Cock Blocks & Pixel Pussies

When you're in a long-distance relationship which started out as a sexually active one, it's hard to ignore the physical desires you both share for each other. The most obvious solution is cyber sex, or if you're still living in the 90's (say hi to Nirvana for me), phone sex.

[caption id="attachment_126" align="aligncenter" width="450"] "We LITERALLY had phone sex that night"[/caption]

While nowhere near as good as actual sex, it goes a long way in helping eradicate some of the sexual frustration. The first time I tried phone sex I was as smooth as trying to rub an arse against some sandpaper. I stumbled trying to find the sexiest words and craft the sexiest imagery with those words. Often I had to lie, because I didn't think anyone would find me in Sonic The Hedgehog underpants sexy. It was somewhat a disaster, but my then-girlfriend soldiered on, trying to masturbate to this awkward attempt at being an impromptu sex line.

As I grew more confident and picked up some more sexy vocabulary, I then discovered Skype. Less words, more visuals. This was more my style. An adolescence filled with pixelated naked women on 56k dial-up prepared me for the blockiness of cybersex. I felt at home.

[caption id="attachment_127" align="aligncenter" width="412"] Oh baby, you've got some squares on you![/caption]

Internet got better and better, and so did cybersex. I was no longer masturbating to what could've been a Pac Man game. I was masturbating to a somewhat PS1 era version of my girlfriend. It was like the first time we saw Lara Croft. Nobody pointed out the fact that Lara had triangular boobs. The only thing that was important was that she had boobs. Three dimensional boobs.

Aaaand while we now have HD boobs rendered with hundreds of computers, cybersex hasn't gone very far, especially in Brunei. Ridiculously bad internet speeds are an injustice to people masturbating to each other all over the country. Surely if the heads of the telco companies had to endure a month of pixelated cybersex, they'd resolve to fix this incredibly important problem immediately.

DST, get on it!

Keep Dreaming

I am fucking her furiously, fondling her breasts while I can feel my penis about to burst with cum. She is a stranger, someone I've never met before in my life. But when we met for the first, there was nothing else to do but fuck, right here in the middle of a busy restaurant.

Suddenly, the gold-trimmed walls slowly fade away, replaced gradually by the grey, dull familiarity of my own room. She too fades. This is when I struggle desperately to keep myself from waking up. She fades in and out again, but every time she appears, it's much shorter than before. The intervals become longer, until the whole of the restaurant had been fully replaced by the disappointing square box decorated with Pulp Fiction and Bob Marley posters.

I am awake.

That's me describing the final stages of my lucid dreams. Lucid dreams are when you realise you are dreaming, and you can use the fact that there are no consequences to whatever you do in dreams to do many things you wouldn't be able to do in real life.

It's a bit like what Ellen Page's character in Inception does. She can construct worlds in her dreams and manipulate the environment around her. You can do that in your own dreams with a lot of practice (or luck).

Usually I just don't make the effort to make big buildings and elaborate heist operations when I realise I'm dreaming. I just fuck people. I find (or imagine) a woman, and then I have sex with her. Simple as. Nothing clever about it. Just the mitigation of my basest desires is enough to satisfy my dreaming self.

Sure, you can fly around being Superman. Sure, you can be a king for a day. You can even ride a velociraptor who breathes fire unto all your enemies while you plan a barbecue with slightly burnt human satay on the menu. It's a world in which morals and ethics don't apply. No one can judge you. And if someone in your dream world does judge you, fuck them. Literally.

Since you're having sex with a construct of your own mind, you can argue that it's just masturbation. And it would seem that you would have a point. But masturbation is unarguably awesome. Hence your point is irrelevant anyway.

I'd like to know if any of you are lucid dreamers too, and if you are, what do you do in your dreams? Are you like me, a perverted fuck who just has sex with the first attractive person you find? Or are you like Ellen Page, creating magnificent worlds and cities out of thin air?

Are You Experienced?

I am young. Not super young. I'm not 14 or anything. That would mean you've been imagining the sexual escapades of an underage person, and that makes you a pedophile, or something.

[caption id="attachment_113" align="aligncenter" width="510" caption="Hello!"][/caption]

But no, I'm in my early 20's. Judging from the people who tweet to me (I have a twitter account!), I'm younger than most my readers.

