An average 6.2 column inches…

Hello ferretwanglers! Behold, my first sex column as Men’s Fitness‘s Very Personal Trainer! Click HERE to read some fresh, inspiring, innovative tips on how to make your bedroom time saucier than a ketchup factory, and get 25% off massage goodies at Sh! Women’s Erotic Emporium.

I appreciate that this column breaks few men’s mag cliches at present, but I hope that it offers some genuinely new, intriguing ideas (hell, it turned me on to write it!). The more support I get, the more leeway MF‘s editor is likely to allow me, so I can begin to introduce more groundbreaking topics/formats, and in general my voice will begin to have more power for positive change and promoting great, educated, liberated sex for all those who want it.

I am an Ambassador for both Lovehoney and Sh!: sex stores who are doing things in new, admirable ways. Lovehoney publish honest, helpful user reviews of all the products they sell, run a brilliant blog, and have particularly impressed me with their attitude to the positive promotion of male masturbation toys: while modern society largely accepts the idea of women owning vibrators, and a lass having a private moment with a Rampant Rabbit is viewed as commendably saucy, healthy, and acceptable – hell, it’s fashionable – it seems there’s still a sense of shame and social stigma about a chap experimenting on his own with a stimulating sleeve, Fleshlight, or suchlike. That’s not fair. Everyone should feel good about exploring and enjoying their own bodies, and playing with toys if they wish to, and I commend Lovehoney for their attempts to talk openly about the exciting fun stuff that’s on the market for gents to have solo fun with. Sh! Women’s Erotic Emporium (who also have plenty for blokes!) strive to create relaxed, classy-but-fun, non-threatening environments in which folks can browse through sexy stuff and ask questions without feeling sleazy or intimidated, and hold accessible classes and talks given by approachable people, which often (ahem) tackle sexual subjects that are rarely spoken about despite being important topics with wide relevance to a lot of human beings. I am exceptionally proud to be able to introduce both these companies to a new audience via Men’s Fitness.

I found it amusing that MF cut a line which originally read “Do you take this woman? Hell yeah you do, like a badass!” to  just say “Do you take this woman? Hell yeah you do!” I presume that’s because none of their readership have bad asses – only exceptionally toned ones.

Ane Brun – Do You Remember

This video feels like that moment when you have just awoken and can still snatch at strands of your strange nightmares, amid the stray hairs shed on your pillow whose waxy roots grew from the same skull that housed your fleeing dreams. It makes me oddly sad, frightened of getting old and not being sure of my own head. When I watch it I can smell brine: surf, tears, things we’ve tried to preserve in a watery way.

Pan’s Labia-rinth

The latest issue of Bizarre magazine (number 181, with El Wood‘s candy-ass on the cover) contains an interview with artist Ben Newman, who created the incredible image above. Entitled ‘Bizarre Sacrifice’, it shows how Ben “imagines Team Bizarre summon the mag into life every month”…and the ‘Foxy’ gal on the stake being willingly molested by a gluey-tongued, ram-horned hellbeast is me!

I absolutely love this picture: it has elements of shokushu goukan (Japanese tentacle-themed erotic manga), shades of Guillermo del Toro (hence the cheeky title of this post!), and – as attested by at least one ex-boyfriend – Ben’s got my you’re-gonna-get-it eyes down pat! Ha!

Some may find the fantastical, BDSM-tinged themes of the illustration disturbing, but I don’t – not least because although Ben often depicts daringly taboo imaginings, he states that “the women in my pictures are always the instigators…sexually powerful women don’t have to be drawn grinding their high heels into a slave’s back.” Plus, I believe that in art, and in sex, we should be free to explore, role-play and experiment with all sorts of edgy scenarios or out-there ideas that we would never dream of wishing to translate literally to everyday life. Submitting yourself to a monster’s molestations (or, for example, indulging in a rape fantasy, or play-acting that your partner is a stranger, or a paying client) on the canvas or under the covers doesn’t necessarily mean that you would genuinely like this to occur outside of these safe, specific head-spaces.

The only things I do find a little unsettling about Ben’s creation are a/ that some of my colleagues are watching in the foreground – I’m not that much of a voyeur! and b/ that the label’s hanging out of my knickers. How uncouth.

