The Remains of the Day

As I don’t own a pair of leather trousers I suppose I can claim just two things in common with the Prime Minister, a second class Oxford degree and the fact that I was an unenthusiastic Remainer in last year’s referendum. I was actually active in the anti Maastricht campaign in the 1990s and have a longer Eurosceptic pedigree than she does. Yet I could see no advantages on leaving rather than  staying and fighting for reform.

Unlike her I remain a Remainer. Zeal of the convert is hardly an adequate expression for her change of heart and the way she has sided with the hard core Brexit headbangers, attempting to bypass Parliament altogether and then, when the courts reminded of what the law said, treating it with contempt with a 137 word Bill, guillotined debate and a three line whip. A narrow result in a flawed (and advisory) referendum has become the “will of the people”, immutable, immune from challenge, to be interpreted by Mrs. May and no one else.   She claims that the country needs to unite but apparently considers that the 63% of the electorate who didn’t vote Leave or the people of Scotland and Northern Ireland are of no account at all. She took over a bitterly divided country (some of my family are still not speaking to each other) and has made it more divided.

What bodes even less well is the refusal of Brexit advocates to take ownership of the situation they have created. As I commented before the referendum I thought much of what they were saying was wishful thinking. I have heard nothing to make me change my mind. Worse still, they seem prepared to blame everyone but themselves if it goes wrong.  It will all be the fault of their opponents, traitors, enemies of democracy, enemies of the people, talking down Britain etc etc.  If it has been nasty so far, it;s about to get nastier. Because we already know that the Government has no plan beyond platitudes, no adequately trained negotiators, no time either. The decision to trigger Article 50  by the end of March has no justification other than the need to keep the Daily Mail happy.  Nothing much can happen until the autumn because of pending presidential elections in France and then parliamentary elections in Germany and,with six months needed at the end for all the various national and regional parliaments across Europe to ratify the deal, they have a year to come up with something. It isn’t going to happen. The likes of Jacob Rees-Mogg will, of course, glory in this.

We don’t, of course. need the EU to shaft us as we have a Government that is doing that for us. I sometimes think I will wake up and find it was all a bad dream. Unfortunately it isn’t and I think that the 29th March 2017 will be the day the United Kingdom became a smaller, nastier place.  The problem is that I have to live in it.

Another Girl, Another Planet

This is a short story I wrote specially for the Eroticon reading slam. There was a certain amount of inspiration from a song, as older readers may notice.

‘Space travel’s in my blood’ she said, pulling off her silver boots, ’there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Tell me about yourself, how you came to be doing this.’

‘My name is Neptunia. I was born on the Neptune colony four thousand years ago and came to this galaxy through the time shift, after the solar system was abandoned I have travelled a lot, I enjoy it and when..’

‘they allowed sex again?’

‘Yes, I was chosen to apply to be an inter-galactic sex worker and I jumped at  the opportunity. I see a lot of the cosmos, the money is good  and I ways wanted to be a teacher.’

A teacher was what I needed. This was my first permission to visit our galaxy’s pleasure planet. I had read about sex in antique data storage from the days before humans destroyed planet Earth and the solar system had to be abandoned, musty stained things called books. I grew up after the move towards the more efficient asexual reproduction of the species.  For millennia sex was forbidden. Oh we still married, but only for companionship. Ova and sperm were produced by industrial process so there was no need for the human body to be involved. And sex for pleasure was deemed harmful, detrimental above all to the efficiency of the galactic economy. Like all males I had been locked into a chastity device on my thirteenth birthday. It was only ever removed under medical supervision for purposes of washing and so on,  and we knew nothing other than the dull aches and throbbing pain of the erection being crushed by the pitiless kryptonite.

And now sex was allowed as a privilege, but only for those with the means to travel to the pleasure planet and pay one of the few handpicked sex workers like Neptunia.

‘We only have an hour’ she said ‘maybe we should get on with it?’

She removed her gauntlets and pulling down the shimmering suit revealed two small firm breasts followed by a stomach tattooed with a pink meteor shower and then her pussy, her pubic hair shaven into what Earth language called a Brazilian. As the suit fell round her ankles she stepped out of it and walked towards me. I gazed at her. I had never seen a naked woman before. She took my hand and guided it to the hair, the lips and made me feel my way gingerly up and down.