By definition, that would mean I'm less experienced. But is that true? Surely by now people should know that age does not necessarily correlate with experience. I'm not even sure experience is something that you can measure. It's a collection of different moments in time that you've collected over the years. Sure, the older you are, the more chances you'll have of collecting these moments. But there's a lot of people who stay in their comfort zone and thus miss out on some amazing stuff they could've told their grandchildren about.

[caption id="attachment_114" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Oh, it was an orgy I will never forget!"][/caption]

Am I saying I'm very, very experienced? Heck no. The reason I've tried so many things in my short years is the fact that I look up to so many people who for them to try new stuff is something they do on an extremely regular basis.

I've once slept in a London warehouse full of people (poor art students, naturally), and half of them were on MDMA jamming to The Brian Jonestown Massacre while trying to forget about their crippling debts. These experiences have given them inspiration for creating some of the best art and music they could've come up with. It gives them perspective that would've not come from just staying in your comfort zone and working in an office all day.

Even in Brunei, we have those people who aren't afraid of diverting from the well-worn path and eliciting horror from their slack-jawed parents. It's a lot more acceptable now to go into less conventional careers and lifestyles. Sure, you still can't give your gay boyfriend a kiss in the middle of Tamu Kianggeh, but hey, maybe we'll get there some day.

But I understand, it's not a lifestyle for everyone. It's perfectly fine if you're not okay with ending up cooking leftovers from leftovers of your dinner from three nights ago. But we do need the brave few to walk down this path. We can't all be working in offices getting nice, comfortable wages masturbating under the table thinking of a threesome with your female boss and her secretary.

[caption id="attachment_115" align="aligncenter" width="312" caption="Hey Aman, I'll need you to work overtime tonight and tidy up the filing system. And by overtime I mean hot sex, and by tidying up the filing system, I mean hot sex all over the photocopier while the janitor watches"][/caption]

I am going to end here, before I end up rambling. Sorry, it's been a while since I last updated. Hopefully my next one won't take as long.

You're A Wanker

Men masturbating/tugging the dolphin/having a wank/shining their shoes/whipping a quick one/charming the snake/uncorking the bottle/playing the Wii/churning the butter/polishing the magic wand is usually an image we reserve for people who are sexually dissatisfied. We save it for the virgins, for the bachelor on a dry spell, the husband whose wife won't let him in the bedroom after a bitter game of Monopoly, the man whose girlfriend won't entertain the idea of putting a dildo up his anus.

But the fact is, most men masturbate. This applies to married men, gay boyfriends, former stars of children tv shows, leaders of an internationally-organised vendetta against war criminals. You name them, they wank.

[caption id="attachment_107" align="aligncenter" width="510" caption="Be glad that I'm only showing the top part of this photo"][/caption]

So people, do not be offended if your partner plays with his penis for self-relief once in a while. It doesn't mean your sex life sucks, or that he's not satisfied with it. Masturbation is healthy. Heck, if you're feeling adventurous, try getting off while watching each other masturbate. If you're so insecure that you find the fact that your partner can find sexual satisfaction without you (even if it's just with himself), get over yourself.

I find women masturbating to be extremely sexy. It is also a godsend whenever I can't get my girlfriend to orgasm. Even with the sex god superpowers that I have (I don't), in general it's harder for women to climax from penetrative sex (in general being the operative phrase here). That's why you hear that women have a tendency to fake their orgasms.  Women sometimes fake them to boost a man's ego, or because they are no longer in the mood and their partner has already climaxed.

You know what? I'd rather know when my girlfriend isn't having an orgasm so I know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. Sure, it bruises my ego. But I'd rather that than it being more harshly bruised by the sight of her running off with an athletic black man with size 16 shoes.

[caption id="attachment_108" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="You know what they say about men with big shoe sizes"][/caption]

I'm not saying you should get some ZZZZZZs or read a book while she's busy playing with her clitoris, finishing the job you didn't finish. Damn it, go help her. Kiss her nipples, nibble her ear, providing she finds that sexy. Heck, join in if you still have it in you. More than once have I ended up playing with her breasts while she sucks my cock and has one hand penetrating herself with a vibrator. That mental image just gave me an instant boner. Wait here a second while I pay the sperm bank a visit.

