All Posts – Page 357
On number 2
Update 2024: there are some problematic concepts in here, such as the idea of virginity, but fuck it I wrote it when I was over a decade younger and more ignorant than I am now. Adding this note when I add the audio – here’s more about the concept of virginity. Otherwise just enjoy this as porn.
God I loved number 2. Brash, funny, intelligent, and – to my unfading delight – a virgin.
We were frustrated friends. I had a boyfriend, and he’d never had anyone. We’d joke, and play, write filthy notes during English lessons, and brush up against each other on the bus. When we hugged I quivered at the feeling of his thick, satisfying erection pushing against my hips.
I wanted him so badly I utterly ached. We’d sleep at friends’ houses at parties, me lying next to him panting with longing, while he slowly ran his fingers over my nipples. He never tired of the feel of them – the miracle of keeping me on a knife-edge of desire for so long. By the early hours when we finally managed to sleep, my nipples would be red-raw and throbbing with pain.
One night, in bed with a few others asleep beside us, he got brave enough to inch his hand lower. Tentatively, he slipped it down into my knickers. I was slick with frustrated desire – wet as only an 18 year old girl can get. He was trembling with lust, and fear, and guilt. He was so hard I worried I’d hurt him if I squeezed his dick with any kind of vigour.
When his hand reached my cunt and he realised how wet I was he couldn’t keep silent – he moaned.
Just remembering number 2’s surprised, lustful moan is one of my hottest memories.
Taking his virginity
After hearing his stifled cry, I couldn’t leave without doing something. At that point I’d have traded my money, my youth, even my as-yet-unfinished A-levels just to have him in me.
I whispered to him, grabbed his hand. We left our friends sleeping and scurried into an empty bedroom.
We fell onto the bed – me in a panting, aching heap and he in a trembling, terrified one. I kissed him, I told him I wanted him. I fluttered my eyelashes and begged him to fuck me.
He couldn’t fuck me.
He was so scared that he couldn’t get hard. I sucked him gently, I told him he was hot, I told him I was desperate for it, and eventually I got him just hard enough to roll on a condom and try. I climbed on top of him, slipped him into me, and sat down slowly on his semi-hard cock. But it was clear that it just wasn’t happening.
He’d lost his virginity – just. But he’d mislaid a fair portion of his dignity, too, and it broke my heart to think that instead of remembering me with a gleeful nostalgia, he’d look back on the whole thing with shame.
Taking his virginity far more successfully
A couple of weeks later, at his house, he was relaxed. Not calm, as such – his cock was straining at the fabric of his jeans – but he was much readier to fuck.
“What do I do?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Can I do this?”
“Yes. Please.”
“What if I’m crap?”
“You’re not.”
He rubbed himself frantically against me, touching wherever he thought he was allowed. I pulled up my top, unhooked my bra, guided him. I wanted to show him he wasn’t just allowed – he was needed – I needed him to touch me, to fuck me. I needed him inside me, to quell the aching hurt in my cunt. He didn’t need to make me come, he just needed to be in me, to give me some release.
He panted, and moaned, and struggled to take off his jeans – his hands shook with lust and he moaned with frustration. I helped him get them off, wrapped my legs around him, and held myself up – nice and wide and easy so he could slide himself in.
With his hands each side of my head he pushed his cock into me – deep and rock hard. Hard like I longed for. Hard enough that I felt it stretch me out, open me up – scratch the itch that he’d created during those long nights of furtively stroking my nipples. The itch he’d created with that anguished desperate moan.
As he fucked me he looked surprised, confused and delighted. I was relieved to be rid of the throbbing, aching need to fuck. I grinned, forced myself up – thrust angrily against him so he could feel every movement. As he sped up he let out a strangled cry – “Oh” – so I squeezed him with my cunt and my thighs as I felt him come hard inside me.
It was possibly the best five seconds of my entire fucking life.
