All hail Your Royal Gaynesses

Perhaps this week is not the best week to admit that I'm not the greatest fan of the British Royal Family, nor am I the biggest patriot you will encounter. I've just never seen the point in them, apart from the mildly attractive, yet Ginger, Prince Harry, who can arrive on my doorstep any time he pleases. I'm also rather glad I was away in New York (which, by the way, was amazing, thanks for asking -more on that in a moment) during the Jubilee weekend; I got to miss it all. So perhaps it's rather ironic that I was the homojournalist who suggested this week's theme.

I stand by my opinions on the royal family - after 18 years of life, I still have no idea exactly what it is they do, aside from giving us extra bank holidays for weddings and Jubilees. And then I came to America, and I realised how much their royal highnesses are lived abroad. Suddenly, I began picturing myself as a member of the Royal family, and what I would have done if this were my diamond jubilee that the world is celebrating...

I couldn't help it, sorry :p

Now, before I continue any further, I need to introduce Troy to you all. Troy was (still is, I hope) a particularly attractive, rather cute and just generally adorable in every way, waiter at the restaurant next to the hotel I was staying at. My esteemed colleagues will vouch for me that, for pretty much the entire duration of my stay in the Big Apple, I have done nothing else but witter on about how awesome Troy is, and how I want to marry him. That and checking in on Facebook to Central Park and the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State building, and various other New York attractions. I digress.  You'd be forgiven for thinking that I have lost the plot completely, what has an attractive waiter in central Manhattan got to do with my reign? Well, therein lies the answer, for Troy is no longer a waiter in New York City; he and I are happily married and shall be King and King of the universe and all shall answer to us.  (By the way, if by some happy coincidence Troy is reading this, I really hope you a) are gay, b) know who I am and c) accept that we're now happily married and supreme rulers if the universe.)

My lovely husband and I are now celebrating 60 years as supreme emperors/kings of the universe, and all of creation, including the Dalek/Time Lord time war, have a couple of days off to celebrate our glorious reign, much to the displeasure of the economy of life and George Osbourne. Here's what we've done over the past 60 years:

• Ended the 40 year war on homophobia
• Issued all homophobes with an immediate death sentence
• Legalised homosexuality across the cosmos
• Not let David Cameron or George W. Bush Jr. into office
• Forced David Tennant to return to the TARDIS
• Changed the currency of the universe to Jelly Babies and Vodka
• Brought Dumbledore and Snape back to life
• Banned Twilight and Justin Bieber
• Forced Steven Moffat to hurry up with season 3 of Sherlock
• Exterminated Cancer and HIV/AIDS
• Introduced cheap London Heathrow to New York JFK flights so that Troy can go and visit his parents and I can go and empty 5th Avenue as many times as I wish
• Declared Fish Fingers and custard as the national dish of the Earth
• Made all cities as easy to navigate as midtown Manhattan 
• Made all tube maps as easy to understand as the London Underground map
• Declared the Empire State Building as our palace and Central Park as our front garden (the Hogwarts grounds are already our back garden)
• Erected (hehehe) the Statue of Liberty in said front garden
• Declared the 31st of May as a universal bank holiday (the day I first met Troy ♥) 
• Ordered all theatres to offer free tickets to shows on Broadway/equivalent on Friday evenings
• Defied gravity

And here's how Troy and I want our jubilee celebrated:

• Plenty of dancing naked men
• Free alcohol for all
• Lots of food
• Clones of ourselves to take on our official duties while we lie on an empty beach somewhere in the Caribbean making love to each other... And also to Moriarty, if he feels up to it. 

That doesn't look like he's going to say no.

Yours Royally,
Kings Rory and Troy
Emperors of the Universe, Joint First Lords of Everything, creators of the supreme Time Lord race, the only people alive who still know the exact location of Platform 9 3/4

And Honey, You Should See me in a Crown

Hello. Hi. Привет. Sveiki. Hallo. Bonjour. Hola. Ciao.

