As with literally any blog post that discusses physical beauty, this piece is going to come with an important note: what I am about to do is fetishise/objectify/admire/wax lyrical about one particular physical feature, but understand that you do not need to have this feature in order to be beautiful. You can be beautiful with whatever you’ve got, there is no one correct way to be visually stunning, and I have dated many gorgeous people who do not happen to share the characteristic I am about to so thoroughly cream my knickers over. In short: not everyone is bald, and that is OK. But my boyfriend happens to be, and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t cast my eyes towards the heaven I’m pretty sure does not exist, to thank a God I definitely don’t believe in for sending me a hot bald guy. I can (and assuredly WILL) write essays later about the joy of dating a hot bald guy from a tactile perspective, but for now I’m taking a rare turn into the visual. Here are my hot bald boyfriend’s three best angles, thank you so much for asking.

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I always say I’m not much of a visual person, and I’m not. But every now and then an image sticks with me, and usually it’s because the bedroom in which we’re fucking has a well-placed mirror or two. I don’t have nearly enough mirrors in my bedroom at the moment – a situation I am keen to rectify as soon as my budget allows (so sometime around 2025, most likely). In the short term, though, please enjoy this trilogy of fuck stories from the past which hopefully will show you why – if you enjoy catching glimpses of you/your partners looking at your absolute fuckiest – you should have mirrors in your bedroom too.

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It’s usually pretty hard to content note Halloween erotica. It’s fun to give myself the challenge of writing something dark and horror-focused at this time of year, and I like ’em gruesome. If you’re also into macabre sex stories you might enjoy the following, but if you don’t want to read about people fucking reanimated corpses, you should probably give it a miss. 

I wake up screaming. No idea why, but I wake up screaming. Just absolute, cold-blooded, throat-ripping screams. Christ. Fuck. I can’t understand it. It takes him a couple of minutes to calm me. Stroking me with gentle hands and crooning ‘ssssh’ into my ear.

I try to sit up. Can’t.

Try to move my hands. Can’t.

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You know those nights you have, in bed with someone new and exciting… those nights when you feel like you’re… hmm. Sorry, I’ll start again. So you know those nights at the start of a relationship, just after you realise how much you want this to be a relationship… those nights when you’re f… fuck. Hang on. Let me try a different tack.

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I think it was a Reddit comment, that’s where the hairband trick originally came from. A guy was replying to a question along the lines of ‘what’s the hottest thing your partner does that isn’t specifically a sex thing?’ and he started waxing lyrical about hairbands. Prior to sucking him off, he explained, she did this thing where she reached for a hairband (from her pocket, her wrist, a nearby table, wherever: those of us who tie our hair up generally have a few scattered around our homes, bags and person at all times) and looked him dead in the eye as she scraped her hair back into a ponytail. It was hot, he explained, because not only did it get him pulsing towards erection via the Pavlovian effect of telling him ‘you’re about to get your dick sucked’, it also symbolised that she was taking this really seriously. Hair tied back means business. It means ‘I want to really go to town on you.’

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