luck, sweet Rupert, on your audition.

BTW, I love the picture in the shower.

Hugs too, to fend off depression.

Virgin Slut said...

Mood? I'm in the mood now.

And check out the new avatar :)

chelsea girl said...

Rups!

You devil.

You are the yummiest.

CG

Goose and Gander said...

I hate that evil bastard of depression. HUGS and HUGS and HUGS.
Goose

sugarpunk said...

wow.. can i hug you?

Shay said...

Oh My!!
That was quite a nice (and trippy) surprise!!

Hugs to you as well! It's a HUG party for rups! ^_^

Demon Queen said...

Now this made me smile... evilly.

Good morning to you my dear!

Darkneuro said...

Beautiful, Beautiful Rupert. I mean, REEEEEAAAAALLLLLYYYYYYY beautiful, Beautiful Rupert.

And no depression allowed. It's SUMMER, dammit!

S. Gregory said...

Can I mug you?

More vanity from the vault.

2007-07-17T02:48:00.000-07:00

My shortest of the shorts film 60 Second Relief has arrived at Opere Nouve in Italy, although not selected yet, hopefully the lovely Italians at the Cineclub Bolzano will see merit in my explicit mini-epic.

Now ...

I wasn't prepared for today - a heady mix of dispute resolutions. It wastes a lot of teaching time to be resolving personality clashes between participants, and frankly gave me a headache (which I rarely get). I'm not in a foul mood but as I leaped straight in the bath tub, I was to greet (Thanks to Sabine) a glass of white wine and some marinated garlic mussels. As per usual I am brainless midweek, so I'll slap this muffboxfilms post below telling of some things I'd be satisfied ruminating on my death bed. As I wrote, so true, that I don't think dying for me will be the end, I think I'll spend a few years tossing and turning, and my rotting corpse seen rummaging around the cemetery bins for a midnight snack every night.

and

Then ...

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Listomania

I pinched this from Honey Smack's Blog who got it from Andy's Inane Asylum Blog, Honeysmack made up her own answers, I was tempted to use them but realised that would be just silly and get everyone confused, so I too made up my answers, and here they are in glorious computer font.

before i die i plan to:

(well actually I have this theory about me and death which ties into this preposterous insomnia I have, I'm almost positive the end will not be the end, I'll be lying there twiddling my thumbs thinking, "I knew it, this always happens".

1) Live in a cottage deep within a Polish forest, with a personal cellar, a "shelfless" book case (i.e the same as a bottomless cup of coffee), a computer to write on, and a sex addict who lives in the cottage up the path.
2) complete all my writing in it's various ways.
3) Be best friends with my son.
4) Have a whole year or more to stretch out and go "Ahhhhh, Louis was right, what a wonderful world".
5) Support and assist my friends with all their ventures and dreams financially.
6) Find a truly compatible companion and lifelong friend, or wait until any of my ex-partners grow and become that person. LOL. Oh I'm pushing it it aren't I? I don't know if that sounds like I'm being a bitch or sincerely hopeful. Now that I think about it, maybe not "any" of my ex-partners, just the one's that still show promise. Oh, Rupert, stop it! I can here sizzles and yet I'm not trying to cook up anything, okay I'll stop now before I bury myself now, well before I finish this pre-burial list.
7) Try and be useful to the human race artistically in some way, even if that means one person living in a wooden shack, in some ravine snaking through a Tasmanian wilderness.

i can:

1) be expressive, open, and open minded
2) challenge conventions, think laterally, and in abstractions
3) masturbate regularly and repeatedly and still throw myself into lovemaking wholeheartedly
4) be totally loyal to friends
5) be silly, playful yet excitably serious
6) be seen to emit eccentric behaviour
7) be vague, impatient, stubborn, and ambitious

i can't:

1) get 12am and 12pm in the right order often
2) tolerate people who live for their cars
3) play cards or deal with too much numeracy in my life
4) put importance on money, people always first.
5) hold grudges
6) wear shorts
7) not be the eternal optimist deep down beneath all my cynicism

say most:

1) I see, indeed, and that's true! (I think I say these things but I'm not very consistent with continual usage of words, I tend to catch myself, I ceased myself and my friends all joining their sentences at one stage with "but um" - it became really sticky on the lips. Caught from and ex-housemate.
2) pupupupupupup (After a three year relationship with a girl who made this gentle "pupping" pop with her mouth in her sleep, I have caught it and it won't go away, probably because I do it in my sleep I can't catch that I am)
3) would you like a coffee?
4) hello and au revoir

attract me to someone:

1) a clever sense of humour (very important for me as I love to chuckle, laugh, and test out the odd witty quip here and there - once I remember I thought I'd use a terribly crass phrase on my partner at the time but I wanted to see if she thought it was funny, so I said, and feel free to brow knit at this because it was NOT the kind of thing I would usually say but that was all the more reason to try it out - I said - and I'm getting a tinge of a wince but I said - "When god was making your breasts he had a hard on" - oh I'm sorry but she did find it funny)
2) a yearn to learn and explore life
3) a flexible mind that can think around conventions
4) a gentle nature
5) honest
6) an expressive disposition or if not that a thoughtful repose
7) kind, considerate, hang-on, this is starting to feel like I'm writing up a dating blurb. No real ideals, a good sense of oneself, or at least an aim to develop that.

celeb crushes: (in no order)

Oh it is true, I have no celebrity crushes, sad isn't it but I only seem to get crushes on people around me, bedroom crushes are the best, nothing better then having someone crush me with bare skin, and then move around a lot. Sound's like sex? Yes, that's right.

COMMENTS FOR THIS POST WERE

Virgin Slut said...

Impressive answers ... I would have never guessed you'd be such an optimist, and have such a gentle soul.

Seeing as I have the rare honour of being here first today, will you please send me the address to that cottage of yours. I'm buying the place next door.

Hello, neighbour!

Demon Queen said...

Damn!
I was just about to tag you with this one!

I wonder if Wendy and VS have been tagged yet?

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
What's say girls?

rupert said...

Thanks VS,

yes, I think that having been through a fair bit in my life and still seem to run into trouble of sorts, the only reason I have been able to pull my head above water time and time again is ultimately being a deeply rooted optimist but human nastiness has coated me with a protective cynicism, protective as it protects my optimism.

It takes a lot to stir me up but if beaten down over a period of time I become less tolerent of it, but then it so easy for me to slide back into being too empathetic at times, and I'm left with the embers of hurt. BUT when it comes down to it, yes, I am a gentle soul who only wishes the best possible outcomes for everyone.

Queen of the Realm,

I've been stuck in front of my computer for long periods over the last few days, insomniac and all, so I guess I've been doing a bit of online wandering and reading. But thank-you of thinking of tagging me. You can tag me anytime! Oh, did I mispell it! Now where's that "sh"?

Virgin Slut said...

Being an absolute optimist is a recipe for disappointment, I think, so a bit of cynicism is essential in modern life. Of course it is too easy to lose that glimmer of optimism (and maybe romanticism?) after putting on your protective layers, so it is good to know that you’ve not lost it yet. The world would be a sad place to live in if there was no hope.

I feel like sending you a cyber hug today, Rups. So here: ""

Demon Queen said...

Hey!
Where are my hugs VS :(
If there is going to be hugging going on in here count me in.

I'm lonely... deprived... horny... out of batteries. Life just sucks sometimes!

Don't worry VS, I'm a cynic too.
That fake butter stuff NEVER tastes like real butter. And popcorn butter? Uck.

And artificial sweetener?
Eeeeeeeuuuuuuuw!

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm, Mr. Muff?
Do you happen to be wearing a Zorro mask today? And Manties? Do you own manties? OMG! I love Manties... with a ruffled butt!

Jeez I must have batteries around here somewhere.

I have insomnia too.
It sucks!

S. Gregory said...

No celeb crushes, o' man? Oh, no? Well, what about Monsieur Flynn, eh? Thought you could pull the wild and wooly foreskin over my eye, eh?

Ms Smack said...

hey R! :)

Thanks for stopping my blog.

I love your list!

*smooch*
Ms Smack
x

Cristin said...

"Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I've found thee!"

Haha- this site is quite well done- witty, sexy, cheeky, creative- keep up the good work, among other things.

Goose and Gander said...

Well, hello and nice to meet you....Chelsea Girl passed your address our way. You're going to be one to investigate......
Goose and Gander

Demon Queen said...

I run my fingers along the curve of your ass reading the braille of your ruffled manties.

rupert said...

Goose and Gander, Cristin hello and thank-you for your comments.

VS a welcomed bit of cyber-hugging that was.

DQ let me take my daggy wooly brown slippers off at least!

JT_Taint said...

Great stuff, I have found alot of cool people today.
I linked to you on my blog, I hope you dont mind
Its http://ilovetaints.blogspot.com

Demon Queen said...

*sigh*

Gah!!!
I am so sick of this list!
Put up something new now!

*taps foot*
*files claws*
*sigh*

I'm waiting!

jiri said...

Hey, I have enjoyed...your blog is informative - even entertaining.

I have a halloween sites. They pretty much covers costumes and masks related stuff.

Thanks again and I'll be sure to bookmark you.

Keeping up with the Phones

2007-07-16T03:46:00.000-07:00

Now ...

As you know, my Mondays are as tight as a miser's leotard, so I'm threading some ancient muffboxfilms posts for the next few days. This one snapped on my now retired LG phone.

and

Then ...

Monday, July 04, 2005

Things heated up...a night of sex.

We then decided to line up some already downloaded vids in media player, and my partner hopped onto my ergonomically designed swivel chair, lowered the seat, and putting the phone camera on record, we fucked watching the vids of amateur couples fucking on the computer screen, and recording ourselves at the same time.

We then went to bed and snuggled up to watch Gilliam's "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen" but during the "giants" scene with Uma as venus, we ended up fucking hard against the bed rails, finally falling onto our backs unable to move from tight intense orgasms.

It was much pleasure.

One degree of Andy Warhol

2007-07-14T07:47:00.000-07:00

Famous New York Poet with some guy with less fashion than sense.

I feel spoilt for porn at the moment - some great amateur orgy stuff and homemade vids, it brings a smile to my dial and a boing to my groin. As you might see Rated (R)upert is under-going some changes, I've been upgrading the whole damn thing, and it takes ages.

Having sex with a well renowned New York poet, long time lover of Andy Warhol and William Burroughs is something to be proud of. Even if my spoken word is considered rubbish, I can at least say that I had something to do with the Beats, even if that something was sex for two nights with a member of that literary canaille. It is one of my few brushes with fame, I don't have many, and I like that it also coincided with losing my anal virginity. I had my anal cherry popped by Andy Warhol's lover - how are you today? John Saffron was even going to have me interviewed on his Star-Fucker segment on his Music Jamboree show but they had to pull the concept because of potential libel.

Now ...

I came across many websites that had under their terms and conditions that the stories should not mention real people's names, understandable I guess, although celebrity cultivates itself by exposing each other I knew that keeping the names as they were would limit the acceptance of my piece. So I changed all that, concealed it under the guise of being about fucking a famous person but concealed all the names and references with various word-play. The final problem I experienced was where to send it because it wasn't a straight out sex narrative, more descriptive prose propped up around rhetorical sexcursions. Erotic websites wouldn't take it because it lacked a full body of erotic steamy action and non-sexual websites wouldn't take it because it featured explicit sex.