This is me saying hello in some of the languages of our readers, who seem to come from all over. Who knew Russia had such an interest in homojournal? Anyway, the point of this introduction is to say that today is Tuesday June 5^th 2012. In the UK (land of homojournal) it’s Jubilee day! You’ve probably gathered from James’ post that we have a whole range of festive treats lined up!

Picture this. You’re standing in a crowd of people, at least ten or twenty people deep. Everyone is standing in rows stretching unbroken for seven miles, spanning almost all of London’s most famous sights. The national anthem is floating over the wind. You hear cannons firing and planes flying overhead. Flags are waving and people are jumping, standing on tiptoes trying to see. Then it starts raining.

You’ve never felt more British in your entire life. There are cries of mam, mum and marm. An English sheepdog next to you is barking along. Then you see it. A giant boat, covered in royal red and gold leaf. Our royals, they are most definitely ours. Apparently they carry their own colour coordinated umbrellas, who knew? The Queen is wearing all white, like it’s her wedding day. She smiles her grandmotherly smile and waves her fancy little wave.

This is my experience of the Jubilee Pageant. It was amazing. The British public were out in force, some even bought periscopes and step ladders to catch a better view. The crowd was full of heated, very English style debates. My favourite was about the year of Queen Vic’s death. It’s 1902. It’s 1901. You’re wrong. No, you’re wrong. (It’s 1901 folks). And, what British event would be complete without beer and gigantic black umbrellas?

I hear you calling....well that’s lovely Mel, but you’ve clearly fallen into some patriotic stupor, what does this have to do with the homojournal? Well. I said I’ve never felt more British. Darrhling the Union Jack was the pattern Du Jour, and haven’t you heard that red, white and blue is the new black? But, we weren’t all English. We weren’t all white. There was an amazing mix of all cultures, language, ages and creeds. There was also an amazing mix of sexualities.

Perhaps it’s because I notice these things more nowadays, or perhaps the queer community takes more interest in our Elizabeth or something than everyone else? I saw several gay couples and drag queens that were fitting right in. Next to me there was a lovely gay couple who offered to share their beer. And they didn’t even complain when I kept falling into them trying to stand on my tiptoes.

So, all in all. Despite the poor view (my dad ended up picking me up), the poor weather (sweetheart, bad weather is in our blood) and the crowds, it was an amazing day that restored my faith in the British public.

I’d also like us to take a moment to remember that our Liz the second was once upon a time a sex Icon.

I would....

Thanks for reading,

Mel (aka the Queen of everything)

I need a Narnian to come out of that closet...

It’s such a typical thing to talk about: your ideal boyfriend. I do it all the time with some of my closest friends, and yet, I still can’t see Mr. Right even when he’s singing and dancing naked in front of me. I confess that I am slightly over-picky when it comes to my ‘type’, and I realise that my pickiness isn’t exactly going to help me get off the market.

Ben Barnes played Prince Caspian in the second and third Narnia films.

I’m one of those people who preaches that it’s got more to do with personality than looks, as you should never judge a book by its cover – in my experience, the best looking people are full of shit (excuse my French). So for me, my ideal boyfriend needs to be similar to me from a point of view of personality or common interest. He needs to appreciate, if possible even like, the same sort of music as me (music is my life and any of my friends will tell you that), in the same way I can appreciate and like most of the 21^st century ‘popular’ music – although, whether or not some of that can be considered music is a whole different kettle of fish. He should be able to laugh at the same sort of things as me, and enjoy the same hobbies as me, and so on.

To the more adventurous out there that sounds really dull, but I’ve been in a relationship before where we were complete opposites, in much the same way that gay is the complete opposite of straight. So maybe I’m not adventurous when it comes to my boyfriend, but at the end of the day, I don’t want to have been in more relationships than I have IB points (although at the rate that it’s going at the moment, that looks like the case…). Anyway, I digress. Once I’ve found the right personality match for me, looks are a bonus, although any single guys out there who think they’re a match, be warned, body hair is a big turn off.

If all else fails, I'd probably get a kick out of Moriarty...