On dating safety
What do you mean you want to fuck someone you’ve only just met? What on earth would your mother say? Well, whether our mothers like it or not, sometimes we want to fuck strangers. And sometimes those strangers are people we’ve met on the internet who could turn out to be anyone – from secret millionaires to serial killers.
In my experience, people you meet on internet dates are far more likely to just be normal people with whom you have little in common, and who you’re reasonably unlikely to fuck. But if you do want to fuck them, here’s my magic list of rules for staying as safe as possible.
Note: as safe as possible, not 100% safe. There is no way that I know of to absolutely guarantee your personal safety, but then such is true of many of life’s funnest activities. Also, this is written as if it’s a girl-meets-boy thing, but I reckon you should use these rules no matter who you are or who you’re banging.
Meeting
Now, everyone knows that you should meet in public, right? OK. So that’s an easy one – pick a pub, or a coffee-shop, or a well-lit community centre, and arrange to meet at a time when people will be around.
So – central London Wetherspoons at 7 pm? Great.
Outside a small cafe in an area of town so heartbleedingly cool that it’s often empty? Not so great.
Fun GOTN dating fact: About a year ago, after a bit of chat with a fun-sounding guy on OKCupid, I asked him to meet me for a drink. His response was that it might be a bit more sexy if we meet somewhere secluded. In the dark. He suggested a particular spot in Hyde Park, at 8pm in midwinter.
I did not meet this man.
Telling people about yourself
The first date is great for getting to know someone, right? Well, yes – you need to find out about them and you need to tell them about yourself. But I’d strongly urge a teeny bit of caution. You might be proud of your job, but do they really need to know exactly where you work?
You might hang out in a particularly cool bar quite frequently, but would you like a rejected date rocking up there and haranguing you because you never called after the first shag? No.
Fun GOTN dating fact: I once went on a nice first date with a seemingly lovely guy. For reasons I won’t go into, I refused a second date.
He subsequently sent me five emails in quick succession, of increasing levels of nastiness. My particular favourite was one addressed to ‘you fucking bitch’ that thoughtfully reminded me that he knew where I worked.
Inviting someone back to yours
Dangerous – bear in mind that just as you wouldn’t post your address on the internet, neither should you really invite internet strangers to your house unless you know them well.
I have invited a couple of strange guys back to my place, and both of these times I have had stomach butterfies when it turned out they were more keen on me than I was on them. After you’ve let them down gently, it still takes a couple of weeks to get over the worry that they might turn up at your door bearing roses and erotica and asking for a second go.
However, if you want to take someone back to yours, but are worried that they might either:
a) do something you haven’t consented to or
b) nick your fucking telly
then it’s worth having backup.
There’s no ideal way of doing this, to be honest – anything you do will need to be pretty extreme, thus implying that you think they’re untrustworthy. And if you think they’re that untrustworthy then it’s best not to invite them back.
But I’ve done it a couple of times, and the only solution I could think of was to take something that they value and hide it somewhere in my flat. Obviously you have to ask them for it (ideally in a joking, coquettish way) and they have to know you’ve taken it, so they know you need to be on good terms with them to give it back afterwards. Watches, keys, wallets – anything that they wouldn’t fuck off without.
It is crucial that you remember to give it back – you don’t want to get stuck in a second-date situation just because you’ve still got their Tesco clubcard.
Fun GOTN dating fact: I once rescued a drunk guy whose friends had abandoned him outside a strip club I was in. I took him home and put him up for the night, but insisted first on getting his driver’s license. He was so aroused by my aura of cheeky dominance that he proceeded to lunge adorably at me before passing out face-down on the floor.
Going home with someone
He might not have brought his serial killer axe with him, but he could just have left it in the cupboard under the stairs, ready for when he’s lured you back to his house. So vigilance here is especially important. Here’s the drill:
- Text a friend with his address straight away, let him know that you’re doing this.
- Send your friend a link to his dating profile, his real name, and a picture of him if possible.