The straight sex websites wouldn't take it because it was all about queer sex, and the queer sex websites wouldn't take it because it was written from a heterosexual point of view. That left me with the bi-sexual websites which I found about two. So I decided to stick it up on Lush Stories because I liked the lay-out of the site and the interactive Blog like quality. I checked out a few other erotic sites but found them splashed with so much advertising I had trouble working out where the stories were. I know it is the big fad to advertise and market on weblog styled websites but sometimes it just gets too much. Everyone is trying to sell something these days, it doesn't really bother me too much but it does make me wonder where it is all heading - really good literature rarely has much to do with money, I have a bookshelf of initial under-sellers, written by virtually all near genius's and literary innovators, sounds pretentious of me, and it is, but it doesn't worry me to say pompous like statements like that because I believe they are useful - Ezra Pound is saying sort of the same thing with "The man of understanding can no more sit quiet and resigned while his country lets its literature decay, and lets good writing meet with contempt, than a good doctor could sit quiet and contented while some ignorant child was infecting itself with tuberculosis under the impression that it was merely eating jam tarts" (ABC of Reading) ...

I digress.

Anyway such cynicism aside, don't take me too seriously, accept what I say except what I say.

Here is the link in post to The Dear John Letter.

I should just say without altering that post, when I say "Last time I had sex with a man" I am referring to full penetrative sex. I know that sounds naive, but that's the point. I will also say because I want to, is that please be sympathetic to the style - I am not a short story writer, I find the medium rather difficult. I have only ever written four short stories, I am completely at ease writing film scripts but I held off writing short stories for a long time simply because I'm just not that good at brief narratives that stay put as they are. Enjoy it anyway, I was very much reflecting the style of Bertolt Brecht in the characterisations, or my love of that particular way - I'll stop now.

and

Then ...

Monday, August 08, 2005

My m/m experience

The once and only time I ever had sex with a man was with a Beat poet, Andy Warhol's boyfriend and star of some of Andy's movies, and life-long friend/lover of William S Burroughs did a performance piece of his latest poetry print in Brisbane (where I was living at the time). It was ten years ago now but it was a dot on my sexual adventure trail.

I wrote a short story about it called "Dear John Letter" but because it doesn't quite fit into erotica and it is too explicit to be a regular story, it doesn't really fit anywhere, and it also details much of my attitude of those days which was a youth beyond his years attempting to wear the guise of adolescence. I was eighteen.

Letting myself go to a man who had had so much sexual experience, had carved the way for free expression with the likes of Allen Ginsberg and Andy Warhol was truly a fun adventure. The whole sexual antic had started out as a bet made with a friend, and ended up with a brief future communication, and me getting into performing my poetry. However my communication channels ceased, I think mainly because I was by then completely straight, our level of communication came from me sending him poetry but unfortunately I wasn't writing gay erotica, and at nineteen it didn't occur to me that it wouldn't have mattered. He did leave me however with a cool signed photo he took of himself in his hotel room sitting naked on a toilet with the camera's flash beaming out from between his legs.

The sex was outrageously good, for a first time experience it was the best I could possibly ask for, it also helped me sort out certain questions I had been throbbing about in my mind concerning my sexuality. It also labelled me a bit of a star fucker, although in conversations "I fucked Andy Warhol's boyfriend" has a nice ring to it, sounds a bit like a song title.

This is an excerpt from my story...

"he easily maneuvered me onto the bed until he had me ciphering air through my nostrils, with his cock clogging up my mouth, as his stumpy fingers moisturised my anus with daubs of lubricant. My technique was all-devouring; hungry. There was not an inch of flesh ’round his genital area that I did not tease, peck, pull or suck.

Once his penis had stiffened its resolve to take things further, he pushed me and pinned me up against the bed-head, my head slung over my chest, legs held high in the air, spread wide, and his cock blitzing my virgin hole, propelled by the force of his heavy hips. I had never had anal sex before and by way of an introduction this was certainly ‘no holes barred’.

After my first ‘fifteen minutes of pain’, I relaxed into it, and I began to get aroused once the feeling of needing to shit subsided. He took advantage of this. He let one of my legs go, although it had no where else to go but remain elevated and suspended mid-air, and grappled onto my cock with his clammy hand, jerking it furiously."

COMMENTS FOR THIS POST WERE

Virgin Slut said...

Not just M/M action, but M/M-star action, and not just M/M-star fucking action, but M/M-star fucking action plus virgin hole. Your 15 minutes just killed me!

Demon Queen said...

This is EASILY my favorite of anything you've ever written. M/M is one of my favorite subjects and is a large part of my fantasies.

I only wish I could read more... this was an incredible excerpt.
I mean that sincerely.
I adore you!

rupert said...

hi VS yes M/MS rating for this one, you know he came back to Melbourne to perform as a part of the Mid-Summer festival and I half thought of going and saying hello.

And also when I met Stephen Fry here and almost got invited for dinner, the thought of doing it again half-crossed my mind, but not in any real-way.

DemonQueen hopefully the full story will find a home and I can link it but like I said it isn't erotic in its entirety. M/M fantasies are really interesting. My last partner had them, she also fancied the idea of a gay man going down on her, an interesting cross-over.

Virgin Slut said...

Now Stephen Fry, I would like to do. Not only because he is so talented, but more likely as a result of him playing my idol, Oscar Wilde. Can't believe I just admited I want to do an actor playing a dead, gay man, but guess I did.

The closest I came to a star fuck was Peter Andre's slimey bodyguard (don't ask, I was young etc). Luckily I was underage and insecure, so I got scared and didn't go through with it.

Ten Point Blank Tips On Swinging

2007-07-13T05:47:00.000-07:00

I wanted mention in this post something about an ordeal of sorts often experienced through swinging as posted by Tender 'n Fine Young Swingers titled The Green Eyed Monster and it was in regards to a personal encounter with, how shall I describe that Green Eyed Monster, Oscar the Grouch, who is actually an Eyed Green Monster, and a Cookie one at that. I hope that stuff has been sorted out, the post was written up a while ago, but it was so honest and clear, I felt I wanted to respond.

I understand implications of such emotions in an environment such as swinging, and having been through the wringer myself, oops, that should be swinger, I have some idea of what trinkets of design one should decorate one's mind with in order to feel comfortable under any conditions that involve revolving bodies.

Everyone gets jealous, if you didn't get jealous you'd be a rag doll (All our magnificent dramas have in some way involved jealous elements, it is a truly powerful emotion when used effectively). How to suppress the feeling and inevitably diffuse the emotion is really up to you. Ultimately I believe we were never meant to "couple up", I think the original system was to screw respective people, favourably return to those who suited, and get on with other pressing urgency's of survival like inventing fire. Prehistoric types, according to one study (Evolution of Human Sexuality) only began co-inhabiting when the hunter-gatherer system was put in place - sound familiar? Yep, marriage. One person looks after one side of things and the other ... well ... the other. Communal sex is perhaps logically, and painfully more natural, and this may be constantly proved by the horrendously challenged ability of human beings to find suitable mates to co-inhabit with - and why do we really need to?

Since we could communicate with signs and eventually text, love has been a prominent focus in our world, and has become a great obsession with all forms of creative outlets. We have communicated it repeatedly because it still eludes us, the grasping of it, as a concept. That's alright for a portion of the population but what if those who adapted seamlessly to monogomy were the exceptions and everyone else were living against the natural order of things? Of course we all live against the natural order of things, and indeed what the fuck is the natural order of things? We already are aware that a minor few set the standards of a greater proportion, imagine if the Church turned around and said "Ah, sorry everyone, there actually were another ten more commandments and one of them said 'Thou shalt live a life of polyamory', we just found the tablet buried under a box of unsold 'Tickle me Jesus' toys in the Vatican attic". I bet you my CD with my favourite amateur porn on it that we'd all soon be fucking each other as fast as fuckingly possible.

Even two great "lovers" like Nefertiti and Akhenaten had a veritable Pepys's diary of intrigues, John Lennon did a cover of 'Jealous Guy' and 'Crime of Passion' is a detective story sub-genre. So, what are some of the things I think if I get that peptic itch behind the eyes? These are told in my often blunt manner not meaning to offend but chances are will anyway, if I say something like 'Love does not exist only hot sex and apple pie' people think I'm condoning genocide rather then supplying some expressive thoughts to be mused upon, so here goes. It is a lot more involved than this but these are some hard-line internal widgets one might paste into their personal profile to provide a range of possibly useful functions.

(1) Most swinger's parties are couples only, the likely hood of two relationships dividing under those conditions are slim. If it were to occur I'm afraid it would be a misfortune set in the circumstances of a sexual deviation.

(2) If your partner is enjoying someone else sexually and it seems to an extent emotionally too, keep in mind, that relationships do not have any definite expiry date, many are entered into with the idea that you'll be spending the rest of your life with that person. The rest of one's life is a long, long time. There is room for the odd diversion of interest. Would you want the same house, the same job, the same clothes, the same hair-cut for that same period of time. Doubt it.

(3) At no point in a swinging situation should breaking of boundaries be compared to the same emotion attached to "cheating", if one was to apply the same emotion of anger at having one's wallet lost to the experience of losing a sum by gambling it would be ill fitted to the context, and perhaps look ludicrous as you rummaged about the Casino cursing 'Where is it? Where on earth could it be? I'll find it, blast this mess'. On another note, please work to eliminate the term "cheating", it is misleading, relationships are not a game or competition where people potentially win or lose, where there are rules, it is something people share with another, as imperfect as it can be.

(4) People take liberties. Understand that very quickly. You yourself might think that when it comes to following regulations decreed that you're completely foolproof but take some time to think of all the moments you've broken the rules, bent them, played the system, or taken a few liberties here and there. It is much easier for the person laying down the regulation to feel it will be obeyed because often conversations at times will set a certain feeling of sincerity depending on the nature of the moment. I myself am highly reluctant to depend on any frank discussions especially after heavy emotions have passed, simply because I am just as capable of changing my state of mind as everyone else.

(5) The worse case scenario, that your partner falls desperately in love with someone else and leaves you, then I would be very cautious about blaming the experience. Chances are it was a heap of other things that caused it, and people will sometimes wait until they are close enough to swim to another vessel if they feel their own relationship is sinking.

(6) Worse case scenario they leave you. Were they right for you? A tragedy it might be, but our absolute terror of being alone is sometimes the underlying pain and not losing the partner.

(7) Standing in another person's shoes is fine and good, but don't pretend you yourself own the same pair also. Often what gets people in trouble is that they fear what they themselves have thought, or what they think they know other people think. There is nothing more utterly frustrating then watching the person who has said "You're going to leave me" be the one who actually does leave.

(8) Have fun with swinging. The more weight in pressure you put on doing it, either way, for wanting to do it or the boundaries you've set, the more you will be crushed if it doesn't turn out the way you've envisioned. You are entering a sexual world. Your partner is more likely to pick up someone from work or at a pub, then at a swinger's party. The lighter you approach it, the better the good things will seem, the negatives will be easier to handle because there is less mental paperwork to go through when sorting them out. I don't know of a single person who actually enjoys paperwork.