‘You’ve never seen a woman before have you?’

‘No I er…….’

She gently kissed the top of my head.

‘The pleasures of the body couldn’t be denied for ever’ she said, ‘ and I am so glad the Administration realised that. Just relax……feel my hair, feel the roughness of the stubble, then feel your way down..’

She guided my hand to wear I could sense an opening, then put one of her fingers in and pulled it, put it on my tongue.

‘Taste. I’m getting wet, that’s what women do when they are ready for sex.’

She knelt before me, pulled my head towards hers and kissed me, forcing her tongue between my teeth.    I pulled away horrified.

‘But that’s so unhygienic. It’s gross.’

Neptuia laughed.

“You need to forget all they taught you at school. This is not dirty. It’s really wonderful to get close and intimate with another human being like this. Besides I’m clean and if you want to suggest otherwise you know where the door is,’

She wasn’t laughing now.

‘Just get this straight. I am proud to be a sex worker and any ideas you have about dirty disease ridden whores are just so ancient solar system. Just get them out of your head. Besides only I have the cyberkey to your chastity device. So you had better be nice to me.’

She began to laugh again.

She pulled a thin metal rod out of her bag and pointed it at my crotch. The chastity device loosened with a click and she was soon on me, Gently sliding it off, pushing me onto my back as she kissed me again. This time I could feel her strength as she pinned me down and pushed her tongue into my mouth so hard that I struggled to breathe. I made a token effort to throw her off but she was too strong for me. She slid down my body, her tongue leaving a damp trail until she arrived at my penis. She licked the end before whipping it delicately with the end of her tongue. I felt it harden and rise, now unrestrained for the first time in thirty years. She took it into her mouth and began to suck.

I stiffened and made to draw back.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that I’ve never done this before i…..”

The move into her mouth had drawn the foreskin back and the unsheathed bellend, all purple and shiny with her saliva felt vulnerable and exposed. I shuddered.

“Trust me. I won’t hurt you.”

I lay back on the bed took a deep breath and tried to relax. She started again.  This time I shut my eyes and tried to yield to her. She began to move in and out in slow rhythmic movements, and I felt myself beginning to enjoy the warmth and softness of her mouth. Another tongue whipping, another couple of swift movements in and out and I had come, feeling more pain than pleasure as one huge ejaculation quickly followed another.

Neptunia swallowed but kept a little in her mouth as she kissed me and passed some of the creamy fluid into my mouth.

“That’s the taste of a man. That’s your taste.”

She wiped her lips and smiled.

‘That’s it” she said. “Your time is nearly up.”

“And sex?” I asked not hiding my disappointment.

“Not today. I need to file my report and the Pleasure Ministry will decide if you can have a second appointment with full service.”

“And if they don’t?”

“If they don’t they don’t” said Neptunia matter of factly. “It’s down to the Ministry to decide if you need sex, or if the productive capacity of the state will be enhanced. It’s not my decision. And to be honest I don’t care either way. I’m a sex worker. I service my clients and show them the door. I don’t get emotionally involved.”

Perhaps she could see the disappointment on my face because she quickly added

“I like you and I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. So I will write a positive opinion. And maybe you will come again.”

She reached behind her and picked up the chastity cage and cyberkey.

“Come here. I have to put this back on.”

“No” I said, surprised at the firmness in my voice. “I’m not going back into that.”

I backed away but she stood up and walked towards me with a determined look.

‘That chastity device IS going back on. It’s inter-galactic law and I am here to enforce it.’

She pushed me back against the wall and hissed

‘Are you going to do as you’re told or do I have to hurt you?’

The last words came out with such venom that her spit flecked my glasses.’

‘Just remember the report I have to file. Piss me off and you’ll never come here again. You’ll live the rest of your life like a fucking monk. Is that what you want?

