All Posts – Page 281
Sex and death: A hot story I wrote for Eroticon
This post wraps some of my darker fantasies (about predatory fucking, sex and death, as well as other odd things that come into my head) with warmer things. Please take that as a content note, and don’t read on if that kind of stuff disturbs you.
And you know how jokes work waaaay better if you explain them in detail? Yeah? If you don’t want the explanation just skip to the hot sex story below.
If you want the explanation then here it is: I wanted to write something specifically for Eroticon, because I couldn’t decide which of my blog posts (or extracts from my book </plug>) to read in the session on the final day. So I wrote this, and it’s a bit more personal than a normal post because I wasn’t intending to put it online. Then some people told me to, so here it is. It’s a darker interpretation of the ‘questions I have asked my boyfriend‘ post from ages ago, and I wanted to try and get across the feeling of being so utterly comfortable and safe that you can embrace your darker and more terrifying thoughts without fear or shame or… well.
Eroticon 2015: rambling highlights from the sex writers’ conference
Edited to add: the next Eroticon is in March 2017. If you’re thinking of coming, subscribe to the newsletter so you’ll be alerted when tickets are available.
I never go to events. I am shy, which is a euphemism for ‘I shit myself about anonymity, get so anxious that I have to drink to calm down, and end up making some kind of fuck-up that’ll lead to a post-event meltdown two days later.’ So: I never go to events.
Except this one.
Last year, the awesome Ruby Kiddell, who runs Eroticon, told me to come along as a test. “If you’re not comfortable with it, that’s cool. But if you are then you have to speak at it next year. Deal?” And last year it was so amazing that I couldn’t possibly not go this year.
I’m going to do a run-down below, and a much fuller write-up in next month’s ETO magazine, but first here’s a thing: if you’re a sex writer, blogger, or in any way involved in sex writing, start saving now for next year’s. Honestly, truly, madly, deeply, etc. I met so many amazing people last year and this year, and I would love to meet more amazing people in 2016. What’s more, if you want to write for money, your first offers of work will most likely begin over coffee at Eroticon. Need more reasons? Click the relevant section below.
If you’re a company (sex toys, erotic publishers, literally any company who could benefit from working with sex writers) then put Eroticon sponsorship in your 2016 budget. Now. Put it in. Go on – I’ll wait here until you’ve done it. Why? Because there are people at Eroticon who you won’t meet anywhere else. And there are ideas being kicked around that other companies will pick up if you aren’t around to grab them. And because this year the boss of Doxy was greeted in the pub as if he were a cross between a celebrity and a national hero, and that’s the kind of relationship that you can’t buy with a banner ad. Need more reasons? Click the relevant section below.
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An ode to OTK spankings
People who aren’t into spanking could be forgiven for thinking that the whole thing looks a tad painful. Harsh smacks on the bare bottom. Occasional whimpers punctuating the sighs. The sound of stinging whacks on flesh.
Guest blog: does sex make music sound better?
As I discovered when writing the intro to this blog, quite a few people google the question ‘does music make sex better?’ I quite like the idea that there are one or two particularly excellent songs which, when played during a hot shag, will instantly make the guy I’m with jizz gold coins or fireworks or something. But what about the other way round?
This week’s guest blogger is Joel, who runs a music blog over at The Album Wall. He wants to flip that question: is any given piece of music guaranteed to sound better if you’ve fucked to it?
Is it wrong for a dad to want to pass on his surname?
A man is sad because he wants his children to have his surname. He wants it so much that he wrote an article in the Telegraph about it. I’m not sure this is the traditional way to solve an argument with a loved one, but if that’s what we’re doing now then I’d love a column in which I can explain to my Mum why she’s wrong about which way the knives go up in the dishwasher.
Anyway. He is sad because traditionally kids take the name of the guy in a relationship (and because traditionally of course relationships consist of one man, one woman, some kids and a dog called ‘Bunty’), yet because of the rapid erosion of patriarchy, and the towering inferno of feminist rage that is currently decimating our society, he has NOTHING LEFT TO CALL HIS OWN NOW. All he’s asking is to give his kids his surname. Please will we just let him have this one little thing that’s really important? Is it too much to ask? IS IT?
Let’s explore.