(9) Be true to yourself. If you really don't fancy swinging in its full glory but your partner is making noises otherwise. It is time to reevaluate the relationship. I'm afraid sometimes it is a matter of cutting your losses and making for greener pastures.

(10) Finally the most essential. It is imperative that you dig deep in and around your own mind to what you want to get out of swinging - regardless of your partner. Eliminate the thought that it is something you may share only as a couple because in reality you walk through that door as individual beings. Often the best lovers are are not only selfless but are also inherently selfish. Practice how to turn potential negatives around into positives by disconnecting yourself out of harms way (emotionally), and sometimes even if you affect good humour about a situation it will pamper what otherwise might curdle into a severe bitter response.

As I finished off with, finding your own reasons and knowing them well will make you feel more secure. That's why swinging is sublime, you are breaking all the conventions of what you or society sees as a relationship. Put yourself in the situations you are unsure about and in your mind see if you can deal with them, sometimes people actually get off on the thrill of that "danger" and it can either become a festering wound inside the soul or simply part of the evocative process that is fantasy.

So there you have it, some handy hints, told as no-nonsense and precise as I can without blanketing too much.

I put my "The Dear John Letter" story up in the Stories bit of my Blogroll but will focus a detailed post about it at another time.

Finally I'd like to mention Chelsea's contribution to Sapho's Girls Blog where she provides lashes of alluring lass on lass lacking lassitude and lauding the lull of lady love (says me now with my tongue hanging limp).

Everyday perversity

2007-07-12T19:55:00.000-07:00

I should have called that last post ... having a stiff drink.

I have been drafting thoughts, getting half-way through, scrapping them, and starting new ones. It seems to be that I'm heading for another depression. I think I just plopped into one. I have absolutely no reason at all to be depressed. Indeed, my life has had one good turn after another, my wages have doubled, I love my work, the new program I have developed is something I love, opportunities are not only knocking but also managing to remove my socks, I have loads of interesting work to do and yet that bastard of a black dog has started to howl.

I've never been a money person, in the way that I've never had enough to be one. I'm in a position now to climb slowly out of debt. I have massive debt. I have probably about fifteen years worth of debt. I've gone from scraping by below the poverty line to now earning the minimum wage a Solicitor gets, and I feel guilty about getting what I do for such pleasurable work. I'm embracing it and it makes me work harder. I'm still two steps behind, what was it Bukowski said ... I have forgotten, something about talent lagging.

Although I feel I have joined several subversively open minded types in the education sector. I forecast that those turning to it these days are doing so because it provides a fertile ground because, and I shall use a Bukowski quote, “The way to create art is to burn and destroy ordinary concepts and to substitute them with new truths that run down from the top of the head and out from the heart” and the Internet is providing us with that forum, but to follow on with Bukowski again ... “There is a time to stop reading, there is a time to STOP trying to WRITE, there is a time to kick the whole bloated sensation of ART out on its whore-ass.”

Now ...

Some discussion has been going around about sexual persuasions, particularly from Z's Naked Truth, relating to Vanilla, as a label for those who might not be Licorice ... the placating term I suggested was Sarsaparilla, of which Z kindly took to. Although I understand this discourse has somewhat to do with scent and taste, of the Vanilla, it is something that I also know often divides the sexualities. The sexualities are divided in many areas, I've been to Swinger's parties where the BDSM crowd are looked down upon, and BDSM parties where the Swinger's crowd are frowned upon, Strippers who don't like Prostitutes, and Prostitutes who don't like Strippers, Gay men who don't like Gay women, Gay women who don't like Gay men, and Gay men and Women who don't like Bi-Sexual people (amusingly so though, it is hard to find a Bi-Sexual person who doesn't like Gay men or Gay women).

As I have spoken of previously, I like just shagging. I favour group sex situations. I don't mind if someone pulls out a dildo or whip, but seriously I am not a gadget man. My mobile phone still has a string attached to its can. That's not to say that I don't encourage it, I encourage all forms of sexuality except for the sicko ones. Different levels of perversity should be fully appreciated by those who fancy them, but does that however make me boring? No, I think not. I do actually think, that statement as a fragment might confuse some people.

and

Then ...

Friday, June 17, 2005

whips and chains versus lace.

I have been dabbling in the BDSM world, well not exactly participating but I've been hanging around the crowd for a bit, and I have come to realise what I initially thought about myself that it really doesn't do anything much for me apart from add extra interest to my life by way of its eccentricity. I went to the last Bedlam party and stood there wondering how everyone could satisfy their sexual desires by watching people getting prodded with electric diodes and tied-up, gagged and whipped. I can understand the uniqueness of this crowd, and I love that they are into something passionately but for me...for me I think I prefer the Swinging scene. I like touch, lingerie, sensations of being fondled by strangers in a lustful way. I like hearty conversation followed by fucking, the heavy hum of beady eyes watching the crack of leather on skin doesn't seem all that exciting to me. The crowd is vastly different, the BDSM crew seem to have an a-sexual quality about what they do, I guess arousal from punishment and humiliation is somewhat about therapy rather then carnal desire.

I find I don't have much to say to these people, I remember talking to a sub at one event and holding back from saying, "so, what's the thrill in having tight metal clips fastened all over the shaft of your cock?" but I realise its their thing so I know that my comments would be coming from someone who just doesn't fit into the scene. At one point I wished everyone would just unchain themselves, strip off, and we could all roll around and have some play, but that doesn't fit into domination. The idea behind a Mistress is not someone to tempt into temptation, her role is to put you into your fancied place, and that means she wont be playing with your cock because it pleases you and she just wants to touch it, no, she plays with it to torture you and because the contrast between that and the clothes pegs on your ears is a fine line between pleasure and pain.

Cotton panties don't fit into the dungeon theme and the thought of becoming a Master, well, I imagined myself telling someone off for their gratification and then I knew I would just get bored with being dominating, I think that I need to do some sorting of where it is exactly my erotic interests lie.

COMMENTS FOR THIS POST WERE

Virgin Slut said...

I've never understood fetishes, and to me hardcore whips, chains, hoods, clamps, pain, etc is just that. That probably doesn’t make any sense to you.

I find some aspects of BSDM useful, fun, and enjoyable, but I don’t need to be dominant or submissive every time. I see BSDM as more of a sexual game that you can incorporate into your sex life for variety, rather than as a lifestyle.

My main problem is the pain factor … I don’t like being on the receiving end, and I can only inflict it to a certain extent, beyond that, I’ll break down and cry. Like you, I prefer seeing pleasure to seeing pain, and my brain can’t register that someone being “hurt” can be enjoying it to the extent that pain turns to pleasure. Plus I don’t find hardcore pain sexy at all. I think that is mainly because I am a wimpy girl, and I faint at the sight of blood. However, I do like the mind control, the head fuck, whatever you want to call it, aspect.

rupert said...

virgin-slut,

what you say makes complete sense.

rupert

A post to pass the time

2007-07-12T09:48:00.000-07:00

I am too wrapped up in my own devices to write anything of use. I feel like Napoleon having a Cognac, slumped before a blazing fire, thinking about Waterloo - and whether he can be bothered to get up and do it - water in the loo that is, Cognac can do that to you, y'know.

Now ...

A little something from 2004.

and

Then ...

Monday, February 20, 2006

St Rupert the Sinner

It is indeed odd when one stumbles across oneself on the front cover of the "Australian 2004 Saints and Sinners Ball" video. They say in the video/DVD review, "Easily the most sex we've ever been able to tape for you, all performed by real people" and "Without a doubt, this was the year when the exhibitionists came out to play" - so you can bet I'm in there because I know my ex-partner and I drew quite a crowd at one stage. One guy coming up to me and saying, "That's the best oral I've seen all year". You can spy me on the cover wearing the white halo and wings (we actually had devils tails attached to our under-wear).

Speaking of Saints and Sinners, the next ball is arriving soon, and thank-god they have resorted back to the no single guys rule. The last Saints and Sinners we attended did have alot of seemingly single men, and I think they had some basis of entry that you could get away with a largish group of males if you had at least one female in the group. This meant that a bunch of lads in boxer shorts loitered around whilst all us costumed libertines played.

I have been dabbling in discussion with Sabine about attending such erotic events as swingers parties etc. I wanted to make it clear that we both had fairly definite opinions not on the act of attending such things but one's lifetime personal convictions as far as all aspects of the erotic went.

It was seeming somewhat unclear to me on where exactly Sabine was coming from in view of eroticism (I'm a bit of bright candle with sex I'm afraid, burning at both ends, to use a Flynn quote, "burning the midnight Errol", but with crude imaginings, wait that's Flynn all over too). We have come to what I believe is a suitably good arrangement - call it a pseudo/open thing (D.H.Lawrence style), which I think will work.

Often one must tailor one's relationship to satisfy one's desires otherwise it could all go to muck.

COMMENTS FOR THIS POST WERE

AlwaysArousedGirl said...

I volunteer to go in Sabine's stead if she cannot attend. With her permission, of course.

:D

Darkneuro said...

Often one must tailor one's relationship to satisfy one's desires otherwise it could all go to muck.

Beautiful Rupert, one must CONTINUALLY tailor one's relationship to satisfy one's desires. What is the purpose of a relationship if not to satisfy one's desires?

rupert said...

Always Aroused Girl,

Gosh! Oh my! What can I say! Get thee to an airport!

DN,

Yes, wise words, hang-on, they are my words.

Rups

Slippin' and a Slidin'

2007-07-09T04:04:00.000-07:00

I am doing a half-hour dirty as all buggery spoken word set on August the 14Th at the Town Hall in South Melbourne (137 Bank St. South Melbourne) at 9pm and my spoken word band Friggin in the Riggin are doing a gig after that at 9:30pm, so I encourage any local Bloggers to pop along and encourage the madness that will incur. You can guarantee it will be as smutty and filthy as filth and smut, as can be, I cautioned the organisers twice - it was non-consensual, they booked us in.

Later on this month, when I find time, as I am working now three days a week, teaching at two different campuses, and studying Thursdays, I will write up the set list as I have arranged it. I may even Vlog it, how about that?

So what can I say? Urges are flying, catch one!

I leave you now with some tittle-tattle from muffboxfilms ...

Now ...

Just because I shall be the Bawd Buckley come August.

and

Then ...

Friday, July 22, 2005

Time of the Hipsters

Well, I guess I came across the recommendation 59 years after it was first given by the very articulate H.Miller, almost similiar to his experience with Rimbaud and the very mad Thelma, it wasn't until at the age of 37 Miller thought to find out all about the boy prodigy. What I'm referring to is the what sounds like very gracious character of Lord Buckley (anyone else familiar with this man's work?) he was a poor lad (1906-1960) who found royalty, a hip aristocrat with no money, kind of how I see myself sometimes, except I belong to the Lord Byron type recluse, and I want to get my hands on his piece The Bad-Rapping of the Marquis de Sade

Here is the man. I found a pic of him but haven't listened to his stuff yet.

I recently found a link to a piece of his called "The Nazz"

Sex of convenience

2007-07-07T08:48:00.000-07:00

Previously on rated (R)upert there was mention of snorting Patchouli flavoured wheat bran, keyboards gently weeping, vapour and smoke, sex cellars, jolly Turkish men at meat and fish markets, Friends with Rights, "Funky Cold Medina", and knickers from a hottie or call gal in Singapore.

