“I’ve been thinking of getting a cock ring,” my toyboy tells me, and I nearly reach through the screen and grab him by the collar as I bark: “do not even think about getting one that isn’t the Atom Plus Lux.” It’s the best vibrating cock ring I’ve ever used, by quite some margin, and my heart breaks at the thought of his burgeoning enthusiasm for sex toys being dampened by any lesser item. Besides, alongside other benefits of dating me (like my high-quality jokes and love of sucking cock), there are practical perks to dating a sex blogger too, namely: I’ll get you free cock rings if you flutter your eyelashes nicely.

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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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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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No one ever tells me to my face that I’m greedy, but I am. Right now I trip through life with only a vague idea of what I want, but a raging certainty that I definitely need more of it. More. More drinks, more nights out, more catch-ups with friends I’ve not seen since Covid. More joy, more lust, more playfulness. More sex. More of those evenings which start with a pint and end up with you all tumbling into someone’s flat so you can welcome the dawn together with burgeoning hangovers and the sparkle of brand new friendships. More threesomes that make me feel like it’s my birthday. And because this is a post about the Godemiche Morpheus, inevitably I’m greedy for far more wanking too.

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Whenever I ask a new person to teach me how to suck their dick, Jez from Peep Show’s voice pops up to tell me “That’s cheating! Anyone can please [someone] in bed if [they] tell you what to do! You’re not allowed to ASK, that’s the whole point!” It’s ridiculous, of course, because you absolutely are allowed to ask. In fact, sometimes asking is the only way you’ll find out exactly how this particular person likes their dick to be sucked.

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