A while ago when I was struggling for blog ideas, Betty Butch suggested a round-up of the hottest posts I’ve ever written. I love this suggestion, not just because it allows me to openly engage in the kind of shameless self-promotion I’d usually have to shoehorn in subtly, but also because ‘hottest posts’ is such a subjective measure that it gives me the chance to pick from a few different types.

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I wrote this last week when I was excited to go to a festival, pondering whether this might be the first time I ever got laid at one. I always have this romantic fantasy of finding a festival boyfriend – someone who I can snog while the bands are on, who then disappears into the night, not seen again until (perhaps) next year. But then every time I go to a festival with the aim of getting laid, I fail. But failure here is sweet and this is why. 

He catches your eye in the beer tent, your festival boyfriend. Gives you a smile and a nod. Mouths ‘cool shirt’ and lifts his plastic pint in a casual salute. You smile back, flushing hot with nervous energy, and wonder if you should go over and say hello. But you’re struggling to catch the attention of the stoner who’s working the bar, and you’ve got to get back to your friends. Besides, by the time you turn round, full hands sticky with cider, he’s gone. Your festival boyfriend has disappeared into the crowd.

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I’m a big fan of penetrative sex: it’s not the only way to fuck, but it is my favourite. I understand that some people don’t want their partner to ejaculate too quickly during penetration – they want their ‘turn’ to come before any jizzing occurs. The notion of the ‘two-pump chump‘, while shamey and horrible-sounding, does nevertheless express something that’s important for some people, and I don’t want to imply that their desires here are invalid. Nor do I want to invalidate your desires if you find yourself coming really quickly during sex and desperately wishing you could last a little longer. If you’re shagging me, though? Please don’t ever worry about ‘premature ejaculation’ on my account. Two pumps is fine. Even just one, to be honest. One of the hottest things you can ever do is spunk uncontrollably into my cunt.

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I ask: “please will you hurt me?” and he stares down into my face. In contrast to my own childish eagerness, I always find this particular guy disarmingly grown-up. When I ask him to hurt me he replies, simply: “How?”. It’s not confusion, it’s a flex. He knows there are many ways to hurt me, and this feels like a way to neatly work in consent – giving me the task of articulating my desires aloud. In the moment I can’t work out how – my mind is just a blur of want. For him specifically. His strong arms, powerful muscles. The dominant way he carries himself. Combined, these attributes give a tall woman like me that precious, rare feeling of being outgunned. So I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind: “Just… fight me for it.”

Note: this post involves a super hot fuck that hinges on consensual non-consent, i.e. me pretending I don’t want to get fucked when actually I really do. The man who features in it knows this, and would not play this way with me unless he was confident I could (and would) withdraw consent if it all got too much. This post is not a ‘how-to’ manual on kinky fucking, there’s a lot of background chat behind this kind of sex.

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A few days before we’re due to hang out, he texts me a fantasy. Couched in the standard consent-focused caveats (“Only if that sounds hot to you…”) that I find extremely cute – they function essentially as the ‘no worries if not!’ of fucking. His request is neat, specific, and very easy to achieve: he wants to arrive at my place, have me greet him at the door with no words whatsoever, then as soon as he’s inside, drop to my knees and start sucking his dick. No words, just cocksucking.

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