Today I will be reminiscing about those oh so wonderful sex of convenience times, when the girl next door was actually, the girl next door and not some ideogram for Miss Jane the twenty-something all-natural wantonly corruptible in the wholesome sprig of rosemary kind of way girl. I've had some good times like this. As I mentioned a few posts ago, the upstairs/downstairs situation was almost like living out a Carry On film on life, a Carry On life.

I was shacked up on a friend's couch in Nth Melbourne, seeing a few people here and there, it was summer, so made it regular to have sex on a mattress out the back yard under a fig tree. Sometimes waking the neighbours up, actually one neighbour had to make herself a hot cup of milk, so reported the next morning - the moaning apparently compared to that of a cow giving birth. Next door to this house was another house inhabited by a couple of girls and a guy. I had a convenient sexual set-up with a girl called Vicky, now it wasn't all too regular and it wasn't considered even fuck buddy like, as Vicky and I never hung out but we did end up having sex a few times even though we both were actively seeing other people. The reason for this was because it was a) convenient and b) we were attracted to each other purely sexually. Sometimes if I couldn't get into the house I was staying at because of a late return home, I'd gently tap on Vicky's window and she'd let me into her house. I only today remembered about Vicky, for some reason I had forgotten about her which is unusual for me and past flings, I am enjoying trying to recall what exactly she looked like, as I think she was quite porcelain from memory - its coming back, she had that vitreous texture to her skin, that milky white found with some deep red haired girls, she had speckles of freckles, and hot dark blue eyes. I may be over-romanticising but I do remember being intensely attracted to her but not even near wanting to pursue any kind of relationship. I wish I could delve further into my cerebral files and access some nice visual flashbacks. I just remember lots of saturation's of blue and white, her room was washed in blue, her skin soaked white.

The next sex of convenience situation that comes to mind, housemates aside, because with housemates, it was always truly too convenient. The next I say, not next as in a following but the next coming to mind, is Kate, and Kate lived a street away from another house I was living at. How convenient it was to stop off at her house on the way home. Jump the fence and ring the door bell. This sex of convenience however became slightly more complicated then intended. I was in the break-up process with a girlfriend, so after thinking the break-up finalised, I allowed a fuck buddy to move in with me for a bit as she had just returned from being away and we had lots of "catching up" to do. During this period I also started my sex of convenience with Kate, but my freshly exed-girlfriend having discovered my fuck buddy in residence began to vie for my attentions and of course I was painfully aware that my fuck buddy would accommodate whatever silly emotional decision I may make, not entirely without judgement but it was clear that she would play the loyal friend and discreetly slip away to alternative accommodation. So girlfriend was temporarily back in the scene, it was however to be short lived, as the motive was not entirely of benefit towards the relationship, but I love her for that, it's an intriguing part of her personality. Truly, I find that people who enjoy playing with power dynamics usually only achieve the emotional equivalent of having someone carry your groceries or piggy back you across a puddle. In the end they see situations as win and lose, sadly they are rarely the ones who will always remain umpires in the end.

So at that point I realised I still had Kate up the road, and so by degrees I lessened contact with her, and she had plans to go over-seas anyway, so it wasn't like peeling off a Band-Aid, more like turning the tap off tight enough not to let it drip and keep you awake at night. Oh my god, my memory has gone blank, I don't know what I did after that! Oh that's right, I stayed with my cousin for a month ... I think, but what did I do after that? Oh, it's alright, got it now.

The final sex of convenience which was somewhat more full bodied I shall mention was my lecturer, but will keep her story for one entire post because it revolutionised many of my sexual thoughts.

So sex of convenience is similar in some respects to Friends with Rights but more about location then anything else.

Now to a change of perspective ...

Saving my landlord time, I installed my own peephole cam into the ceiling vent, I send him the footage but he keeps sending it back and raising the rent.

Publicity for The Band is rolling along smoothly, I am told that Vice Magazine may be doing a spread. So what am I doing tonight? I'm working on a version of The Good Ship Venus for my spoken word CD. The good thing about this bawdy folk song is that "the sexual lexis used throughout the poem is limited in its depravity only by the respective singer's gratuitous imagination." The Sex Pistols did their version, it was called Friggin' in the Riggin'.

I am doing a cover on the CD. I wanted to cover a spoken word piece and so have chosen I am the Doctor as spoken by Jon Pertwee, that sexy man.

I'm not sure how I'll approach my version of I am the Doctor but you can be sure that my version of The Good Ship Venus will be utterly smutty.

Postscript

Did I say "reminiscing"? Tut-tut, Egyptian kings and all that, unlike me, no, hopefully many more wonderful sex of convenience times will sprout up. Sheesh.

Footnote to myself.

2007-07-06T09:48:00.000-07:00

At this point throwing myself into my work quite literally translates to catapulting my body against the computer in utter frustration.

Nudists bug me

2007-07-06T04:34:00.000-07:00

Attention, ahem, My First Time is now an off-broadway play, just letting you know. 40, 000 first timer sex tales told by four actors. Now I have a bone to pick with the Melbourne Naked Bike Riding folk. It is something I often gripe with about naturalists. Firstly I find naturalists as strange as scientologists and breatharians (wow it only costs $15,000,000 USD to begin your breatharian training). I find naturalists odd not because they remove their clothes but they remove sexual desires from their philosophy of life. The people involved in the Naked Bike Ride are not necessarily naturalists but I'm thinking the same weird altitude of motive is hanging from their heads.

However the Melbourne Naked Bike Ride is different, or rather the Australian Naked Bike Ride, which is about protesting against car emissions and supporting sustainable energy. Three things they removed from my report ... Firstly not only was I watching some "Fecking episodes of Father Ted" and finishing up reading Dylan Thomas "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog" but I had also mentioned I was drinking wine and smoking Captain Black Cigars. The drinking and and smoking was obviously seen as just too much fun someone could have on a Saturday afternoon before a naked bike ride, and besides perhaps I should have been drinking herbal tea and snorting Patchouli flavoured wheat bran.

Secondly, they kept in that I was wearing my Blackspot Sneakers (Sweat Free) but removed the fact that I had written Snuffboxfilms on my arm, in my report I had mentioned my business makes explicit underground films, but then I've heard that underground cinema is full of fur wearers and crewed by child labour, so yep, any underground indie filmmakers are raking it in on exploitation. I'm a millionaire didn't you know, I have a million bits of air, I'm the breatharian equivelent of Rupert Murdoch.

Thirdly, at the end of the report I told of how I nearly became aroused from the pedalling and riding right behind a naked woman riding in front of me. This was the most horrendous act of censorship on their part. Apparently it must appear that the naked bike ride is purely an a-sexual activity, and the fact that we are beings who are stimulated by sensations and sight must go unaccounted for in the name of keeping nudity clean! Please.

They never justified the censorship, they merely wrote this note at the bottom of it ... "Note: the ride report of 2007 WNBR Melbourne participant bawdylair has been edited somewhat." In other words we fear freedom of speech, yet we are delivering a form of protest which relies on it. This kind of thing really bugs me. After the ride I happened to over-hear an old fellow on the phone to someone of significance lying to them that he was still at work doing some extra tasks. Obviously his reason for riding is his own, but obviously it is something he must keep private. Why? Well with some basic guess work, we can probably figure it out (When I say "We" I mean, me and the Queen, we've been nutting out these little issues secretly by royal telephone for years).

So, my report was fairly decently written out I thought, I had neglected to mention the old guy who was participating secretively, I had neglected to mention the poor girl on the bike who was upset when she was verbally abused by some on-lookers so she quit riding half-way through, and I neglected to mention how the event was mainly made up of men with around three females present. I had neglected these things in my report because I wanted to support the event - yet, clearly I was not to have the same courtesy given towards my writing. As an individual who may have a different perspective towards things, I was censored without any prior communication about the edit. A simple email would have done, "Hey there, we are publishing your report but leaving out the fact that you smoke, drink, make explicit movies and have sexual thoughts". I would have used Walt Whitman's line "The dirtiest book of all is the expurgated book." in order to get my point back across.

Maybe it is just me, but I see nudism as potentially related in some way to sex. The naked body as opposed to a telegraph pole, as opposed to sacks of coal, as opposed to eggs on toast seems to me applicable to sensations and feelings of sexuality - everything has a context of course but every context has contexts within its context, of course. That's why nudists/naturalists bug me, if I was standing on a beach, and I saw a naked woman who I found attractive, and we ended up playing nude volley ball together I would have to be Bella Lugosi's corpse not to be feeling at least some fucking sexual response. That's the problem with these naturalists, they are all wanna be Buddhists, staring into oblivion for eight hours trying not to think about masturbating in case a drop of semen is spilt and they forfeit nirvana.

Why ride naked? The idea behind riding naked is because nudity draws attention. It draws attention because sex is infused with it. That's why advertising uses sexually provocative images god damn it. So why then deny it?

I bet you they wont publish this blog on the internet

2007-07-05T06:42:00.000-07:00

A picture of my favourite filmmaker Joao Cesar Monteiro on the front cover of what I believe to be a Portuguese cinema magazine. Why have I put it at the top of this post? No reason.

The title of this post is of course adapted from Eric Idle's song I bet you they wont play this song on the radio ...

I sit at my computer every night to write. Sometimes with success, and mostly with shattering failure. I blame the chair, the lighting, the mood of the music, and eventually at 4am in the morning I shuffle off to sleep feeling like I'd accomplished an even larger list of things to do the next night. Of course it isn't always like this, I have bundles of projects well written in to, but still my keyboard gently weeps.

It's time to set some things up. It's not that I don't have projects to bide my time with - shooting every Saturday citrullus vulgaris breaking footage of The Watermelon Man vs Zuttoniun, and post-production on a few projects, a spoken word CD which is being flung from engineer to me by phone messages, and then there is all the loose projects in pipe lines, up spouts, and generated dreams by rumbling snores backfiring from double-walled tail nostrils. It is not that exciting things haven't been happening in my world. They have. The problem is when Galileo disputed the Church's idea that the world was flat, he misunderstood the Church's meaning - the Church meant that the world was flat, it was boring, dull, lifeless, uninteresting, the world meaning all the people in it. Maybe that is what I'm feeling.

I cooked Pescada tonight, for those not in the know, it's a baked whole fish basted in a hot garlic sauce with lemon, pepper and salt - covered in potato slices, sprinkled with parsley and then smothered in a rich creamy sauce pepped up with paprika, nutmeg and cayenne pepper. It's a dish I have made several times before, and it is just delicious beyond words.

Litvinov's love for Irina is damned, she comes from a line of ancient Russian nobility, who unfortunately retain title but have lost all wealth. She falls in love with Litvinov as he does with her, but Litvinov is not high-society and she leaves him for a wealthy General who can provide for her, although meeting again after ten years, they once again start circulating in love and finally after Litvinov breaks his engagement with another woman, sells his personal property - Irina once more sends him into a bleak void of despair ... in the end Litvinov says ...

'All is vapour and smoke,' he thought; 'all seems to change continually, everywhere new forms appear, events follow upon events, but at bottom all is the same; everything hurries, hastens somewhere - and everything disappears without a trace, attaining nothing; the wind changes - and everything rushes in the opposite direction, and there the same unceasing, restless, and futile game begins again.' He recalled much that happened with clamour and commotion before his eyes of late years. ... 'Smoke,' he whispered, 'smoke.'

