So I took some naked photos. I was jet lagged. And still mourning my sister's vagina.

Ah, London.

Grey skies, damp streets and dour expressions.

Your teeth are unbleached, your skin defiantly pale and your language blissfully “like” and “dude” free.

How I’ve missed you.

I’ve returned, Naughty Ones, from the land of eternal (and often fabricated) sunshine, having born witness to the death of another promising sex life my beloved big sister’s long overdue (according to our mother) white wedding.

The day was almost exactly as I’d imagined: Full of country boys (and their music), American flags (Really, kids? We all know what country we’re in, do we not?) and faux bouncing breasts, unencumbered by such trivialities as bras. Or suitable nipple coverage.

No no, it’s logical, apparently.

As one of my sister’s bridesmaids pointed out to me, swinging a heavily frothing glass of Budweiser for emphasis,

“I paid damn good money for these thangs and Imma make sure y’all ALL see ‘em!”

And she most certainly did.

My sister has all manner of classy friend.

The day was largely uneventful, though it must be said that, at the end of it - though weddings in my world are more a reason for mourning than celebration - I am delighted for my sister as she seems very happy indeed. I am also the happy recipient of a new brother (and his exceptionally hot Cuban half sister), and have come away with absolute staples of The Sunshine State - fake fingernails (Yes, people really do still wear acrylic nails. Who knew??) and a bottle tan - as souvenirs of the *joyous* event.

On another note, the trip did afford me the opportunity to catch up with a couple of old high school friends. Some who have retained their old spunk, fewer who have retained some semblance of their old figures and one, in particular, who has gone from nerdy, awkward teenager to nerdy and decidedly NOT awkward adult.

I’m suddenly regretting not getting to know him better in my youth, and intend to make up for it in the very near future.

Thoughts on long distance harem membership, kittens? (I need feedback, people. These decisions are trying and conclusions must be drawn only after due consideration and care.)

What may surprise my readers (and I'll decide later how I feel about your inevitable shock) is that, despite all of my sister's mates espousing their adoration of my newly acquired British accent (It happens after six years!), a proposition by an only slightly greasy redneck for a three way with he and his wife (terrifying), and the aforementioned delicious former high school friend, there was no access granted ‘neath The Barreness's black bridesmaid dress.

Yes, you read it correctly.

No action.

At all.

I’m not sure if it was the nausea induced by country music and flowing Pabst Blue Ribbon, the constant irritation of my mother (a woman who really shouldn’t be allowed outdoors. Ever.), or just the inherent strangeness of returning to your former homeland (and high school), but I just...wasn’t in the mood.

I know.

Needless to say, when I returned from Heathrow, the Brit was instructed to turn up at mine immediately, with fresh ciggies (my mother actually went through my bag and confiscated mine, the horrible old...) and enough champagne to drown a small village.

I had some stress to relieve.

I also had an assignment to complete, as given by my beloved Sister Merry Hellish, to “tie myself up” and send her photographic evidence.

The photographs wound up slightly more...naked...than I think either she or I had imagined, though thankfully she's used the tamest of the options presented (Possibly as hers is not a soft porn blog?).

But honestly?

The frustration was pent up and the alcohol was flowing.

What else could be expected?