Although I had a bash at some historical fantasy writing last week, one of the things there’s a real dearth of on my blog is traditional erotic fiction. There’s a reason for this, and that’s that I lack imagination. As a general rule, if it hasn’t happened in my bedroom, or appeared to me in a flash of arousal while I’m masturbating, it probably doesn’t occur to me. My fantasy characters are one-dimensional. They lack names, backstory, even faces. Beyond the vague reasons for them getting down to a hard fuck, they may as well be emotionless robots. Not very romantic, I know. So when Al sent through this guest blog, I thought it’d be an excellent opportunity to redress the balance. Something entirely fictional, and story-based. Something with a beginning, a middle, and an end that comes from a more interesting place than my furtive wank-induced fever dreams. In short: an actual erotic story. Enjoy.

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I have a list of all the people I’ve fucked. I know, that sounds intensely weird, and also a little bit creepy. I compiled it many years ago after a long, hazy night in a bar in Amsterdam, during which a good friend and I tried to work out what our ‘magic numbers’ were. I wasn’t particularly bothered about the total, but the exercise gave me pause for thought, and subsequent enraged weeping, when I realised that I couldn’t remember everyone’s name.

I thought I’d got it right at first. I counted people off on my fingers, smiling with glee when I got to a particularly good one, hissing when I reached the name of a person who’d fucked me over, and reminiscing over some of the filthier moments of my life. He did the same, regaling me with some sexy anecdotes as we sipped pints and hoped no one would notice that we were flagrantly ignoring the weird ‘you can smoke weed but not cigarettes’ rule that had just come into force.

Eventually, we both settled on our final numbers, and we clinked glasses – delighted at our powers of recollection.

An hour or so later, a cold dread crept over me: I’d missed one out. Not just any one either – a pretty significant guy, with whom I’d had some fairly intense experiences. Back to the mental drawing board, and the back of a napkin to make notes. And eventually the final list which, while possibly a bit strange, was a godsend when it came to writing my book: it meant I got the chapters in the right order and didn’t have to go back to cram in a quick fuck that I’d somehow forgotten.

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