Looking Forward to Smutathon 2018

It seems hard to believe that there was once a time when I didn’t know Amy who blogs as Coffee and Kink.  I met her at Eroticon in March 2017 which she was attending as a nervous newbie.  Just like other newbies over the years (me in 2014 as well) she took to it like a duck to water and found her place in our weird and wonderful blogging community. Amy it was who, just over a year ago, came up with the idea of a 12 hour smut writing marathon to raise money for worthy causes. Last year it was Rape Crisis UK and Backlash, for whom we raised £2,000.

Last year I rocked up at the South London home of EA Unadorned and The Other Livvy, overdressed on a hot day, frazzled after a difficult journey and, to  be honest, unprepared. Well I had baked a cake (a disaster destined never to be eaten) and bought loads of booze to make cocktails but I hadn’t really given too much thought to what I was going to write and post.  My contribution was a little bit off the cuff although the conversation did inspire one piece, after Amy outed me on Twitter as a serial haver of sex in Skodas in public places. I am sure you will agree that car sex was well worth writing about. By the evening, however, I had a splitting headache and was running out of steam long before the midnight closer of the blogging marathon.

Nonetheless we had fun, and lots of stimulating conversation. And there were some surreal moments. We sat out in the garden for an hour or so in the evening and had a barbecue. Just 100 yards in a red brick church the Saturday evening service was long and loud. As we talked about well, the sort of things we talk about and ate grilled halloumi and sausage,  the air was filled with songs of the salvation we might possibly be missing out on.

This year 8 of us are heading up to the North West where we have a house for the weekend and, oh joy of joys, an outdoor hot tub.  I am going to bake a cake (properly) and Nadiya’s (she of Bake Off fame) yummy orange blossom and polenta cake may well feature. Most importantly I have a plan for my writing and it is, as you might imagine, a cunning one. I can now reveal it exclusively.

The 24thMay 1968 was a significant day and not just because students in Paris were on the verge of bringing De Gaulle down. Back in London The Small Faces, one of the most innovative and original of all English bands of the 60s, released their masterpiece and, I guess, swansong, Ogden’s’ Nut Gone Flake, featuring on Side Two the tale of Happiness Stan, the songs interwoven with gobbledegook by Professor Stanley Unwin.  Sadly the album proved totally unsuited to live performance and by the end of the year the band had split. Three of them carried on, with the addition of Ronnie Wood, as The Faces and, as many if you will know, had a fruitful collaboration with Rod Stewart in the early 70s.

Only one of The Small Faces, drummer Kenny Jones, is still alive.  Keyboardist Ian McLagan died a couple of years ago while it is over 20 years since the very premature deaths of Ronnie Lane, after a long battle with MS, and Steve Marriott who died in a fire at his home. But the bands, who are commemorated with a blue plaque on Carnaby Street, deserve to be remembered. They were hugely influential and their legacy will last. And anyone who says they were just a Cockney imitation of The Beatles can never be a friend of mine.

My plan is simple: 10 pieces of short fiction, each named after a track on the album. And who knows? May be there will be some gobbledegook in there too. I can’t wait to get started.

As you can imagine I am looking forward to the Smutathon weekend.  Raising money is the main object I suppose but Smutathon had been positive in other ways. It has helped to bring the blogging community together. We are no longer people who just see each other once a year at Eroticon.  We can, and do, meet up during the year as and when time and other commitments allow, to exchange, support each other in this baffling, baffled world where sex is everywhere yet, in the most important senses, nowhere and where we are misunderstood and stigmatised. And we enjoy each other’s company, drink together, share cigarettes, and, sorry, bore on about Brexit, or is that just me?  In short we are a group of friends. Long may that remain so.

Beanflicks or A Night at the Pictures

I so nearly missed this. It was a post on the Birmingham Feminists Facebook group that alerted me to it and I went along, not actually with any of the feminists but two of my best friends, who I shall call Angie and Sarah. Sarah is a long serving kinkster and swinger but had never been exposed to porn of this kind before. Angie is going through as sage of disillusionment with men accepted our invitation to go to a swing event with her, I guess as much out of curiosity as anything. But she is quite attracted to the idea of having good sex without all the emotional shit……   of which more later

I was interested to hear their views. No ice cream, no popcorn, just gin and tonic and we took our places in comfy seats at the back of the Mockingbird Cinema in Birmingham’s Custard Factory.  There were half a dozen films, their lengths ranging from two to fifteen minutes, including solo sex, couple sex, an orgy in a paddling pool and a femdom scene from Ms Tytania’s Urban Chick Supremacy Cell.  Feminist porn is not high budget and glossy but often the precisely the opposite. This is, of course, a good thing as it lends both immediacy and authenticity. And this can be uninspiring. People of my generation remember the famous edition of the punk fanzine Ripped and Torn that showed three chords and exhorted readers to “go out and form a band” Because this kind of porn is something any of us could make. You could even make a short film on your phone.