And so Ivan aside, I'm now reading Ezra Pound's ABC of Reading. When people ask me if I watch television, I tell them that there just isn't any time these days. Speaking of books here is an old, old photo from muffboxfilms depicting a feat of endurance and cock strength. When I was younger I used to amuse myself by seeing how many mugs I could hang off my erect penis and then proceeded to weight lift them by using my pelvic floor muscles.

Now ...

COMPLETELY off topic. I was watching some porn tonight, thinking, I need a well lit sex cellar. Something with a mattress, nice thick plush carpet, a few comfy chairs etc. I thought it unusual that people, general people you meet, may not with you, but with others bare their essentials for penetration ... by that I mean, I started thinking about certain female friends who I know as fully clothed conversationalists over coffee with me, are with so and so, bent over backwards, legs apart, humping with not details of the past week but rather heavy winded sighs exchanged. It just felt odd. I was watching this porn thinking, these two people are going to fuck, they would have most likely done the exact same thing they are doing now but with different people - they chose to do this to each other, each wanted to stimulate each other's bodies but otherwise they might be interacting with other people not wanting to do this. An ex-girlfriend then popped into my mind, and I thought, I know exactly how she would be having sex with someone else, although we don't now have sex, but I can clearly imagine that process because of the many years we did have sex. This train of thought really served no purpose but it entertained me whilst I entertained me.

and

Then ...

Friday, July 01, 2005

Cock Bookmark

Well, I love books and I love being aroused and so I combined the two with this effort. The book (for those of you who like statistics) is a 438 page recent edition of Errol Flynn's "My Wicked, wicked Ways" illustrated for the first time with 8 pages of photos and unedited like SOME previous editions were because of potential libellous content.

Bought for me for Christmas I believe. I have an affinity with Errol not just because like him I am also a Tasmanian by birth, but because I click with his notion of always being curious about life and its marvels - Errol said, "If I have genius, it is a genius for living" and that's a fair claim coming from a lad who lived the life of ten people in one.

COMMENTS FOR THIS POST WERE

Virgin Slut said...

Mmmm. This is one to read into. How on earth did you manage to keep still?

Do you know of Remmy (http://versucher.blogspot.com/)? He also loves books.

More Massive Attack Memories

2007-07-04T03:47:00.000-07:00

"I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center". - Kurt Vonnegut

Everyone was jolly at the markets today, as I picked up some fish and Halal meat (Yummy Lebo snags mate), the butcher, a very pale Turkish man with a long pony-tail, big handle bar mustache and ear rings said to me "Now, you have a good day young fella". I also last week joined a wine club thingy where I now get crate loads of selected reds by the dozen sent to me, tonight I'm drinking a quality Cab-Sav from Canberra - each wine is tested by a panel and then sent to your door at a highly discounted price. I'm listening to Stars on 45 - Beatles Medley, how enthralling for me. The Massive Attack states I get myself in are when I put on the particular album Blue Lines and I am whisked away to the not too far distant past (only about twelve years ago), when the Idyller and I, amongst others were shacked up in Darlinghurst in the property owned by James Packer, a then Bondi Sea Theatre Festival office come warehouse space. Talk about transient spaces, the Daisy Gutter and I spent days just sort of nutting out our positions as writers, late teenage writers at that!

Now ...

Looking back at certain periods of my past confuses me. Not only am I not there now but I feel as if I could be or rationally, I should be. I had visions quite a few months back in half sleep of visiting my past self at various stages of my life's history. The conversations were rather vivid and it became a kind of attempt to see if I was able to communicate with my past self and then retain what I had imparted in my current self. Not sure if it really worked, I deluded myself that it had for half a day.

Whatever. The days I spent humming around Sydney were significant. Brisbane was, to use an emotive phrase, a dung pit. I had arrived there from Tasmania, accustomed to cold weather, used to the very secretive and quiet nature of Tasmanians, only to have to ween myself on brash rather knob headed loud mouthed yokels found in Qld, like every place, not everyone is like that there, but really, not much is on offer in that Northern state in comparison to its Southern counterparts. The big move to Sydney was a radical shift in my life. I had left two girls, with a convenient upstairs/downstairs sexual situation happening. Going it alone as a teenager with no contacts except for a cousin who would be all too busy with his law career, I ventured into a world of scraping by on the kindness of strangers. Sexually Sydney was a blast, meaning I was on heat, and some adventures were to be had.

On a completely unrelated note, don't you think Salt 'n' Pepper were rather clever to release the song "Short dick man"? - have you ever watched people dancing to it? It is very amusing because all the women you gather have experienced men with small cocks and the men dancing may or may not have small cocks, but everyone looks as if they are dancing in support to the message of the song, or dancing in denial. It's funny to watch. It makes me blush in an amusing way. Us people and our people business.

It is difficult having had a blog that ran for several years with over 200 posts knowing if I'm re-telling the same stories, so I'll write a minor tale that was quite amusing from those days in Sydney. I was about 18 or 19 remember so the mere flicker of flesh sent blood invading the tunnels of my cock. It's funny but I look back at my sexual/relationship history and it all involves bathtubs, beds, and multiple people. This was no different, this was when I met ... I'm going to call her Chrissie because she looked like Chrissie Hynde. Anyway, I met Chrissie in a threesome with some other guy who was having a twosome before I rocked up, cock in hand and was invited to join the frivolities. The threesome lasted for three days - I was at the time pining for a French girl I had recently been dumped by. I was in luck that Chrissie, who would become a two year relationship liked me enough to allow myself to ease into her favours. The other guy after those three days let a bomb shell drop, and left the triangle, when he had come back from the Doctors. He told me first that he had Herpes and thought he had contracted it from Chrissie. I went straight away to the clinic, my first time, and got tested. I was clean. Chrissie too had gone to the clinic and she also was clean. It then turned out that the other guy had gotten his Herpes from a trip to Thailand. It was a confusing but lucky escape for Chrissie and I.

That's not the funny bit. The funny bit, which isn't keel over and burst your funny bone funny, is a moment after having all been fucking in the double bunk bed, we three were sitting naked but covered in a sheet on a couch - as we sat there, some other housemates were entertaining us. We were drinking copious amounts of vodka, taking some prescription drugs, and I believe on that occasion I had stuffed a speed depository up my arse. Anyway, we three, sitting on the couch. Chrissie in the middle. Other people entertaining us. The other guy started prodding my privates, "What's that"? he said, we were distracted by our drinking and music, "What's that, what's that, what's that under there"? he continued prodding - Chrissie burst out laughing, I had been too confused by his outbursts, she spoke for me, "That's his erection", she said laughing. It was true. Riveted under the sheets like a tent pole, my cock was hard as could be, and the other guy thought it an inanimate object of sorts decided to sate his curiosity by poking my cock. I think he was more embarrassed, I was momentarily prim, and Chrissie let out that sexy hoarse laugh of hers.

Chrissie recently got in touch with me bizarrely enough. We haven't had any contact for about eight years, not since having had a few phone sex sessions together, I may write about those.

and

Then ...

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Putting the memory down.

When I listen to Massive Attack's Blue Lines I get a surge of feelings from when I was 18-19 living in a loft in Sydney's Darlinghurst. The loft has since been renovated, I've seen the devastation, from kinda New York paint peeling stencil big windowed open plan living crate to aluminium blocked double glazed pin lighted polish floored human zip drive. Ten years ago we payed $200 a month for the privilege for being of crawling distance from the Taxi Club, in those days the $1 dollar wines and pokie machine popping drag queens for company was good fun.

I remember it as wild soft days that shattered at night like shards of hustle and bustle, and we sat up until dawn drinking wine by the bottle, coffee by the black cup full, and snorting cigarettes through our throats. I remember it had an open shower, my first awareness of this was making breakfast coffee and seeing April in glorious fully wet flesh washing herself.

Crazy, free days when I'd ask my writing buddy to put on the Beastie Boy's "Shad Rach" so I could go and masturbate in the toilet over a shonky 1970's Playboy magazine mixing cane furniture and string tops with doey eyes and Mysterious Gateways with shaggy welcome mats.

One night I was disturbed from my sleep by the sound of this guy who liked to walk around the loft naked shagging a girl on one of the couches. I crept up behind another and started playing with myself, I alerted two of my sleeping friends to come and see what I was seeing. They watched for a bit before retiring again. The next morning Clint woke me up with a song on my Mandolin and I told him I had watched and wanked whilst he was making-love, he said, "I know, I was putting on a show, wasn't she great"! Clint went on to make the movie "Sample People" with Kylie Minogue.

More of my Massive Attack memories soon...

Friend of Rights

2007-07-03T08:37:00.000-07:00

Following up a post by Anastasia about coming across the idiom, Friends with Rights -

I decided that Friends with Rights should have an Amendment (in the same way of the Bill of Rights), ten exact, to make it a proper Friend of Rights constitution. I really wanted to write up a Declaration of the Friends with Rights, as so well spelt out by the French in 1789, but that task is beyond me at this current time due to exciting but exhaustive new developments in my academic work. Let's just say my responsibilities have increased.

Amendment 1 - Freedom of fuckery, pressing against each other, expression of lust.

Congress shall make it possible for Friends with Rights to fuck, press against each other and express lust.

Amendment 2 - Right to bare clothes.

Being necessary to the surety of a free fuck, the right of the Friend to strip and bare clothes, shall not be infringed, even undressing spontaneously and bounding about the house in a frenzy of feverish anticipation of nearing encuntery and fuckery.

Amendment 3 - Quartering of friends.

Friends shall be treated as good as any couple and housed for the purpose of shagging whether given a spare room, couch or hammock for the purpose. Over night stays particularly welcomed with knowing winks and grinning morning espresso at all times are to greet the Friends the next morning by the kindly host.

Amendment 4 - Search and Seizure.

The right of Friends to search each other and seize the most pleasurable parts to stimulate, arouse, and titillate. Familiarity will allow searches to be conducted in the most scintillating of fashions.

Amendment 5 - Dial and Polishment, masturbation whilst talking.

Friends with Rights may actively rub their own bodies during seemingly non-sexual conversations on the telephone. If the conversation transforms into phone sex or a booty call, then "Come around" or "Can I visit" may be expressed without any feelings of coyness. An inappropriate time may then be shifted to a catch up later on in the week.

Amendment 6 - Right to a speedy fuck, confrontation of witnesses, added kink.

At any time of convenience Friends with Rights may be ready for a sexual dalliance, not necessarily in completely private spaces. The advent of witnesses considered an extra excitement in the process. Fast "zipless fucks" may improve a night of social dullness or simply perk up an evening out on the town.

Amendment 7 - Denial of Jewelry in civilised cases.

No cliched couple gifts will be accepted by Friends with Rights such as flowers, Valentine cards or jewelry unless tainted in some way by wit or perversity. Every received gift shall be above board and no underlying emotions attached to its purpose.

Amendment 8 - Jovial and Unusual Puckishment.

All flirtation shall be accepted in good humour, and if shared by unusual acts of exhibitionism or bathing, shall be enjoyed for the whimsical frolic that it is. Support shall be administered for acts of foolishness or depravity when impulsively not thought out and acted upon.

