Apropos of absolutely nothing, I’m going to tell you a story about this one time (ages ago) when I fucked the furniture. Specifically a bed. And technically, properly, I guess if you want to get right down to the nitty-gritty detail of the thing, it wasn’t just ‘me fucking a bed’, it was ‘us’. Because while I shagged the bed with my excellent and adventurous vagina, the man I loved was having a valiant go at simultaneously fucking me up the arse. Let’s do this.

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I saw something the other day that really tickled me: a screenshot of a message from a guy on an app which promised to make a woman come ‘harder than she ever had before.’ That’s quite the promise, especially from a complete stranger. On every level it’s a silly thing to say to someone who you haven’t even met in the flesh: what if you don’t have compatible chemistry when you actually meet up? What if she struggles with anorgasmia? What if she’s never had an orgasm at all? You’re making so many assumptions, not to mention writing a sex cheque so large that you just don’t stand a hope in hell of cashing it, thus guaranteeing yourself the most awkward morning after of your entire life. The guy sending her a message has to believe not only that he’s better than any other lover she might have had (including those with whom she’d had loads of sex, and therefore loads of practice learning each other’s bodies), but also that he’s better than every single wank she’s had as well. As I say, it tickled me. But rather than write a long post about the follies of being One Of These Guys, I thought I’d have a go at illustrating by example why this is such a silly claim, because last night I had an incredibly powerful orgasm myself, and while lying in the afterglow of that formidable release it occurred to me just how many things had to align in order for such a fiercely brilliant climax to occur. Here’s how to make me come harder than I ever have before.

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One of the things I like to do of an evening is stick on a horny album and daydream for a while about my next set-piece fuck. By ‘set-piece’ fuck I mean something a little bit extra, not the standard ‘make out and bang’ that I’ll leap into on impulse. These might feature a new act I’ve not yet tried with this person (or at all), or something like special equipment, clothes or preparation. Sometimes it’s just a specific tone I want to play with: brattiness; begging; anticipation… you get the idea. I sit on the sofa getting high and listening to sexy music, daydreaming about a few recent hits from the bedroom, or mull over breadcrumbs that my partner might have casually dropped into conversation when hinting at what they might like, then see if I can come up with something that presses buttons for both of us. Now feels as good a time as any to talk about set-piece fucks, because I recently became single so I won’t be able to do them again for a really long time. Talking about the pleasure I get from doing this sort of thing gives me the chance to shoehorn in a topic I’ve wanted to discuss for a while: what monogamy means to me.

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One of my favourite kinds of guest blog is when somebody drops by to educate me about a type of sex that I know almost nothing about. So today’s gorgeous intro to ecosexuality, by Aaron El Sabrout (@toreachpoise on Insta and @sayyid_qishta on Mastodon), is exactly my cup of dandelion tea. Aaron is a writer, illustrator and ecosexual who is here to talk about being into fucking plants. Huge thanks to him for this beautiful overview of what ecosexuality is, the appeal of getting sexual with nature, and his thoughts on consent when it comes to plant-fucking.

Note that this piece contains depictions of literal plant-fucking, and I am not an expert in what is safe here. This is Aaron’s story, it is not advice and shouldn’t be treated as such. Plus, note that Aaron is a trans guy who is pretty comfortable with his genitals and will be using the terminology he normally uses to refer to his parts. You should not assume that all people with similar parts use the same terminology for them!

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