Six guys in t-shirts or shirts. Naked from the waist down. Me in a soft cotton top. No bra, no knickers, no trousers, no socks. We are the opposite of topless. And we’re perfectly dressed to play a game.

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You know the old folk song that goes like this?

O dear, what can the matter be?
Dear, dear, what can the matter be?
O dear, what can the matter be?
Johnny’s so long at the fair.

I wrote it with some dirty song lyrics.

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When I was young, my best friend used to come and hug me from behind. He’d wrap his arms around my stomach, with his skinny forearms nestling just under my breasts. Ridiculously in love with him, I’d seize the opportunity to breathe in the smell of him, lean backwards into his chest and wonder: if I struggled, just a little … would he hold me tighter?

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This blog post started out as an exploration of why it would be sexy for a monster to devour me, and turned into something approaching an actual scary story. Please don’t read if you’re easily freaked out by things like death, blood and devourment. On the other hand, if you love creepy Halloween sex stuff, this might be your cup of tea.

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As a general rule I don’t like blindfolds. I could try and bullshit you about how I like to look into someone’s eyes when they tip over the edge of a powerful orgasm, but while that’s true, it’s not the whole truth. My dislike of blindfolds comes from a meaner place. They’re a bit… tame, aren’t they? A bit … (whisper it) … 50 Shades? But laying my irrational snobbery to one side, the other day I cracked out one of my many airplane-branded blindfolds (they’re free, so I am literally allergic to not taking them home) to try some sensory deprivation sex.

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