As to the content, cocks were normal size (with one exception)but, more importantly, female pleasure was foregrounded. Some had storylines to  hang the sex together, some didn’ t while the paddling pool film had a crazy plotline that I soon gave up trying to follow. But when you have a lot of people making out together and clearly enjoying it, you don’t really care.

It was all interesting, educational, funny too.  You can have a laugh as you make out. It works. But notwithstanding the heat and the effect of the gin, I found myself thinking that this didn’t quite work to get me horny. There wasn’t really anything that had ne itching to take 5 in the ladies. Then again each to her own and some of the stuff that gets me off isn’t actually intentionally pornographic at all, but rather images that trigger fantasies.  And maybe, maybe, we need to ditch the word pornography with its connotations and cultural baggage? Let’s call these just films, films that celebrate human sexuality and the human body in all their glorious, beautiful, diversity, films that also happen to make some viewers horny. Not me on this occasion but maybe if they had wrestled in lube in that paddling pool?

Would I go again? Most definitely. It was an inspiring evening and  I did get to chat to some really interesting and inspiring people.

As for my friends….well we had a lovely evening together, and plotted our campaign for our night at the swingers’ club but I had the impression they were both a bit disappointed. Sarah was unconvinced by the label “feminist” as applied to these films while Angie admitted that it was not really her bag, although the stuffiness of the cinema on a warm and humid night didn’t help. But she has overcome her reservations about swinging and is keen to go and dip her toe in the water. We are going out to play next week. I will blog about our experiences.

 

Bread and Roses

A post for Masturbation Monday. Check out the other posts here

His breath is mint I push my face against the grille so he can see my face smell the vodka and cigarettes Your Mintiness do you know who I am can you smell the perversion that poisoned my soul my immortal soul soul of the sinner they warned you about no absolution if no desire to turn away from God I am talking talking Dutch courage but I am still shaking talking at the crucifix above the grille reproach  each impure thought is a nail in my feet my saving feet amazing grace how sweet the juice I suck from you I am bad I must lie again a  night cruciform and suffer abase myself to bliss bless me minty father absolve me mintily of my sins make the penance severe I will walk to Walsingham on my knees I am Elizabeth father born on 19th November St. Elizabeth is my patron of Hungary and I love her desire her pray to her my lover in plaster enveloped in the brown I crave she is here she is in this church cheap plaster brown bread and roses a rose for me I close my hand on the stem I bless the drops of blood I offer up to her it is the sin of incontinence father grave sin sin of the grave self abuse an offence against chastity pleasure from pain pain of the hard stone floor where I kneel  hand down my skirt it’s my clit father  not a minty clit a clit gorged clit because she makes me horny worship yes  I worship with my body my body which is His hers which I offer your mintiness I will lie for you and for all for the remission of legs apart on the altar non sum digna non sum digna non sum digna gorged get me to a  nunnery wrap me in the rough brown of my lover that only she may find my cunt coarse fabric brushing against my clit I am vowed not to touch agonies of denial for which I long I massage my clit I knead the flour to bake the bread to fill her basket minty breath whistling breath words words but I am beyond words I can see his face the jaw moving up and down denial of the flesh lead us not into temptation I’ve never been closer tried to understand the I am looking up at Him I reach out with a bloody hand and anoint his feet bring myself to climax absolve you of I am coming reaching up wet fingers wet fingers touch the feet of Christ of Christ commingling the Eucharist in both kinds of my fluids in ecstasy I stand I kiss the feet the feet baptised in blood in my juices in me work harder love the Lord His Mintiness is gone I am alone to  masturbate to Christ again move that finger knead knead then my penance before St Elizabeth of Hungary Erszebet  died young widowed younger and I have a penance I will do my penance once have come in the presence……

Rough knickers convent knickers prison knickers knickers  that rub remorselessly knickers that edge me knickers that make me long for my Saint Elizabeth in rough brown Elizabeth Elizabeth……..winter evening deserted church candles that flicker cold church radiators from the Middle Ages that rattle and belch but belch no heat cold I take my clothes off stone embossed knees she sees me in my nakedness I prostrate penitent I crawl forward forward  pray for me pray for me that I may not be lost even as I grind against the flagstones as I get high on you my saint , my Elizabeth my lover my lover for whom I bake bread punish myself with thorns.

I am here. I have come. Sin boldly. Yes I will.