I can’t tease you any longer, my friends. It was cruel of me to do so in the first place. The fun little trilogy that started with a dating challenge and moved on to me and a hot guy swapping sex stories is just that: a trilogy. It’s not the first chapter in a brand new erotic romance. Fuck it, though, he and I had a lot of fun, and personally I find it fitting (and deeply satisfying for my overall philosophy) that the guy who restored my faith in dating didn’t do so by being the perfect match, but by embarking on our dates with genuine emotional honesty. When I set out on the initial challenge (‘ask out the hot man who works in my shop’) it wasn’t about whether he said ‘yes’, only about whether I was brave enough to ask him in the first place. Likewise, the success of our dates didn’t come down to whether we kicked off a serious relationship, but whether we met as equals with a genuine desire to find out if we matched. The fact that we don’t match is no more than a footnote. The headline is that we found that answer swiftly, respectfully, and while having a fair bit of fun. Shop Man Part 3. Let’s do this.

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One of the things I miss about having a regular partner – notably a live-in one, who hangs around the house, teasing me sluttily by existing in possession of a dick – are those moments of casual horn that come when you’re in close quarters. The fact that another person in my space will necessarily be sexual sometimes, and either by design or pure, gold-plated luck they’re sometimes sexual with (or at) me.  I miss silly, everyday, random bursts of horn.

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This guy has a really neat dating trick that makes me feel comfortable and relaxed in his company. It’s one which means we get to progress towards knowing each other way faster than I have with most other men in the years since I broke up with my ex. He does it consistently and brilliantly, and each time he does it I’m taken by pleasant surprise. Wanna know what the trick is? It’s easy. Absurdly, ridiculously easy, but quite rare. He asks me questions. That’s it. He asks me about my life, and when I say something interesting he asks a follow-up. If he realises he’s been speaking for too long, and the conversation is becoming a monologue, he says “enough about me. How about you?” That’s it. That’s the trick.

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I spotted that this week’s Kink of the Week topic was ‘hunting/chasing prey’ and realised with utter delight that I had a half-finished draft which I could polish off for it. So here goes: a fuck in which I get to revel in the idea of being ravished by a predator. Note that this story contains a tiny bit of implied non-consent (but it is consensual) and also some barely-lubed anal (which I’d recommend against in real life, even though it’s hot in fantasies because in fantasies you can pretend that spit would totally work). 

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OK listen. As a blogger who relies on social media to do important work (keeping up with Sex News, responding to journo requests, promoting blogs and audio porn, and shamelessly bragging whenever I get railed by a hot guy), I cannot fully disappear from Twitter until someone turns out the lights. While people who matter remain on the platform, I’ll still have to maintain a presence there – scheduling posts to go out so that people in different time zones get the chance to beat one out to them too. But let’s face it, it’s run by a fascist toddler and is now so choked up with spam that it’s borderline unusable. Plus, as a sex blogger, I have now been so shadowbanned that even the grown-ups who follow me are unlikely to see my extremely high-quality tweets. I need a new social media home, otherwise where else will I post my scorching hot takes? So I’m calling this for now: fuck BlueSky, fuck Threads, you can find me on Mastodon. Here’s why.

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