It’s always exciting to introduce a brand new guest blogger, and today’s even more thrilling for me because this guest has recently launched a blog of her own! Say hi to @goddessdeeva, who runs the INGENIOUSLY titled Duct Tape and Daddy Issues, which you should check out if your appetite is whetted by this fabulously fuck-hungry and politically powerful guest piece – about attitudes to sex and why it’s important to question the dodgy messages we’re given about it.

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There’s plenty of erotica that doesn’t require special effort to write consent: the story and the way you tell it is enough. If I write a piece about how much I love sucking a particular guy’s dick, I’m not especially concerned with whether the audience will be thinking ‘but wait! Is the man whose dick you’re sucking consenting to that?!’ Firstly because people tend to assume consent when the genders are this way round (which they absolutely shouldn’t, but that’s a different blog post), secondly because one of the key things I love about it – and therefore one of the key threads of the story – is the reaction of the person receiving. I’ll write their ‘mmm yeahs’ and ‘oh fuck please don’t stops’ into the text, because that’s part and parcel of the hotness. The same cannot be said of certain kink-focused stories, especially when that kink is consensual non-consent.

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I missed the Kink of the Week deadline for this, but the topic – inspection – reminded me of a story I don’t think I’ve ever told you. It didn’t have an obviously fucky ending, so it never feel like a good fit, but this is one of the hottest things a man has ever done to me.

I met him in the summer. A mutual friend was hosting a barbecue, and everyone was milling around on the patio at the back of the house, sipping drinks and swapping stories in the sunshine. You could be forgiven for thinking it was a standard suburban get-together… if people hadn’t also been occasionally smacking each other’s arses or revealing the odd flash of tit.

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Note: this piece tackles some stuff about femininity, womanhood, and ‘worth’. I do not believe that any of the things I say about ‘good girl points’ are true and I don’t encourage you to believe or internalise them. But as with all weird notions, sometimes you have to state it to slate it, so I’m allowing myself to be a bit more open about the dark beliefs that power a lot of my decisions, especially in light of some Twitter discussion I’ve seen about why you shouldn’t just keep trying to be ‘good’ and ‘liked’ all the time. Rest assured I’m working on these things.

The other day, at about 11pm, a guy offered to walk me to the train station. We’d been having a lovely evening together – eating dinner that he’d cooked for me because he knows it’s one of my favourites, watching a weird film that we’d chosen together because he cares about my opinion, then enjoying a teasing blow job because when we started getting horny I specifically requested that he let me be ‘playful’ for a bit. It was fabulous. I felt very content. Very… what’s the word? Very heard. Valued. Appreciated. But when it came time for me to head home, he offered to walk me to the station, and this objectively kind gesture made me deeply uncomfortable.

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You’ve got a fabulous dick, sweetheart. And I really do love taking it into my mouth and trying my best to get you to come down the back of my throat. But today I have a different request. It’s something I’ve been fixating on when I touch myself and think about you. And on the surface it won’t seem horny, but I promise you it really really is, just hear me out as I ask you… please may I not suck your cock?

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