‘No’

My resistance was broken. She clipped it back into place, locked it with the cyberkey. I looked at her, as he pulled on her boots. I felt desire for her again, felt the blood pumping into my penis, which rose and swelled until cruelly restricted by the cage. I bent low with the agony and sank to my knees crying. It was not just for the desire of Neptunia but for what I had understood. Chastity was slavery, I had always wondered about the things I had read from earth days when chastity was a form of play in something called BDSM. I realised that when we are not free to use our bodies as we want, when we cannot express ourselves sexually then we are slaves. My head was teeming with subversive thoughts. Did The Administration realise how dangerous this could all be?  I knew too that I could say nothing of this to Neptunia who was after all a spy for the police, part of the control apparatus. What an irony there was there!

In any case I had to come back, to push my penis for the first time through those mysterious soft folds of flesh, into that secret place of the ultimate warmth and softness.

‘Come on’ said Neptunia. ‘it’s time for you to go.’

She led me out to the docking pod and I was soon on my way, her planet a distant speck and her body a sweet memory. It is a long and tiring flight to the Pleasure Planet and back but I know I will return. Long journeys wear me out but I know I can’t live without it.’

 

Ten Great Eroticon Moments 2017

Was it really a week ago that I walked out of the Grafton pub into a horrible night feeling the famed Eroticon drop? In truth the drop only lasted until I tucked ravenously into a pasty at Euston. On the train home I felt tired but elated. Eroticon just gets better and better. I have needed a week to take it all in and reflect but here are my thoughts.

2017 saw the event back in London after three years in Bristol. Much as I love Bristol, and much as I loved Armada House as a venue, I think London is  really where the event needs to be, not least because it is so much easier for overseas delegates ( of whom there were quite a few). I loved the vibe of Camden and loved Arlington House. And the proximity to Vivien of Holloway is, of course, another plus 🙂 And yes Anna Sky, we are going to buy frocks next year!

A few familiar faces were missing this year but we had a lot of new faces. A number of them admitted to anxiety and trepidation beforehand but they took to it like fish to water and made a huge contribution to the success of the event. It was great to meet you and I look forward to seeing you again next year. And if anyone is reading this who didn’t come because of anxiety please do come next year. We are more than people who come together once a year, we are a community and we want you to be part of it. Any event needs the renewal that comes from having new participants and it really bodes well for the future.

Others have written about ten things they took away from Eroticon 2017. I am going to write about my ten favourite moments (in no particular order)

  1. As I was enjoying a pre-Eroticon cigarette outside Arlington House I was joined by one of the residents. came to chat.

“This conference, what is it?” she asked.

“It’s a writers’ conference” I replied  vaguely.

“Only I’ve just been downstairs and I’ve seen them putting all penises out on a table.”

“Oh yes it’s an erotica writers’ conference” I said with more than a hint of relief.

2. Kate Lister’s run through the history of obscenity, .She mentioned Catullus who I had to read at school and who, oddly enough, is in a story on this blog here and here. And I never tire of Chaucer’s Miller’s tale

3. Being tied up by Screw Taboo at DJ Fet’s rope workshop and going all floaty and spacy. A lovely experience and a lesson in the power of rope.

4. Talking sex work politics. Can we have more on this next year please?. .

5. Girl on the Net’s riotous Listeresque poem. She fucking loves fucking in London ( although I may have worked that out already)

6. My train journey to work has not been quite the same this week after Confess Hannah’s tale of a train journey in Scotland.  But I still await my moment. Come on Chiltern Trains, lift your game!

7. Being asked for my autograph. This hasn’t never happened before….and may never happen again. For you Livvy it was a pleasure.

8. The Saturday evening social and particularly the burlesque show which will stay in the memory for a ling time.

9. Cigarettes with awesome people. You know who you are. I know I ought to give up but  I would surely be missing out on so many interesting conversations if I did.

10. Leaving on the Sunday knowing we will do it all again next year.

Read other reflections on Eroticon 2017 here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m Off to Eroticon 2017

There are just two weeks until the most awesome weekend of the year. Erotioon is the sex writer’s conference to end…….Ok cliche over. Here is my online Meet and Greet. Please check out the other awesome posts by following this link

NAME (and Twitter if you have one)

Eve Ray @EveRay1 although I attended last year under a different name. This is the name I always wanted to attend under and now I finally am. As such this is the closure of a significant chapter in my life. If you really want to know why I didn’t come as Eve before buy me a cocktail and I will tell you.

