In the moment I broke up with my ex – the moment itself, when I said the words, “I can’t do this any more, I’m so sorry” or whatever it was – I knew that at least one of my friends agreed it was the right decision. She’d sent me an email, the week before, which started with the sentence “I didn’t think you were ready to hear this last year, but now I feel like it’s time…” It was one of the best emails I have ever received. It was kind, caring and helpful. It did not trash my ex or instruct me to break up with him, it just reminded me of the conversations I’d had with her over the last few years, and what those conversations amounted to from her perspective. She held up a mirror to the picture I’d been painting in a way that made me see the image as clearly as she did. To this day, I am grateful to her for sending that email. Without it, my life would look very different today.

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I really like this man. I am weirdly obsessed with this man. We just kind of… pulse with the same rhythm?

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I’m a big fan of meta sex advice: the tips that don’t tell you exactly what to do in bed, but instead guide you on how to better communicate with your partner. Recently one of my favourite sex writers, Joan Price, gave a perfect example of this kind of meta sex advice, and it just so happened to dovetail into a story I couldn’t work out how to frame from my own life, so it felt like a great opportunity to remind you all to follow her and read her amazing work.

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There are so many incredible things I could highlight about this week’s guest blog. It’s got some stunningly achey descriptions of kissing, and kissing is very much my jam at the moment. Some truly exquisite descriptions of fingering too, which I don’t think gets nearly enough attention in erotica (my own included). And I’d be silly if I didn’t mention – for search as well as for fans of the act itself – that this is a deliciously explicit fisting story, detailed and real and beautiful. But for me the best thing about this week’s erotic fiction is the intimacy of it. From the first time the characters lock eyes to the very final gasp of the story, they’re locked together in a deeply intimate fuck. I love it. Please welcome today’s anonymous guest blogger…

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My bedsheets smell like last night’s fucking. Well, fucking which lasted the whole of yesterday if I’m honest. Then once again this morning at roughly 5 am. We barebacked: my favourite kind of fuck. Rock-solid, exquisitely-shaped, diamond-hard cock sliding inside me, bare. Leaking precum. I could feel every single atom of his dick against every ridge of the inside of my aching cunt. His flesh meeting mine, stretching me out. Sensing, as he slid into my body, just how desperately and urgently wet I was. We bareback fucked to a soundtrack of tunes that he selected and I utterly loved while I clung to that man like my life depended on it and begged him to never stop doing what he was doing. He looked into my eyes and whispered: “you’re fucking incredible” and kissed me with a kind of gentle awe. This is a real thing which happened to me yesterday. This man fucked me like he meant it. And oh God, put me out of my misery now please: if this man turns out not to mean it, I will shatter.

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