All Posts – Page 278
What do I look like getting fucked from behind?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself frequently. While it’s possible (and, indeed, hot as all hell) to watch yourself fucking in a mirror, there are some angles that are impossible to achieve, unless you happen to be shagging inside a circus attraction. What’s more, videoing something and having a permanent record of your shag, which could easily be copied/accidentally uploaded to whatever The Cloud is, isn’t always something I’m keen on doing.
So how do you do it? Well, here’s what we did.
For starters, we had three things: a phone, an iPad, and a raging horn. We set up the iPad and the phone to facetime each other. This tactic can be used not just for watching yourselves fuck from new and improved angles, it can also be used to watch one person having a wank. I know, you may prefer to be in the same room, but if like me you want to get as close as possible to the sensation of watching someone who doesn’t know you’re there, then setting up a phone in the corner of one room while you perv furtively in another can be a truly excellent bet. The other person has to know it’s there, obviously, but if they concentrate hard enough they can try and forget: making sure they’re focusing on their own pleasure rather than playing to the camera.
So, facetime. The only realistic way I could find out what I looked like getting fucked from behind, without having to actually record it. He held the phone, and I propped the iPad on a pillow in front of me before getting on my hands and knees…
Guest blog: The suit fetish… *swoon*
I met this week’s guest blogger – F. Leonora Solomon – at Eroticon this year, and she’s amazing. Leonora’s an editor and writer who lives in New York City, and she’s published and featured in several anthologies – please do check them out via the links in the piece and on her website. I got the chance to chat with her in between the Eroticon sessions, and when she suggested a guest post about this particular topic I practically squealed with glee. It’s one of those kinks that also makes me go a bit giddy and trembly. Today she’s going to tell you about her suit fetish…
So someone claimed that ‘broody feminists’ are being silenced…
Yesterday I read an article by a ‘broody feminist‘ I wasn’t, initially, sure what one of these was, so I clicked through wondering if it might be a new faction of feminism about which I could have an opinion (I think I probably fall into the category of ‘Opinionated feminists‘, or somewhere on the venn diagram where they cross over with ‘Drunk feminists’ and ‘Feminists who like crisps’). It turns out that a ‘broody feminist’ is just a feminist who wants children. The author, Charlotte Gill, explains that:
“as feminism has progressed, saying you want babies has become deeply unfashionable – synonymous with “I have no career ambition.” On the other hand, a child-free existence has been painted as progressive and exciting, sold successfully by celebrities like Jennifer Aniston and Kylie Minogue.”
Which is interesting, because it’s not really true. Sure, it is very slowly becoming more acceptable for women to say ‘I don’t want kids’, and we’re no longer treated like we’re the gruesome offspring of the Childcatcher and Cruella DeVille. But I think calling it ‘fashionable’ is quite a leap – given Daily Mail headlines that screech at us about our biological clocks, and misguided advice by people like Kirstie Allsopp about how we should all have a baby or two before we try and get a degree. I won’t spend too long on the truth or otherwise of the argument, because I’m sure you know that while many people are fighting to emphasise that you don’t have to choose to procreate, there’s still an assumption that you will. There’s definitely not, as Charlotte seems to be arguing, a dominant feminist view that parenthood is a Bad Choice for everyone.
If I could wave a magic wand that changed our narrative around children, I wouldn’t be arguing that fewer women should choose to have them, or that we should all have them at certain times or what have you, I’d change it to this:
- Having kids is one of many options when it comes to making life choices.
- It shouldn’t be assumed that anyone either will or won’t have kids: no matter what their gender, relationship status, etc.
In short, having kids is a bit like training for a marathon – it can be incredibly rewarding, it’s definitely admirable, but it’s also a lot of effort so not everyone wants to do it. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about kids – have ’em, don’t have ’em, whatever makes you happy. Here I want to talk about silence…
Bondage kits, anticipation, and a sexy story…
One of the things I love about buying things online is the anticipation between ordering and receiving. While a new pair of black ankle boots provides me with a thrilling tingle, when it comes to sex toys the build-up is even greater. Particularly if it’s something that could be used in more than one way, and you get to plan all the different ways you’ll use it.
The next installment of the Sex Fairies project (in which SexToys.co.uk gives people free toys and then they write hot things about them), the brilliant @waitingirl13 has a sexy story for you. It’s the first of a 2-part erotic story inspired by the Sportsheets Bondage Fantasy Kit, which you can buy from Sex Toys for less than £20. Use the code GOTN10 to get 10% off anything on their site.
I’m delighted to be able to host it here because not only does it capture that delicious build-up of anticipation, it also neatly demonstrates that if you want to join in with Sex Fairies you don’t have to just write a review. You can put pen to paper and write what makes you hot…
I need to be flogged more often
Do you remember the kids’ fable of Brer Rabbit and the briar patch?
I’ll refresh your memory: Brer Rabbit was a bit of a dick, and Brer Fox decided he didn’t like him much. He made a trap in which to catch Brer Rabbit, and Brer Rabbit walked straight into the trap. On catching him, Brer Fox (who thought he was cunning) wondered aloud what he should do with the rabbit now he’d caught him. Brer Rabbit shouted:
“I don’t care what you do, as long as you don’t throw me in the briar patch!”
“Anything?” said the fox, and at this point I think he could have benefited from a few lessons in critical analysis and not trusting sources with a huge vested interest. “You’d really want me to do anything rather than throw you into the briar patch?”
“Yes,” said Brer Rabbit. “Hang me, shoot me, eat me, just don’t throw me into the briar patch!”
So our hapless fox, who I remember feeling intensely irritated by as a small child, did the opposite of what the rabbit had requested, and he hurled Brer Rabbit into the briar patch. Brer Rabbit, who was also a bellend, danced for joy. Burning all of the bridges marked ‘potential future escape scenario’, he crowed that the briar patch was actually his favourite place to be.
“I was born and bred in the briar patch! Hahaha!”
What the fuck has this story got to do with flogging? I’ll tell you.
I rarely play the ‘briar patch’ game. Leather belts, canes, anything whippy with a biting sting is not to be trifled with. I’ll be up-front about my limits, and clear as day when I give feedback. If I’m being bratty and getting playfully punished, a thin cane gives a genuine reprimand. I’ll grit my teeth, bare my arse, and bite back yelps with each stroke.
The flogger, though? It’s my briar patch: I wasn’t born and bred with it, but ever since I started loving BDSM, it’s always been my happy place. My favourite flogger is heavy and thick – purple suede (obviously), with enough fronds that it falls like a thud. There’s a sting if you place it in certain ways – with the tails whipping round to catch me on the hip rather than the bottom. But if you can place it perfectly, right in the middle of one of the cheeks, I will moan and squirm like you’ve just kissed my clit.