Amendment 9 - Construction of Constitution.

No matter how tired or flat Friends with Rights are feeling, during a sexual adventure each will endeavour to accommodate the other and if seemingly too big an obstacle, empathy shall be provided, and the adventure postponed.

Amendment 10 - Powers of the sexual states and Friends.

No Friend with Rights will feel obligated to continue "Friend with Rights" status if they so decide. No pressure will ever be administered to each other, and no obligation will ever be felt by either one to commit to each or make their sexual escapades habitual.

I have always enjoyed the company of Fuck Buddies and have had a few in my time, friendship coupled with sex over the years. An old Friend with Rights I have featured here, she was always wonderful in her wicked way, this was a free daily image of her from ISM. Not exceptionally strange that she should do ISM, at least three of my Fuck Buddies, one Porn-Star I had the pleasure of pleasuring and one full-time now ex-girlfriend has done a portfolio on the site. We shall call her Gypsy, which she has used as her artist portfolio nom-de-plume, indeed I believe that was the name that I bestowed upon her many years ago.

The fine figure of Gypsy on ISM.

I remember how we met. In a pub. She had just turned seventeen. We caught each other's gaze across the pub as it was closing, walked right up to each other, and without having said a word, kissed. Just like that. The rest was me going around to her house for some fine fuckery. So this really did start with a kiss, and it continued over many years with sexual pursuits on a regular basis. It eventually wound down due to each other's differing sexual commitments, but that's the nature of things sometimes.

At one point she had a window always unlocked for my convenience, and funnily enough another Fuck Buddy had the same approving means of visitation. This allowed for late night encounters and usually sex in the morning as the visit was conducted usually after heavy nights at the pub when all other transport options had expired and the closest nest was in her bed.

There is something so beautifully uncomplicated about Friends with Rights scenarios, for me anyway. I don't care what anyone says, it is damn enjoyable to roll around without strings. It's that divine "Algonquin Round Table", where the common ground is the enemy of mediocrity and the world's arthritic sense of self.

New post coming soon.

2007-07-02T06:11:00.000-07:00

Sexual Identity: Part Five

2007-06-28T23:28:00.000-07:00

I chose wrongly the first time. Which one is Benny Hill?

I was having an amusing read of Young Mc's bio, or Marvin Young. I didn't realise he was British. I also should have realised but didn't, that Marvin co-wrote Tone Lōc's two big hits, "Wild Thing" and "Funky Cold Medina", now isn't that fascinating dear Blogger. What I also didn't know was that Marvin graduated with a degree in economics just before his first album was released. Wow, the amazing stuff you may learn here at Rated (R)upert, hooray for online education. See how I'm getting into that teaching mode, starting off the lesson with a bit of light trivia, then wham, onto the more relevant stuff, the fifth part of my uber quest to dissect my sexual identity and toss the particles into the reckless temporal cyber-world.

My mother died just after I turned three years old. I don't remember a thing about her, and was raised (if you could call it that) by my father, thing is, he virtually just made use of my mother's friends and passed me around like an ear full of potatoes until he was old enough to run away from home (which he truly did). This left me with a vivaciously independent streak, and many people I have known who experienced similar family dysfunction have a familiar mindset as my own. Why, I was having a pub meal about six months ago with a chap who had been through his own version, we got on like a family house on fire.

With self-diagnosis this left me with two distinct adult foibles, one is an absolute expectancy of unconditional love (because I never had it) and secondly a pragmatic outlook towards emotions (because of my uncontrollable loss). A deadly duo to be sure. The first "What can be should be", the second "What will be will be", and then there is everything in between, shudder.

It seems common sense that usually two extremes might be found by those from "broken homes", one may be an extreme sense that everything should work out and the other a sense that it doesn't matter if everything doesn't work out. All my major relationships, going by the six partners I've lived with, only two did not come from separated parents. I have found that emotionally they are very different then those who came from a separated parenting situation. Those from separated environments were not necessarily less emotional but more so the emotions were less about why aren't things going my way or why aren't things happening the way I imagined and more about this is fucked, let me out or why am I so fucked up?.

I don't do emotions very well, especially long-winded, guess twenty-times, I don't like the fact that you've decided to start a career as a knock-knock joke comedian, why are you suddenly sleeping with your back to me, feel my paranoia from the prongs of nervous energy I've pierced into your side, not everybody hurts but everything hurts kind of emotions. I believe that through having had to face pretty much every adult let down there is from the age of fifteen when I knew my father was making plans to leave in less then a year, made me realise that if I was an unwanted teddy bear, chewed on, dribbled on, painted over, left in a dark cupboard, thrown to the family dog, torn apart, swept up by the mower, thrown into the bin, taken out for garbage, dumped in the tip - then I would just have to get back up and start all over again. Ready, Teddy, Go. No-one would ever really be there for me. Most children can phone a parent, I never could, phoning my Dad was like making small talk to a Parking Inspector about the fun of getting away not paying for tickets. So I hung around all sorts, some unsavoury, some savoury, so I guess we can call them Licorice. When you hang around all sorts you get ripped off, lied to, manipulated, relied upon, taken for a ride, and everything else under the sun you will not get from good parents with firm family values. So, as much as I feel emotions, I find them a bed inward, and monitor them until I feel they are well enough to go home.

So to finish on that, mother dies, can't do a thing about it, that's the nature of life and as Turgenev says "People constantly see that death comes suddenly, but cannot get used to its suddenness and think it senseless". So in a way I am sensory but also senseless in my emotions. I feel them but respond to them accordingly, unless I'm drunk that is, and a primordial nucleosynthesis of emotions can erupt. When it comes to other people's brooding or hysterical emotions, especially those whose lives have been relatively easy, I have little patience. My life hasn't been particularly difficult as such but I'm talking about relationships here, what a person has experienced in their family life, which is the first experience one has of relationships.

People who seek to remedy themselves with whatever progresses their own thoughts on matters always impresses me. I find the other sort hard work. If you fail to work stuff out by yourself, you may also fail to work stuff out with other people. No one wants to sleep under a wet blanket constantly, that's what all the wonderful forms of wit and cynical repartee are there for, drying the sheets. It is true that many people find such agile independence of thought a threat. You can't control the weather bless it.

With this backlog I then relate my emotional state to sex. When someone says "Don't get emotionally attached", inevitably a person will, I'm not like that, I'm more robust, and I've been dumped, rejected, spurned, and I've miss fired, embarrassed myself, yearned, had crushes fruitier than a fruit cup and ended up over filling it, what a full! I am however no cold fish, although I can be, but that state of grace is merely a red herring for what I'm feeling inside, like my brain, my heart is often racked with sensations. I have looked into the sleeping figure of a lover and felt absolute bliss, acting on that bliss I've found counter-productive, feeling it is enough for me, because I tend to over-extend my thought process and who wants to hear "I love you ... I really do ... but last week you were a pain in the arse and this week I wouldn't mind some time to myself ... I love you so much ... but my life is depressing me at the moment and I couldn't care less if it all goes to rot ... I do love you deeply and I've been eyeing off the lass who works at the bakery thinking all sorts of rude thoughts" etc. I am not an emotional lover, I am a fucker, I love to fuck not fuck to love. I offer other emotional aspects from my personality such as I will show my love by cooking food filled with love.

The first, which is the unconditional love factor is not so clear cut. It doesn't relate directly to "divided families", it relates to the mother figure because traditionally the mother nurtures her children even when she feels better without them, even when they tell her they hate her. My father reacted like this when I told him I hated him, during a heated angst battle right in the middle of fervent puberty I was, right after I'd run away from home, right after being raped by a gay guy, just been picked up for shoplifting, at thirteen, I shouted at him that I hated him, his reaction? To swing his heavy hairy hand right across my head and knock me flat out, if this wasn't enough he let loose with a barrage of psychological spatfire (he had a degree in psychology) telling me I was weak, pathetic etc etc. Anyway, high tides and maelstroms aside, there was never any unconditional love. The result was inner strength from me, I played his game, and for the next two years I played it fairly well. That nurturing was always absent, other kids had nice mothers who made school lunches, patted them on the head, gave them hugs and would lend a kind ear in times of trouble, I adored all their mothers, as a result I spent more time gaining their favours then I ever did my friend's fathers. I naturally didn't like fathers very much. The father away, the better for me.

As a result in relationships I craved that unconditional love, and with friendships too. Forming one's own independence means that you are going to make a lot of mistakes, repeatedly, because without parental guidance all your own views are set-up by trial and error. There is nothing from which to break from, or rebel. It is simply creating from scratch for better or for worse and to relate to Turgenev again because he is fresh in my mind, "but then we all know that the way from bad to good is never through "better," but always through "worse" - and every poison is useful in medicine".

Sexually this puts high demands on partners because you want to be unconditionally supported in the ideals you've home grown. It's easier to accept negative criticism about a present you've bought from a shop then one you spent time making yourself. So I like my books fiddled with when it comes to accounting for my behaviour at times. If you feel violinated by it, then don't fiddle. Keeping in mind that I am not unconditional towards myself, far from it, but see below.

These two defining factors of my personality do meet in an odd way, they kind of compliment each other. It means that my pragmatic side will live and let die but my unconditional love syndrome is strawberry fields forever.

Sex in the city

2007-06-28T05:02:00.000-07:00

Now ...

I have a line in one of my spoken word pieces that goes ... "People spend more time watching sex in the city then actually doing it", here is a story from muffboxfilms about one of the frequent times I have had sex in the city.

and

Then ...

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

frisky business

During pillow talk, eventually comes up a discussion about where has been the most unusual place one has had sex. Actually the last time I discussed this it wasn't pillow talk rather a "let's get the talk a little more dirty" before having a foursome, and after having gone through a few odd places for coitus, I suddenly remembered I did have an interesting location to talk about, and here is the story of that.

It must of been between classes or I had an exam, my girlfriend at the time was very accommodating in relieving stressful tension during test periods, usually in various toilets around campus, and let's just say I excelled in my first year of Uni. Anyway at that time we were looking for somewhere we could privately engage in some hanky-panky, and after relentlessly scouting the grounds for various nooks and crannies, we decided to make the climb up the Fine Art building stairs to the University rooftop where we knew there was a fairly vacant spot.

We went behind a tin air conditioning stack which we thought would shield us from wandering Rembrandts to be, and layed down and began kissing and touching and rolling about with as much ease as the hard concrete would afford us. Our activities soon grew somewhat more bold, she romoved her top, and then pulled out my cock, plumbing its depth in her thorough manner. I reclined with my eyes closed and allowed the sun to warm my face as her humid mouth fomented my cock.

My hand grazing over the stiff lace of her bra, and my fingers picking up hints of flesh through the tiny holes, and along its path, alerted by a resolved nipple pushing through, a firm bump to playfully pinch. I remember the bras she wore, and the panties, they always seemed to project the figurations of her breasts and buttocks back onto the flesh as silhouettes, and caused an enigmatic sensualness that peeped when she moved about, and her nipples were always flirty, that is, they defied their lace veil and loitered beyond.

