The first time I make you come is just for me. I’m not even going to bother taking off all my clothes. I’ll just yank my knickers to one side, hop on your erection the second it’s hard enough, and ride your dick till you fill me up with spunk.

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I have a bee in my bonnet about the frequency with which sex educators used to tell us ‘condoms fit everyone!’ when we were younger. Technically yes, they are extremely stretchy. But in practice I’ve had many shags which could have been more fun for all involved if we’d had a range of condom sizes to hand – both larger and smaller than standard ones. Every dick is different, and condoms aren’t meant to be something you struggle through in order to get sex, they’re something that should (ideally) fit well enough to be safe and comfortable. This week’s guest blogger – Spit – is here to share his story, and hopefully encourage those of you with dicks to have a play and find a condom that fits you well.

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For reasons that I will explain in a later blog post or (more likely) never explain at all, these days when men come to visit overnight I ask them to sleep in the spare room. It’s nothing personal. No man is allowed to share my bed. The up side of this is that I get a decent night’s sleep which means I am capable of having fun the next day. The down side is that sometimes I find myself lying awake and horny at 5 in the morning, fantasising about the tempting cock attached to the guy in the bedroom next door, lamenting the fact that I have no one to rub my bum against till they get hard and wake up to shag me. Usually I’m an advocate of the motto ‘it can’t hurt to ask!’ but I’m working on the assumption that 5am is a hard limit for almost everyone, so I do not venture to the spare room on a dick hunt. I just pop on a blindfold to shield my eyes from the dawn and debate whether it’s too early in the day to have a wank.

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Back in August last year, I wrote a post called ‘love is an addiction’. In that blog, which I typed up as a distraction to help me hold off the urgent, all-encompassing desire to text my ex-boyfriend, I said this…

“It feels like trying to quit smoking – an exercise as vital as it is futile, at which I have failed every single time I’ve tried. But I still haven’t sent that text so now I wonder if the wasted, flabby muscle that might once have been my willpower is growing with each passing day. Perhaps every text I compose and do not send builds that muscle up – flexes it, makes it stronger. Maybe if I can make it through the next six months, I can make that muscle strong enough that it’ll haul me through to the end of my smoking addiction. Wouldn’t that be a thing?”

Well, here’s a thing: I quit smoking.

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Regular readers might remember a post I wrote a while ago called ‘why you should let me borrow your boyfriend.’ It was tongue-in-cheek but so far has yielded some pretty spectacular results. Not only some awesome hot fun for me, but also some fruitful (i.e. ‘horny’) discussion with others that eventually led to this guest blog. Please welcome today’s guest blogger, Max, who is here to tell you about how his wife lent him to her best friend to fulfil her sexual needs…

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