Welcome, take a seat. You’ll find a heartfelt apology letter inside an envelope just beneath it. This is the first in what will likely be a series of ‘GOTN uses sex toys in ways they were not technically designed for, because she does not have a boyfriend.’ Today I’m gonna be taking two Godemiche grind rings – genuinely fascinating and (as far as I know) unique sex toys, and attempting to grind out an orgasm while using them in a way that I don’t think was intended, but which I enjoyed nonetheless. Let’s go.

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I start this fucking weird day (a day which I hope will contain at least some weird fucking) with two cups of coffee. And then a third, to be on the safe side. But you can’t get high on coffee… at least I can’t. I’m meeting this guy at eleven am, and we’re going to fuck in his hotel. At eleven. In the morning. I am stone cold fucking sober, and sober sex is a pretty new kink.

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Have you ever tried to describe what your orgasms feel like? Back in the ancient days of this blog, I ran a competition to solicit descriptions of orgasms, and it was fascinating and joyful to see how people described each one. This week’s guest blogger is describing a type of orgasm I can’t ever experience, and so inevitably I was thirsty for detail and absolutely delighted when his post hit my inbox. Please welcome today’s fabulous guest, who’s here to tell you what a prostate orgasm feels like…

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At some point, I will get back on The Apps. I know I have to. There are geographically convenient men in London just waiting to get shagged, and the only thing standing between them, me and a powerful ten-condom fuck is the fact that I can’t be arsed to take new dating site pictures. Oh! And the fact that my diary is looking pretty full until Christmas. Also that every time I consider meeting a new person I immediately run through all the possible ways it could be terrible/boring/frightening/disappointing until the whole thing starts to feel like admin. Oh God, what if the thing that’s standing in the way of this fun is… me? No, it can’t be that. That would mean it’s my fault. Instead, let’s pretend it’s because none of the dating sites are good enough, and the men I might meet on them are all wrong in interesting and hilarious ways. Join me in completely ignoring the impact my emotional baggage has on my life choices, as I present a few dating site reviews based purely on my prejudices about their brand.

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He puts my hand up against his crotch, tells me ‘press here – not too hard’ and twitches his pelvic floor. His muscles flutter at my fingertips and in the palm of my hand, his dick jumps. Throbs. I press my hand tightly against him and stare. Openly. Impolitely. Greedily. I look down his body, see my own hand cupping his cock, and feel the pulsing throb as he works those muscles.

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