We sheepishly hooted at our devilishness being out in the open yet concealed, and so high up, I can't remember how high up, but pretty bloody high. She hitched up her long black skirt and straddled my naked cock, gently rubbing, we chuckled and kissed, and generally felt unanimously in some kind of heaven. The dainty sliding of her cunt against my cock, feeling the padding of pubic hair shifting to then feel the dip of her lips giving way behind a mask of panty was making me horny as hell (Did I mention we felt we were in a heavenly place? Well we were behaving devilishly afterall).

I reached around and unsnapped her bra, she pulled back, and allowed the straps to run down her arms with her hands drifting behind, and finally freeing her delightful breasts teasing in gentle jiggles of which each I was eager kiss but ...

At that moment we heard a cavalcade of applause and wolf whistles, adjusting ourselves accordingly we turned around and there, standing on the Victorian State Library dome, were what looked like about fifteen workmen in hard hats, all gathered around, having truly had one great big voyeuristic feast for their afternoon smoko provided alfresco by me and my girlfriend. I have provided a picture of the State Library where you can see the dome upon which they were working, we were on the building opposite of which you can't see.

Goodnight.

COMMENTS FOR THIS POST WERE

Goose and Gander said...

Oh, Rupert. Fantastic. Really really arousing. Too bad I'm alone! Thanks,
Goose

Shay said...

excellent story! ^_^
Now you've got me thinking about interesting places i've had sex.... tho i've never had an audience like that before! (i'm sure you loved it!)

gosh - i think the last time i had pillow talk, it was probably about batman or xmen... something like that...not it's bad, just that it's less sexy ^_~

rupert said...

Thanks Shay and Goose, I must say their enthusiasm set me in a good mood for the day, I get pleasure from the pleasure other's are getting.

Casablogga

2007-06-26T20:50:00.000-07:00

You can have your Porsche, Animal Farm (X-Rated Version), Gold Watches, Boob Tubes and Twist Tops because I have my rainy weather. Things are moving forward by degrees, my degrees. Mixing porn with applied communication plans, not as hard as I thought, not literally but practically. I've been offered another two days work but looks like it will become a smooth roll-over to my own program because I have to devote some time to vocational study. I can't promise a very thrilling post except that my friend has been offered the role of Hamlet in the UK next year, and another friend in Singapore has confirmed a film collaboration, and in his words ... "and finally...send you the knickers from a hottie or call gal in Singapore...hahha", and "lease come to visit me & singapore...you are welcome to stay over and had the chance to taste different delicancies that i promised would make u hot and maybe horny...". I set tasks for everyone of my pals travelling abroad or going back home. Do not come back empty handed, do not settle down, until you have supplied me with something erotic/exotic from your destination.

This is a sex-blog however and so I should write about sex should I not? Well, not tonight. Just some basic life stuff. I'm very adamant about being a stickler for pursuing one's desires & interests beyond what Joyce describes as the "dull discharge of duties". It can work against you trust me. People suddenly think they have "dirt" on you - well, let me tell you this ... or rather allow D.H Lawrence to say “What really torments civilized people is that they are full of feelings they know nothing about; they can’t fulfill them, they can’t live them. And so they are tortured. It is like having energy you can’t use – it destroys you. And feelings are a form of vital energy”. The work I've done in porn, the kinky live performances, swinging and sex work, are not what I consider dirt. I'm like Graham Chapman in Python's Meaning of Life, saying "Harry, I want you to sell me a condom. In fact, I think I'll have a French tickler... for I am a Protestant!" apart from being not even slightly Protestant, indeed the only god I subscribe to is the "Oh god" I murmur when I experience a rather vivid display of voyeurism.

No, there is no dirt in what I enjoy. Sadly though among the many, the (not) lovable throng, any divergence from mediocrity and sameness is looked upon as a shameful disease. To bring Miller into my troop of quoted ones “The only law which is really lived up to whole-heatedly and with a vengeance is the law of conformity”, and it serves them aptly - if I were a soldier returning home from war after killing my ten thousandth human being I would receive medals and glory beyond my duties, if I were a porn-star who had fucked my ten thousandth porn colleague, I'd be considered gross and wanton. That is of course an extreme, on a day to day basis, in the everywhere of everyone, it is a lot less clear on what exactly the issue is. I've been to parties where I've arrived and upon circulating been referred to and recognised as The Penis Man, The Porn Guy, and The Pervert. All in good humour but one does sense an underlying mixed bag of feelings wafting from behind people's psyches. Threatened? Intrigued? Offended? Amused? Disgusted? Many. Fact is, I'm not tastefully erotic. Eccentrically perverse, yes. The way I see it is that it all comes down to the way you're supposed to be, which equates to the way each individual has constructed his or her fortress of ideas in order to comply to some kind of internal elected feudal system administrated by the collective consciousness and symptomised by the mob. Whoever the monarchs are; media, parents, peers, authority figures etc. The arguments are pretty tiring, ones we've suffered against as children, still there after all these years, angst never really went away did it? It just bought itself sensible shoes, tucked in its shirt and made retail therapy a weekly substance abuse.

On another level, when I started Uni I was twenty-two, never finished Highschool, got half-way through year twelve and dropped out. I had no illusions about my lifestyle, I loved the arts. That was it. I started a media studies degree that majored in cinema, I then tagged that with a masters in creative media (film & television) strand, and all the while I worked away at projects that I felt the necessity to do. I never deviated from that. I never aimed to study for money. I never wanted a role as the human vacuum audit manager, I wasn't interested in labouring for something I didn't love. Same when I started looking for work, it took me years to find regular work. Why? I wouldn't have settled for anything less then I have now. My resume was packed with outrageous projects - it featured all my porn work, sex work, films etc. I wasn't going to censor it. I knew that the employer who saw my worth in its entirety and accepted that would have the only place I could work, and it happened. Some of my family members were horrified at this attitude, for instance, one year my Aunt sent me for Christmas a book called "Seven steps to success" - a ghastly waste of tree pulp telling its readers what they can do to achieve the ultimate success in establishing their career. Funnily enough all my family members who have expressed this horror have worked like slaves for years in jobs they really haven't liked, they've sent down the drain-pipe of time years getting up, going to a place they would rather not be at, and then going home to suck what valuable time is left in the working day. That existence for me spells misery, but misery wants to attract misery. If they were unhappy, then it would only befit if everyone else was unhappy with them. Not my boat. I didn't pre-purchase that ticket. I'd rather swim thank-you.

All those two cents worth add up, whether it is from me or other people. Don't worry the end of this post will arrive soon enough. I feel invigorated so I am going to bed to dream vigorously about feeling that way.

Here is a cock pic anyway. I call it cock on caliginous streams of resin.

In the end there was the word and it was Zzzzzzz

2007-06-25T06:15:00.000-07:00

I should be as Pessoa is seen here in triumphant squiggling, but alas poor rhetoric I knew him to some ratio, and that has been made ever more proportionate. I am tired, yes, tired, wanked out, and ready for prime pillow time. Why am I blogging then? Why not just bugger off and go to bed? Well, from habit, and from not having the mind to put to much use anything else. Why is Rambo rated R? Well, you asked Jeeves and he ushered you along to this blog but I cannot really say. I have a post on it somewhere. Let me me look if I actually posted it here. This may very well be a re-post but it is for the benefit of one Internet researcher.

Rimbaud (or Rambo: American title)

Sylvester Stallone plays the wild French poet Arthur Rimbaud

Those of you who have not seen this amazing American interpretation of the adventures of the French poet Arthur Rimbaud, you must see it. It came out in the eighties and was a big hit, a big enough hit to have the collected works of Rimbaud’s poetry republished, as well as many biographies. This film is primarily a metaphor and symbol work, detailing the immense inner struggles Arthur endured in his life-time. His struggle’s with Verlaine, a duality of weapons and enemies, but also representing the feelings of lust and desire they had for each other, as Sylvester does for his role of a combat soldier.

The headband represents the old gun wound that Rimbaud suffered from a jealous Verlaine. The underlying metaphors are HUGE in this film that almost anyone who has no idea of the boy genius’s life could immediately understand and appreciate the complex replicatory work produced by Arthur. His passion for poetry and his abandonment of it for adventure … in this film Rimbaud (or Rambo: American title) we discover the point at which Arthur leaves Paris to pursue gun trading and gold digging in dangerous places, never again to speak eloquently (thus Sylvester's amazing dialect where he almost inaudibly mumbles sentences, symbolically representing loss of articulation through ideas).

What more can I say, but the work of Rimbaud and depth to his words is so great they made three of these films, ALL re-interpreting the first to show us the cycle of thoughts and concepts, the reproduction of mortality and life’s continuous unapologetic destruction always spliced together with the loss of expression through the mortal souls eventually silent mouth-piece.

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And that could explain everything.

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Now ...

Here is me, way back in 2005, erect in the shower. It's all I have energy wise to impart at this point.

and

Then ...

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Shower power.

This shot I wanted the water trickling off my privates, and it was well trained water, doing just the right amount of trickling in just the right places.

Vos Passions Vous Perdront

2007-06-24T07:04:00.000-07:00

It was amusing to see the Idyller on The Einstein Factor tonight dishing out knowledge on Charlie Chaplin. I have lately been considering going back on the show with a fresh topic as the last time I was there at the end of series party, after a chat with the creator of the show I suggested Henry Miller but it seems quite a few people are now opting for the "Life and Times" category, so might be good to brush up my knowledge on styles of Fez hats perhaps, I'd like to do Benny Hill (just for the public uproar), a real challenge would be doing "The Life and Times of Peter Burner". I am not tired at all have to rise and shine (or be at least somewhat buffed) early, but that's why I'm lumping you all with an old muffboxfilms post so that I can ready myself for beddy by drinking my hot milk, filling up the water bottle and brushing my teeth.

Just for the record, Live Orgasm Contest at 199,881 views. Some other YouTube user has sent me a bunch of videos on "Yoga Asanas For Manifesting Your Wildest Dreams Meditation", hmmm, I thought Yoga lived in a swamp on the planet of Dagobah.

Now ...

This guy was a real gem. The bizarre thing was that recently I was doing some nude modelling (still photography and life-drawing) and I ran into the same guy. It didn't occur to me until after I had chatted with him a bit and came to the horrendous realisation that there he was, getting in some camera practice at an art studio.

and

Then ...

Saturday, May 28, 2005

Our first less then desirable client.

Yesterday I attempted to get my sleeping patterns back on track, lately my insomnia has been terrible but yesterday after dropping my son off to school I didn't go back to bed, instead I stayed up until I had to go into uni. At uni we had to pitch our individual projects and it was exhausting. After uni my partner and I had a booking, and this client was paying well because he wanted video and stills captured.

He was an older gentleman who apparently had not done this kind of thing before. He was going out bush for a while and wanted some home-made porn whilst he was away from his wife. Like most clients his wife didn't know what he was doing, and I say "most" because some client's partners do know they are visiting us.

At first he wanted a slow teasing kind of performance. He directed me to nuzzle into my partner's crotch and kiss up and down each of her legs bending them up and down as she lay on her back. He enjoyed filming me sucking and playing with my partner's nipples. BUT this is where I caught on that something wasn't quite right. When he directed the performance I noticed that he directed everything through me. Now, I realise that when he comes to watch the footage he wants to imagine himself in place of me but I felt really uncomfortable being told to "roll her onto her back" and "spin her round" etc, because this made it feel like my partner was an object being manipulated by me and him. He never mentioned my partner's name, he only said mine but the icing on this guy's cake was when he asked me to part my partner's legs as she lay on her back and then open her cunt lips. I did it so he could film close up inside but then I saw his shaking finger slowly moving towards it, and then I realised what he was doing, and told him that no genital touching was allowed with Naomi.