 What are you hoping to get out of Eroticon 2017?

Just as last year I just want to spend time with awesome people, a number of whom I can call friends. This is actually a precious opportunity to talk freely about aspects of my life I simply can’t tell many people about. Even on the local kink scene I don’t feel anything like the freedom I do at Eroticon.

I am also looking to learn and be inspired. I have not had anywhere as much time for writing as I would like but if I came away with my head full of ideas it will all have been worthwhile.

This years schedule at Eroticon is pretty full on but which 4 sessions do you already have marked down as ones you want to attend?

Myles Jackman is always worth listening to. I will go to Kate Lister’s Sunday session. Sex work is something that I once write about extensively and it remains a significant interest and campaigning focus for me. Sarah Bryn –Holiday’s session sounds interesting and I hope I have made the cut for DJ Fet’s rope class. I was totally awed by her scene with Lola Day at Eroticon 2015 and determined to learn even though it had never particularly been a kink of mine. I am a slow learner though!

Tell us one thing about yourself that not many people know?

I am a published poet under my real name.

If you made the papers, what would the headline be?

Revealed: Saucy secrets of the cocktail drinking pin-up girl (News of the World if still existed)

If you could have one skill for free (I.e. without practice/time/effort) what would it be?

I would love to be able to swim

Complete the sentence: I love it when…

Gentlemen stand up and offer me their seat. ……..I may be debauched, I may be a feminist but I’m an old-time gal at heart

 

 

Every Girl’s Guide to Being Awesome

There we were in a cocktail bar on a Friday night, nine women enjoying ourselves,  the drink flowing along with the conversation. Some of the ladies I had never met before, the others I couldn’t claim to know particularly well.  And yet. We all felt a connection. And the connection was that we are different and proud of it. Visually we stood out, in our frocks, (quite a bit of leopard on view!) dyed hair, tattoos and so on. We were probably quite loud as well. I may have imagines disapproving glances coming our way but maybe not…..  The point is we were not typical customers.

One of our group summed it up succinctly…”Everyone else here is so boring!”

What she meant was that everyone else was normal, dressed not to stand out, seemingly not obviously enjoying themselves particularly. Young people, well younger than us mainly,  just being, well, respectable.

“Why be normal” I said, “when you can  be awesome?”

The others agreed.

Being into vintage is making a statement, of being different and loving it. It is a way of finding friends who are, in a sense, soulmates. People who get it, get you. I am not talking necessarily about our little coven but in the vintage world you get to meet ladies who have had their struggles with anxiety, low self-esteem, and so on and have come through it and have learned that there is strength in embracing their difference.  I have been on the vintage scene for under two years but have met so many lovely people. Well actually I have met a lot of awesome people, all of whom have a story to tell. People who have embraced their difference and understand that going with the crowd is not worth it.  People who get it.

What goes for vintage goes for other areas of life too, areas of my life in fact. If you’re reading this and thinking you don’t fit in,  know that you have soulmates out there that you haven’t yet met. Learn to accept yourself, learn to love yourself and then share the love. When you do, you will be well on the way to being awesome.

And a final word for my vintage sisters. Thank you for being in my life. You have enriched it more than you probably know. I look foreword to drinking cocktails with you again. You are awesome!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An Object of Desire

A little contribution to Kink Of The Week on Molly’s Daily Kiss

I go most places in flats these days. I have reached the time of life when, conventional wisdom has it, comfort takes precedence over style. And yet……

When I saw the stiletto heeled ankle boots in the sale I had to have them. They will go nicely with my leather dress I said although I knew that my chunky heeled knee boots were always a better option. But I guess I’m not the only girl  who buys shoes that she knows, deep down, she will never wear. For shoes are not practical items, they are objects of desire,

I open my laptop and begin to write. Words won’t come. Coffee and cigarettes don’t help this time so I take the department store carrier bag out of my wardrobe and lift out the unworn ankle boots. I place them on the table, I light another cigarette, I lift my skirt and slide my left hand inside and start to enjoy a daydream,.

