Last year I wrote a creepy Halloween story – I will devour you. It was just a fun little thing to write, and I enjoyed letting my inner goth collaborate with my inner pervert to do something scary. I loved it so much that this year I wrote a new Halloween sex story: based on love and reanimation. It contains BDSM, intense pain, branding, zombie sex, death and more death. Please don’t read on if those things are likely to disturb you, but if you get a thrill from scary stuff then I hope you’ll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It’s also available as audio (click ‘listen here’ above) or visit the audio porn hub to find more sexy stories read aloud, most of which, I promise, are much less creepy than this one.

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This week’s guest blogger – Jamie Bowden-Smith – is a historian of the late 20th century and runs the Gay News Archive Project, republishing the pioneering LGBT+ newspaper of the 1970s.  He tweets at @thisisrjg and if I am 100% honest with you, he is one of the people I have met through Twitter that I would most like to go for a pint with. He has both a passion and a knack for articulating the delicious details about what makes something hot, and in this blog he applies his knack to something very close to my own heart: the sexiness of smell.

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The other day I spent a lovely couple of hours listening to men wanking. It was obscenely fun. Dudes pleasuring themselves is one of my biggest kinks, and the more gutturally raw it is, the better. It’s often tricky to explain the detail of this kink, in a world where ‘porn’ is too often synonymous with the male gaze: a perspective that focuses on the bodies/faces/noises of the women involved in a fuck, and rarely ever on the bodies/faces/noises of the men doing the fucking. Sometimes what looks like a ‘traditional’ male-gaze thing gives excellent opportunity for a voyeur like me. I’m not getting off to the same thing the guys are, I’m getting off to the fact they’re getting off. Let’s explore this…

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Last week I was away for a couple of days at the sex industry trade show Erofame – I’ll tell you all about it in an upcoming post. While I was away, inevitably I started missing my partner. I missed him generally, of course: I wanted to be able to chat to him about all the cool new sex toys I was discovering and share stories from the event. But more specifically I missed his cock, and I looked forward immensely to coming home and sliding right down to the base of it.

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OK gang, listen up because I’m angry. For years – YEARS – I have been recommending the Doxy to anyone and everyone with a clitoris. It’s the turbo-charged fuckstick of my wildest dreams and by my rough calculations it has delivered more orgasms in the three and a half years I’ve owned it than any living human has given me over the course of the rest of my life. Myself included. I love Doxy so much I would recklessly and gleefully abseil down the nearest tall building to unfurl a ‘FUCK YEAH DOXY’ banner that could be read from miles away. But now Doxy has launched a new toy – a compact wand called ‘Doxy Number 3‘ – and I am, to put it mildly, livid.

Here are 10 things I hate about the Doxy Number 3.

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