I had felt tricked. Like he had roped me in to open my partner up like an experiment to be prodded. It turned me off for the whole session. He was polite enough to withdrawl but I think he thought I'd be the kind of male who treated my partner as an object of show...WRONG BUDDY! He could not be more mistaken, after that I didn't care what kind of fucking footage he got out of the session, he wasn't going to have his cake. As the Sex Pistol songs goes "I'm not an animal", taken out of context I know but he really treated her like an animal to be dissected. I call it the fishing mentality, people who want to open things up and poke at it. I never understood these men who are obscessed with the internal imagery of the vagina only.

Phlogged

2007-06-22T22:46:00.000-07:00

"It seems to me one of the few permanently and everlastingly amusing subjects that exist. Amour is the one human activity of any importance in which laughter and pleasure preponderate, if ever so slightly, over misery and pain" - Aldous Huxley Crome Yellow.

Last night with Dale a little Phlogging was to be had. We had spoken for a while but then her voice began stirring my sexual senses. It had begun after a discussion about socks, there is only so much discussion about a pair of socks one can have before thinking of feet, legs, thighs and then I thought it might be a nice idea to have telephone intercourse. The idea was nice the fruition even nicer. Phlogging is possibly one the safest sexual experiences you can have with veritable strangers. An interesting combination of words, visuals and voice without actually having met the person you're being "intimate" with. This is the first time I've Phlogged someone, can I make that my BILF then Z? Instead of nominating two Bloggers, surely Phlogging one is a more potent substitute as far as being BILFED goes.

Dale's pajamas were a wild card in the Phlog as it was funny to ask her what she was wearing only to be told Eeyore Pajamas, but we all know how I feel about pajamas as written in my post ... Banana in Pajama. It was pleasurable to relax into a thoroughly sexy conversation that had us in a few positions, exploring each other distantly placed, and climaxing with one hand on my cock, the other on the portable phone. Although the tricky part I find is refraining from feeling one has to orate as would Dylan Thomas reciting one of his poems, it's good to sort out the words both are comfortable hearing as in "cunt" or "pussy", "cock" or "dick", whatever a preference for a preferred term. There is nothing more awkward then hearing a word used frequently in a sexual circumstance that makes one shudder like if I were to hear my cock being referred to as an epididymis throughout dirty speak. It might work if I was shagging my GP but only for kinky reasons.

So are we two Bloggers in a percentage of Bloggers who have Phlogged? I am to understand that there are Bloggers who meet, or travel to each other for sexual indulgences, I am to understand that there are Bloggers who have online Blog relationships who of course interact using the frog and bone but what percentage of Bloggers Phlog other Bloggers who they've just met? I wonder who the Phloggers are out there in the sphere? Let's make a conference call.

I found myself back in the bookstore the other day, and I purchased a copy of Aldous Huxley's Crome Yellow, so I can read it after having heard it read. I also picked up a copy of Peake's Progress an anthology of Mervyn Peake's writing and illustration edited by his wife Maeve Gilmore.

I haven't been actively online for a bit because I've been rather busy with other details in my life. So if I'm slow to respond or haven't been popping in lately, it is just these things. I haven't had much chance to view any porn either! I did cook a wonderful mussel Catapalana for my friend Princess the other night, it turned out so well, I was very pleased because I was so tired after work I really did the whole dish on automatic chef. It was the first time he had tried mussels, apparently Sabine mentioned to me that guys who don't like oysters or mussels are often not into giving oral, is this some wives tale or a generalisation general enough to be satisfactorily appropriate?

The previous post was just an attempt at some anecdotal writing, I've been oiling my writing expeditions by writing some stuff outside of myself. It still reflects my thoughts but gives me some reprieve from always tackling ideas from the outside in so rather write from the inside out putting my thoughts into fictional characters. Just playing. The meaning behind it is simply the incidents experienced by people now long dead who we will never know, experiences never completely shared or recorded, and the same incidents we ourselves experience and how they too one day will become foggy memories drifting across cemeteries only felt as chills through our clothes as we wander through.

I'd like to see where this writing style takes me or what I can do with it. Tools of the trade, I remember employing a lot of e.e.cummings style typography in my writing a few years back and it helped me play with texts enough to make them really enjoyable exercises, I have since had to re-edit much of that work as I went a little over-board and produced near too ambiguous pieces.

Take this Blog

2007-06-20T05:25:00.000-07:00

In 1918 Daniel had three friends, Dennis, Henry and Mary. They would meet at a local pub on Fridays, sometimes causing a scene, sometimes dancing and singing, mostly wearing away the night with chatter.

One afternoon Dennis had received a letter from Isabelle, an old flame, she had been in town the week before and they had reinvigorated their passion in a night of sex. The letter told of her progressing dissatisfaction with life in general but her increasing well being in most of the practical elements of it. The crux of letter was aimed towards Dennis and his job in a meat processing factory where he had been working for the past fifteen years, and his reluctance to elevate his ambitions any higher then an end of the line packer. Isabelle therefore felt that any other further indiscreet encounters would possibly disturb her marriage to a successful doctor in Prague.

That same afternoon Henry had been heavily in discussion with a friend who had recently ended a rather messy relationship. The divorce was nasty and Henry’s friend in grievance at some finer point Henry was attempting to make, threw a brick at him. It hit Henry on the neck causing a scrape but nothing too severe. The argument was not resolved but a temporary truce was reached. The truce came about in the return of the brick so skillfully thrown by Henry that it had knocked his friend out cold.

Mary had been shagging a young fellow for several months, and that afternoon he had turned up unannounced at her apartment drunk. He was upset at her refusal to commit to anything more serious then bonking every couple of times a week. Mary in the end was forced to call another lover to come around and remove him but only after she had promised a potentiality towards engagement.

That evening at the pub, the three met. Daniel was not there yet but the others drank on. Henry was drinking the heaviest and on collecting the fourth ‘round of drinks he made a sexually suggestive remark to the female bartender, she told the manager who knew Henry and a slightly heated discussion took place when Mary stepped in to defend Henry. All was resolved but a slightly cautious tilt was set on the next few ‘round of drinks which were obtained by Dennis the more neutral of the group.

An ex-boyfriend of Mary was hanging out at the other end of the bar. He had spied Mary and began talking loudly about her to his friends in the most negative of ways. Another patron annoyed at the antics complained to the manager, the gentleman talking loudly was asked to leave.

At the end of the night all three left. Dennis ended up going home with Mary.

The next day all three discovered that Daniel had been told the day before by his general practitioner that test results were confirmed, he had cancer.

That was 1918 for Henry, Daniel, Mary and Dennis you know what I mean?

Ground control to Major Tom

2007-06-17T05:36:00.000-07:00

Recovering from a massive and fun night out.

Now...

I leave you therefore with this worms eye view from muffboxfilms.

and

Then...

Saturday, July 09, 2005

We did it again.

Save me a wonky description on this post, my partner has put all the nitty-gritty down at Tell Your Sex Story

COMMENTS FOR THIS POST WERE

Virgin Slut said...

What an unusual picture! I can't quite figure out what is going on here ... is the Incredible Rupert lifting his partner with his finger tips before he slams her down? Hmmm. Must look at it some more.

Really like her curled up toes ... says much about the tension.

rupert said...

no, my fingers unfortunately are not that powerful, although the excersie they get sometimes...no, this is just the swivel chair adjusted to the right level for a smooth entry.

Novelty Cocks

2007-06-15T02:58:00.000-07:00

Who said porn performers can't act? Or is Polanski directing this one? Is she upset because they aren't real? She's been duped. If you squeeze them, do they sqeak?

I just thought of a wonderful novelty product. A plastic squeezable cock containing toothpaste. Making Pearl Drops a brand suitable for taking this design on. How much fun would that be! For the first few days or so. Novelties wear off I'm told, like t-shirt transfers and hickeys. Ines wasn't beheaded, sorry, she was slain by cruel ministers of the court as she held her children, the King watched, and Prince Pedro when informed of his great loves demise, flew into a mighty monologue, where he plotted to slay all those responsible ... which in the reality of the plays history, he did. So from 15th century Portugal to 18th century Russia I travel, to Ivan Turgenev's Smoke, I have read Turgenev's "Diary of a Superfluous Man" which was exceedingly good, and so far this novel proves deftness in all things literary.

Here is an anomaly of thought of mine which is completely not well thought out, in the sense that it is a layman's argument. Why is porn criticised for not having decent plots or narratives yet these same critics are quite happy to watch soaps which have terribly inane plot lines, reality television with no real plots at all, most commercial films are invariably lacking in decent plots, and yet saying I can’t get off to porn because it isn’t erotic is like saying I can’t be entertained by a soapy because it isn't intelligent. We grasp one genre better than the other, why is that? I'm not talking about those vying for a better variety in porn, just those who state "I can't watch that, it's too stupid" or "There is no plot, or it isn't well shot" - from a filmmakers perspective I can tell you now that 80% of the television you watch is not well shot, and perhaps 50% of the movies screened are not well shot. People laugh at dreadfully benign comedies as the comedy asks of you to laugh at it in the same way a porn asks of you to be aroused, but do these dreadful comedies that run series after series get the 4th degree? No they do not. They are called light hearted comedies. Light entertainment. Why not therefore light pornography? Because bad comedy is different in the sense to bad porn because you don't have to travel across three circles of damnation to get there and then say what you think. Once again I am not arguing this case towards those who want better pornography, merely those can't understand tabloid porn. I can't understand sport, yet no matter where one turns you can't get away from it. Under certain opinions regarding mainstream pornography most of community television would be taken off the air.

A little under half-way through formatting my script, and fucking exhausting it is, so I'm resting and complete it over the weekend.

Now ...

My semen lately has been very watery. Stop. Very messy. Stop. Telegram Sex, took awhile but was worth the wait in the old days. Can't really think of anything to say about that muffboxfilms post accept it is weird coming across bloggers of bygone days ,some haven't updated their blogs since mid-2006, others have ceased altogether, some have found new skins, and some have been forced in one way or another to close down communication. The Internet is a variable place.

and

Then ...

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

abstinence makes the cock grow fonder

I made a kind joke reference to holding back with sex on Spanking Good Blog but in all seriousness there is something about the rush that occurs when you've been without intimacy for a few days. When I came out of hospital for my hernia operation I was unable to have full penetrative sex for a couple of weeks (eleven days or something, I broke it a day earlier), and when we actually did have sex I felt upon orgasm that my cock was going to short circuit.

During periods of being single I distinctly recall those moments when a one night stand was happening and the renewed feelings of touch and exploring another's body was such an intense sensation because of the abstinence.

I sometimes am surprised at how on these occassions my body takes over completely, if my cock hardened any further it would become a marble ornament.

Sometimes over a busy sex week, my cock seems to be in 'supply and demand' mode, as in Woody's "Everything you wanted to know about sex" I sometimes imagine the inner workings racing to get new sperm into the sacks and pump up the testosterone levels.