When I was about nineteen years old, a boy I was madly in love with grabbed me by the wrist to flip me over in bed. I still think about that moment. It was swift and confident and perfect. Crushed up facing each other on my single student bed, we were breathing so close to each other’s mouths, with such burning lust, that we could easily have just passed pure carbon dioxide back and forth until both of us passed out. Maybe that’s why we were so high on the horn of it. At some point before I fully fainted with desire, he took action. And the way in which he acted was so fucking hot it made my cunt swell with a tortured throb. He reached down between us to where my arms were held across my chest, grabbed the wrist of the arm I was lying on, encircling it firmly in his grip, and pulled it down my body and over my waist. Using it to flip me over so that now – instead of us facing each other and there being a cold gap between us at crotch height – I was facing away, my arse pressed up tight against his aching, diamond-hard cock.

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I’ve had these adorable Hot Octopuss nipple pegs sitting in my slut kit for months. When they launched their range of BDSM toys, HO (who sponsor my site, so if you buy from them you’re supporting my work etc etc) kindly emailed me to see if there was anything I’d like to try out, and obviously I leapt on the opportunity to use my job perks to chat up a hot boy. I sent the link on to Bracelet Game and asked him to pick something fun. ‘Check out these kinky objects – with what do you fancy ruining me?’ A week or so later these lovely silver nipple pegs appeared in the post.

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One of my early boyfriends used to make my cunt gush using only five words. Whispered into my ear over drinks with friends, mouthed at me across a crowded room, I think even sometimes pinged into my Nokia phone with a knicker-moistening chime, one of the horniest things to hear from someone you fancy: “you’re SO gonna get it.”

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It’s pitch black in my bedroom. Weirdly, so much darker than it usually is. Perhaps a streetlight is out, or maybe I’ve finally managed the perfect seal on my blackout curtains, so not a sliver of London night sneaks through. Either way, it’s dark. He’s lying naked next to me, big hands sliding smoothly down my body, soft lips on mine, cock growing hard in my hand. And although I’m going to try and tell you parts of this story in the sexy/atmospheric way in which I’ve begun this post, you’ll have to excuse me if the odd burst of glee breaks through, because on this special night I managed something truly remarkable for me: I gave a guy a hand job to orgasm!

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Second only to blow jobs, I think the most-covered topic on this blog is the joy of watching men wank. I am a masturbation voyeur: there are few things that make me hornier than seeing someone I fancy rubbing vigorously away at their junk, with a precision born of years of practice coupled with an urgent need to come. Recently, I got to watch an extremely hot guy do this and just after he’d come I tried to explain to him – with breathless and grateful awe – the exact moment when the wank he’d shown me turned from ‘hot’ to ‘transcendent.’

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