Pick up the latest issue of Bizarre to read the full Ben Newman article, as well as my own interviews with cover girl El Wood, Jesse Hughes from Eagles of Death Metal, and Tom Six, writer and director of banned-in-the-UK gross-out horror flick, Human Centipede II: Full Sequence. My regular spreads on art, shopping, smut and body modification are in there too.

Into lowbrow art? Check out INKFETISH‘s site too – he’s the pro graffiti artist who sprayed the picture of me in a blue fox kigu that you can see on my blog’s header bar. He’s just got back from Japan, where he co-painted an amazing mural in homage to Tekkon Kinkreet – a manga which was turned into an anime by American film-maker Michael Arias, and brilliantly soundtracked by Plaid. I watched it last night in bed whilst battling a headache seemingly bigger than my skull. My head’s still pounding like Ron Jeremy on a sugar rush, actually, so I’ll sign off for now. Laters, mashed potatas.

 

Palmer Chameleon

Photographer Joe Plimmer just sent me a snap I hadn’t seen before from the shoot we did in Berlin last summer, again for The Telegraph‘s Ultratravel supplement. Styling and make-up are by moi, and I sourced the dress from Alice Palmer. I was blond as Malfoy back then! I’ve just been asked to model for Vidal Sassoon’s flagship London salon, so I expect my barnet will change for the umpteenth time next week – and given their signature style, it’ll probably metamorphose into something with sharper lines than a stand-up comedian named Stanley Knife.

Blimey, I’m doing a lot of struttin’ and posin’ at the mo! Don’t worry – I’m still writing like a good ‘un too. Men’s Fitness magazine have just hired me to pen a regular column of “authoritative, useful, yet funny” sex tips – whoop! Cocktimus Prime and the Bicepticons – Blowbots with Firm Thighs!

For once, a post on ‘Goodwood’…

…that isn’t about man-timber and lumberjacking-off. Nope – upon rare occasion I stop making wang jokes and attempt to be elegant and refined. Hark! One such occasion is upon us!

On Sunday I was asked to model by The Telegraph‘s luxury holiday supplement, Ultratravel, at Goodwood Revival Festival: a celebration of vintage vehicles, fashion, and lifestyles. Here’s a few taster images of me gurning in the sunshine.

The last one’s an outtake but I love it! Photography by the ever-excellent wonderferret Joe Plimmer. Styling, make-up and attempts to look more floaty-light than a Skip crisp with concussion by me. Dress, boots, chiffon scarf, coat and hat all collected from charity shops. Amazeballs ‘FOX’ personalised satchel by The Original Satchel Store.

I used minimal cosmetics to keep things fresh and youthful, but did enhance my peepers with false lashes by Manic Panic – a brand usually associated with full-on goff-esque looks, but their Black Widow eyelashes are surprisingly great for more subtle looks as seen in these pics. Buy ‘em here.

Enticin’ Tyson

I play two characters in this slinky vid for Tyson’s single, ‘After You’re Gone’: the dancer in the dripping mask with the whip, and the rabbit.

Several people have asked if it hurt to peel the gaffer tape off my raspberry ripples at the end of the shoot. Nope – I got so hot and sweaty under the studio lights that those crosses slithered off like otters from a butter dish. Schlurp!

Directed by Jamie Morgan.

Fingermouse + Dangermouse + Computer mouse…

…equals this: a picture of my bruised and blackened digit. I accidentally bashed it yesterday at Scrapclub  – a hugely cathartic event at which you pay a small fee to get a hard hat, protective goggles, a sledgehammer or crowbar, and ten minutes to beat seven shimmering shades of shit out of a load of defunct electronic and household equipment.

Decked-in Index

Organiser Wajid Yaseen recognised me from a previous Scrapclub night, and knowing how much I detest them, he kindly selected two evil printers for me to smush. I frickin’ HATE printers. They are the mechanical inverse of Rick Astley – they will always let you down, especially when you need a copy of a train ticket or hotel reservation before you race out of the house, or have to hand in a document before a deadline and you have zero minutes to spare. They’ll chew up the paper, run out of ink, and emit more bleeps than a censored recording of a Tourette’s sufferer being broadcast before the watershed. ARGHHHH! Walloping a couple of the bastards into pieces ittier and bittier than Timmy Mallett’s girlfriend’s polka dot bikini is one of the most delicious things I’ve experienced.

More to come ASAP, as soon as my swollen finger has deflated to a stage where I can type more comfortably.

Love, Digit-Al(ix)