[caption id="attachment_109" align="aligncenter" width="400" caption="Well, that didn't go down too well"][/caption]

Okay, I'm back. Where was I?

Fuck this. I'm going to watch some porn while I masturbate some more.

Sex & The University

In the first year of uni in UK, I stayed on campus. Unlike Brunei, pretty much all student accommodation there is co-ed (i.e. boys and girls live together) unless you specifically request to be in a separate all-boys/girls hostel. Now this is where I am supposed to say to you, "no, it did not result in as much sex as you would think." And I'd be lying.

ALL of my neighbours were having sex. ALL of them. I know this because the walls might as well have been paper for their ability to insulate noise. This is the blueprint of my block in our sexpus (it's a cleverly-made portmanteau of sex and campus. I'm so clever). Notice the detail on the clouds (because England is always fucking raining).



Hold your applause. I know my artistic skills are incredible. There's no need to... Oh, you shouldn't. The flowers are completely unnecessary, but a nice touch.

Of course this sexbours (another clever portmanteau) situation would've been a nightmare if I wasn't getting any. Fortunately for me, I was (at the time I was with my ex). So this didn't bother me too much. Except for the loud Asian (possibly Chinese) couple on the third floor (you can't see it in the blueprint because I'm lazy). Have you seen any porn that involves a Japanese woman? It's a little like that, with less bukkake and pixelated penises. Maybe there was. Who knows. I wasn't in the room watching.

That Asian woman moaned during sex like she was researching a doctorate degree in The Loud Faking Of Orgasms: A Study Into The Practice Of Ego-Inflation Of Men By Over-Enthusiastic Sex Reactions. Okay, that's not fair. She might just be a loud sex siren. I don't know, I didn't ask. But damn it, they did it at least five freaking times a day. It's like some kind of vulgar, blasphemous call to prayer.

Some of my flatmates actually even knocked on their door several times during one of their wild love-making sessions, asking them to keep it down. They'd bow their head apologetically, with a smirk on their faces, and as soon as the door is closed, they'd continue on their extremely noisy adventures into Orgasmland.

Before you say I'm just jealous because they were having their five-a-day portions of loud, passionate, steamy sex, it wasn't like I was on a dry spell. My ex was so sexually demanding at the time that I actually felt like I was being used as a sex object. For any other man, this would sound awesome. In fact, thinking about it now (especially since I'm on a dry spell right now), that does indeed sound awesome. But I'm a "let's cuddle after sex" guy who likes holding hands while walking on the beach making footprints in the sand. I told my ex that I felt like I wanted more in the relationship than just staying in bed all day waiting for my next erection so she could ride on it, and the next erection, and the next, and the next.

It's ironic then one of the reasons we broke up was that our sex had become boring and unexciting. From being two perfectly compatible sexual beings into being extremely awkward in bed together.

Oh wow, that ended on a sour note, didn't it?

Note: The censored porn is taken from the series Censored Porn by the artist Von Brandis.

Objectum Sexuality

This morning, I tweeted this:

Objectosexuals fascinate me. I wonder what goes on in the mind of someone who is sexually attracted to inanimate objects

— Honest Bruneian (@HonestBruneian) March 18, 2012

I consider myself to be quite open-minded about sex. I don't judge fetishes, nor do I judge sexual orientation. There's not much that would disgust me. I've braved the world of 4chan and survived without being scarred for life. So for someone to fall in love with the Eiffel Tower and be sexually attracted to it doesn't seem farfetched to me.

[caption id="attachment_98" align="aligncenter" width="400" caption="Erika Eiffel & Her Spouse, the Eiffel Tower"][/caption]

One of the things that fascinated me about objectum sexuals most is the fact that before the invention of the internet, many objectum sexuals didn't even know that other objectum sexuals exist. Many grew up believing that they were the only ones, that they were freaks.

Below is an excellent documentary about objectum sexuality (OS) made by Channel Five in the UK. If you have 45 minutes to spare, give it a go.

[vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/19783541 w=400&h=225]

Strange Love: Married to the Eiffel Tower on Vimeo.

My girlfriend recommended this documentary to me last year. It's opened up a lot of questions I never even considered about sex.