Despite all this, I, like many others, fall victim all too often of doing things the wrong way round. Rather than look for people and judge their compatibility based on their personality and what they might bring to a potential relationship, I find myself picking out all the good-looking guys and building up assumptions on their character based on the shoes they’re wearing, or the sunglasses they’re sporting, or the coffee they’re drinking, or the car they drive. Perhaps it’s a good thing that I’m normally too shy to act on my assumptions, because I’d be bitterly disappointed: they’re all straight anyway.

What is it that I look for in the looks department? Well, let me leave this rather splendid picture here and let your dirty imagination do the rest.

Skandar Keynes, who played Edmund in The Chronicles of Narnia... he'll do nicely.

I forgot to mention that my ideal boyfriend must, at the very least, be bisexual with a preference for men (a Kinsey 4.5), else complications are guaranteed to occur.

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But Whips And Chains Excite Me.

Ahh fetishes, my old friends. From abasiophilia to zoosadism and everything in between, it seems that in the world of sex, anything goes. Who are we to judge if a large percentage of serial killers get their jollies from -umm there’s no graceful way to say this- piss and shit? And who’s to say that spending time as a table or chair for your master isn’t a valid use of an afternoon?

I have one general rule when it comes to sex: I’ll try anything once.

Of course there are a few exceptions. Anything that is unhygienic and messy to the point of death I’d be reluctant to try. Animals? No thanks. Shit? No way. And obviously anything involving unplanned noncon or minors is a big no no.

And then of course there are the things that I might be up for but would have no desire to discover I actually enjoyed. I don’t particularly want to know if autoerotic asphyxiation is one of my kinks. Where do I go afterwards? There are some things I am probably better off not knowing about myself, lest I get carried away one day. Let’s just say I have enough fetishes to be going on with, without anything involving near death experiences, murder or cannibalism.

Are fetishes normal? ABSOLUTLEY! Even middle aged housewives have fantasies and certain kinks. One of my aunts imagines Edward Cullen while she and her slightly-balding overweight husband are doing the nasty. I cannot approve of a Twilight fetish, but I have nothing against teeth in general.

Now for your entertainment (drum-roll please) some of the slightly less normal fetishes. I am addicted to everything Sherlock Holmes; the films, the TV series, the novels. I even find the actors....well, down right sexy. Whilst idly wasting my time on Tumblr one fine evening, trying not to revise, I found a blog called  Dirty Sherlock Secrets, which sounded tempting. Now, I try not to judge my fellow fangirls too harshly, after all, a relatively large portion of my time is spent reading porn and watching it; but some of the confessions on this website just made me laugh whilst others made me want to weep for what mess humanity has been reduced to.

I thought this was really sweet until I read the last line. My poor poor innocent eyes.

Although...I must confess that I still follow this blog with the same horrible fascination that provokes me to pick scabs, poke bruises and look at roadkill.

Another fetish I struggle to wrap my head around is large age gaps. I’m all for the older woman...or man. A little silver hair is hot. A few wrinkles look wise. I draw the line at Dumbledore porn.

I read FanFiction (Oh God I’m a nerd help me). I will happily whittle away time reading Harry & Draco pairings, Harry & Hermione, Sirius & Remus....in fact I may as well say that I do not judge when it comes to fictional couples, threesomes, foursomes and moresomes. EXCEPT...I will never ever read a story that pairs Harry and Dumbledore together in a sexual way. Seriously. Who would enjoy reading about what must be statutory rape, an abuse of trust and a skinny, wrinkly, bearded old man?

Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me sir?

I also want to say, that, despite my obsessions (ok...ok...I admit fetishes) for the Dr Who, Harry Potter and Sherlock fandoms, I do not get off on imagining people who don’t actually exist. Alas, I am partially a rationalist, if I ever tried to imagine getting down and dirty with Buffy the vampire slayer, the sheer hilarity of the situation would soon distract me from my goal.

Now, back to the relevance of this post to the homo-journal. As far as I’m concerned, being bi-sexual opens up a whole new world of fetish and kink opportunities to you. I can actually enjoy all parties in a mixed gender threesome, and experiment with any other advantages the male and female physique have to offer me.

A word to the wise though, being caught up against a tree in a park is just plain embarrassing.

Whips, chains and hot candle wax to all my readers.

Love, Mel.

PS. It was night-time.