I put on the leather dress, and tug on the boots. A quick spray of Alexander McQueen and I leave the house. I walk briskly, confidently, made tall by the heel, my chest pushed out. I feel magnificent. I demand to be adored.

And I will be adored. I will find a man in these teeming streets who will beg to worship, beg to be trampled, to feel the cruel heel pushed hard into his nipples and twisted, a man who will worship sincerely, a man who will earn his reward,  when I offer myself to him, when I wrap the booted ankles round his neck as he pushes into me and we come together and the orgasm pulses through me in a kaleidoscope of colours until I can no longer see his face, just the boots, gleaming and magnificent, as I pull down my skirt and begin to write.

For more stories inspired by heels click on the lips below

OF GIRLS AND CARS OR ….THIS GIRL AND THIS CAR

I am still looking for a recording of the Arena programme “The Life and Times of the Ford Cortina” broadcast in 1982, the year that Cortina production stopped, this iconic car  being replaced by the initially unpopular Ford Sierra, referred to by many as an upside down blancmange. The programme was an exploration of the car as cultural icon and featured Tom Robinson singing this hymn to the Cortina.

This was the car that the young me always dreamed of owning, ever since I set eyes on an aubergine one with a vinyl roof  on the car park at Whistling Sands in North Wales in 1969. My siblings were keen to get down to that lovely sandy beach in its sheltered cove, to build sandcastles, explore the fascinating aquatic mini-worlds of the rock pools left behind by the retreating sea when the tide turned. But I only had eyes for the car, the dark majesty of its paintwork, the shine of the rostyle wheels, the radio aerial leaning rakishly back from above the windscreen, the racing car style pod wing mirrors. Inside there was a wooden dashboard with a rev counter with its shock of red (a bit like the hair I have at the moment!), the steering wheel with holed steel spokes. This was an executive sports saloon built for those for whom such a car would have been beyond their budget previously. I walked around it, admiring its perfect form, its understated beauty and fell in love.

There has always been a prejudice in certain quarters about girls and cars.  Not just the jokes about women drivers (boys, we pay lower premiums than you, ever wondered why?), but also the mansplaining wisdom that the female brain cannot accommodate engineering concepts in its tiny form. Why these prejudices persist is unclear. There have, for example, been a number of successful female rally drivers, going back to the days of Pat Moss, there are excellent female motoring journalists, indeed Top Gear pre the Clarkson testosterone revolution always had at least one female presenter. In the last few weeks there has been Girls and cars on Radio 4, were female celebs come on to go through their automotive autobiography, talking knowledgeably about cars they have owned. Women can be petrolheads too and we don’t need gimmicks like “Girly” versions of cars (Mini Design anyone?)

So here is an extract from mine:

After an initial infatuation with a Mini I finally bought a 1600E, amber gold with a black interior, a but rusty in places but it looked the business, much more than the XR3 and other sporting Fords of the time. It was probably even by 1986 an old fashioned car, with its steering box, dynamo and cart spring rear suspension but the bonnet hid the delights of the engine with its twin choke Weber carburettor nestling under an air box that looked like an upturned frying pan, and  the four branch exhaust manifold on the opposite side of the head, like a clutch of serpents. There was even a sticker on the head sayinh 1600GT in red letters. It all looked purposeful. And it was. The crossflow version of the Kent engine was a fine unit, with a lovely whine on the overrun that gave plenty of torque low down. With well chosen gear ratios you could pull from 10 mph in 3rd gear and 15 in 4th. A car for the open road really, and not a car for motorway cruising, (you couldn’t hear the radio once the speed got past 55 mph!) but, then again, there weren’t that many motorways in 1968.

I had the car two years before rust spread and became terminal, but two good years they were. And even though I am a 50s girl at heart and have a pic of a Mk 2 Zodiac on my Facebook profile, it is for the Mk 2 Cortina that my heart beats,

There aren’t that many 1600Es left and hardly any in daily use. I did see one last week and it turned heads, mine included. I felt a pang, about like seeing a former lover, remembering the nights, the beds where you explored each other, and wondering if he tastes the same today but reflecting wistfully that you will never find out.

This is meant to be a sex blog so I will mention the car’s biggest plus, vinyl seats, and you surely don’t need to ask why.