It’s Masturbation Month! Those of you who don’t work in the sex industry might not be familiar with it, although I’d wager if you’ve bought a sex toy at any point over the last 12 months you’ll have been reminded of this auspicious time with a well-placed marketing email or two. While I’d love to write a round-up of sex toys that you should buy, it’s always more fun for me to write hot stuff that features toys than a plain old shopping list. So instead of a shopping list, here are twelve filthy stories: each one either a true sex story or a piece of erotic fiction. If you can guess which of these are true, and leave your guesses in the comments, whoever gets closest to the right answer will win a GOTN badge. And if you fancy reliving these stories (or coming up with some of your own!) I’d very much appreciate you clicking the links, buying from my sponsors, and helping to support my work here on the site. Without these fabulous sponsor companies, GOTN wouldn’t exist.

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My ex once offered to buy a stranger’s shoes, to stop him from hassling me outside a restaurant. It was the weirdest method of stopping someone being harassed that I’d ever come across, and alongside being genuinely funny to me at the time, it also worked.

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As per this post, I’m still hiding a bit and not able to live any new stories right now. So instead, please enjoy this piece of humiliation erotica which was inspired by suggestions from Patreons. For this piece, the prompts I had to work into the story were: humiliation/teasing, pier, ice cream. 

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So many of you will know that delicious, aching joy of wanting to shag someone but having nowhere to do it. Surreptitious touches in pubs and parks which just wind you up even more when you realise there’s nowhere to hide while you vent your frustrations on each other. This week’s guest blog, by Fajolan (who has written before about similarly delicious handsy-horny frustration), is all about that kind of horniness, with the bonus of an innovative way to ‘go get a room’ when there are no rooms to go to.

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I’m not very chatty on Twitter any more, and it wasn’t until last night when I spoke to a friend on the phone that I realised… I don’t even call my friends that much these days. The last few weeks have been weird and frightening, and they’re only going to get weirder and more frightening until sometime in June when the fear will come to a head and I’ll either sink, swim, or cling desperately to any of the friends I haven’t so far pissed off by ignoring. This is how it works, when my mental health is bad: I hide.

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