- Ask your friend to call you in a few hours. Give them a set time, and make sure your date knows you’ll be expecting a phone call.
Now here’s the key part, so listen very closely: you should not at any point believe that any of this stuff is excessive or overly paranoid. It is not – this is completely normal, sensible, and wise. Recommend to your date that they do the same thing.
These precautions are as necessary as using a condom for the first fuck. As important as wearing a fucking seatbelt or looking both ways when you cross the road.
If at any point your date makes you feel bad or odd about being careful, hop on the first bus to fuckoffsville and don’t ever see them again.
Fun GOTN fact: None of the guys I have ever been on dates with have questioned any of this.
On getting what you want
What’s the best way to get what you want? Anybody?
Well, there are tips and strategies to persuade and entice someone into doing something hot, but I’m surprised at how many people miss the crucial first stage in the process – asking for it.
I love a guy who takes control, but so many of the guys I’ve met are reluctant to take control verbally. They prefer hinting, or gentle persuasion, or gradual escalation from a gentle slap on the arse to a full-blown, knickers down, bent over the knee beating.
So tonight I want to persuade you to ditch the shyness, scrap the uncertainty, open your mouth and tell me exactly what you’d like.
Giving instructions is desperately sexy
Oh God please tell me what to do. When you’re horny and hopeful and desperate for something specific. Tell me what to do.
Kneel down.
Suck it.
Touch me here.
Hold this.
Sit on me, pull your shirt up, look at me, swallow it, roll over and pull down your fucking knickers.
What’s hot isn’t just what we’re doing – it’s that you so dearly want to do it. And what’s even hotter is that you like it – it makes you make little moaning noises and suck your breath in through your teeth and grip the bed and tense up and push your cock out further so I can keep doing what I’m doing.
So don’t just tell me what, tell me how. You want me to suck your cock? How? Do you want me to take the full length to the back of my throat until I make strangled choking sounds? Do you want me to suck gently on the tip until your head’s swimming and you can’t wait to force it more roughly inside me? Do you want long, slow strokes with my hand while I tongue the head, hoping for a gushing release that sprays into my semi-parted mouth?
Tell me.
There’s something stunningly good about someone who tells you to do things.
Help me help you
It doesn’t even have to be dominant – you can say ‘please’, and you can do it even if your partner has no submissive tendencies – the point is that I want to know that what I’m doing is getting you off. I can give you a semi-decent handjob that’ll give you a pretty buzz, but if you tell me what you like I can bring you off almost as well as you can do yourself.
A guy recently asked my advice in how he should tell his girlfriend she gave shit head. “Should I just be rude and come out with it?”
No – Christ no – don’t tell her what she’s doing wrong – tell her how to do it right. With words, with noises. Say “Oh fuck that’s amazing” if she does something good – nudge her towards the decent bits and away from the bad. Tell her you want a sloppy one, a hard one, a nice long slow one. Tell her.
Because the alternative is to have a partner who is constantly guessing, constantly unsure, constantly giving you the moves that her ex used to like in the hope that you have the same tastes.
And putting your pleasure to one side for a moment, if you don’t pipe up and fucking say this stuff, you’re also depriving your partner of the absolute, unending, shivering joy that comes from doing something she knows you’ll like.
“How about you sit in the bath and let me soap you all over?”
“Please will you hit me with this belt while I bury my face in your cunt?”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, just please God let me fuck you.”
You see? Getting one’s own way can be as easy as opening your mouth.
Now pull down my knickers and fuck me like I’ve been bad. Please.
On why you should give me the pill
When I was 14 I tried to go on the pill. I wanted it not because I was having sex, but because I was going on an activity holiday and had heard it could stop your periods. The doctor man didn’t cough up: fair enough. That beautiful green prescription slip failed to materialise.
Someone else’s story: gay teenagers
I’ve removed this post at the request of the author, as he became nervous about being identified.
Was awesome while it lasted. You can still see other guest contributions, though.