If you're finding this post to be less humorous than usual, it's because I feel uncomfortable being judgmental of other people's sexual preference. I prefer talking about myself because the only person I'm judging is myself. But I feel like I should definitely share this, if only for you to form your own opinion on objectum sexuality and the way it might give a new perspective on your own sexual life.

Who knows, you might be a closet objectum sexual.

Sex, Drugs, and Squares

I don't take recreational drugs. Well, at least not regularly. I've only ever bought drugs once, and that was in Amsterdam, legally. Other times I'm just freeloading from my housemates, who are infinitely more amusing when they're high. We even started having a 'quote' book just to write in the ridiculous things people say when stoned.

One of the reasons I don't buy weed for myself is because I rarely get stoned from smoking joints. A little chilled, maybe even a little high, but never full-out stoned. My tolerance towards anything mind-altering is something I've known for a while. While I don't drink much, it takes a whole lot of alcohol for me to end up giving free hugs to homeless people and grinding with two men I don't know on the floor at a dodgy nightclub.

[caption id="attachment_90" align="aligncenter" width="510" caption="Like this, but all-male and less sex appeal"][/caption]

You know how people say when you're drunk, you get hornier but your sex organs don't function too well? That's half true for me. Usually after an unusually drunk night out (I don't have many of these, honest) the sex is more like a rumpus than a session of love-making.

The one thing I've never experienced while drunk is actually getting blacked out and not remembering anything from the night before. I've recorded a friend having sex in the students union toilet with someone we just met a few hours ago on video. I've rolled in cold, freezing mud with friends on an especially muddy field. I've sleighed down a snowy hill with a food tray. I've somersaulted onto concrete floors. I've kissed sweaty, shirtless, bearded men. In fact, for some of these I didn't even need alcohol (I'll let you decide which ones).

Now I'm aware that my drunk experiences might be mild compared to some of the more hardcore binge-drinkers. But this isn't a contest, so shut up.

Back to my time in Amsterdam. While we were there, we got space cakes, which is weed baked to make a cake. It's not the most delicious thing in the world, tasting like a mixture of corpse ash (not that I would know how that would taste like) and badly-made cake. My girlfriend and I bought it in a coffee shop somewhere in the Amsterdam city centre for less than 10 euros for two pieces.

[caption id="attachment_87" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Duuude, this is good coffee"][/caption]

Okay, before you ask, no, we did not go to Amsterdam because of the lax drug laws there (well, now it's not that relaxed anymore). In fact, we went to more art galleries than the marijuana-selling coffee shops. Now, let's return to the weed.

We were told that it usually takes an hour to take effect. And boy, did it. We were safe in the comfort of our hotel room when suddenly everything around me morphed into mosaics. It was like the whole room was made of 3-d pixels and I was in some sort of trippy music video for an 8-bit, chiptune band from New York. I felt like I was in a videogame in the 80's.

I was surprised because I didn't even know this could be a result of taking marijuana. I had assumed that all you got was very, very high and very, very chilled. At least that's what all the Bob Marley songs told me.

[caption id="attachment_91" align="aligncenter" width="510" caption="Like this, but with more pixels exploding in every direction, and oh, more sex"][/caption]

But no, I felt like the baker had secretly put in LSD or some shit like that. It was a colorful explosion of ever-morphing squares. And it wasn't just my visual experience that became affected. For a while, the only word I could say was 'squares'. I could process what my girlfriend was saying to me perfectly, but when I replied, all that came out was "squares squares squares, squares! squares squares?"

And that wasn't the best bit. The best bit was when my girlfriend decided that it would be the best time to give me a blowjob. And boy, there never was a righter decision made.

The mind-fucking euphoria of experiencing a million rainbow-coloured squares and the sensual overload of a mistress of oral sex at work combined to give what was one of the best single experiences of my life. I felt like I've reached an impossible level of pleasure, not meant to be experienced by a mere human being.

When I ejaculated, I saw millions of tiny squares shooting out of my penis, forming a gloriously pixelated fountain of colours. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever witnessed.

And that is one of the reasons why I really, really love blowjobs so much.

EDIT: Most of these stories on this post are from when I was studying overseas. So you know, don't go looking for dodgy nightclubs, snowy hills and homeless people in Brunei.