Category Archives: Filthy ones
Sexy lingerie versus casual sleepwear
I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that sexy lingerie is for other people. The kind of people who can smile coquettishly and raise a solitary eyebrow, who sashay through a room rather than stomp across it, and who lounge sexily on a bedspread rather than throw themselves onto it in exhaustion after a long day.
When I smile coquettishly I just look smug, and although I’d love to do the saucy eyebrow-raise, when I attempt it I just look like I’m trying (and failing) to remember pi.
Lace knickers, half-cup bras, suspender belts and thongs and camis and silky, see-through dressing gowns that press against my tits to show the colour contrast of nipples and skin… ah, I’d love to be able to wear this stuff like the ladies in the lingerie catalogues. But even though I can’t pull this stuff off, there’s one kind of outfit that I find even sexier…
Almost fucking on Christmas Eve
It’s fucking hectic behind the bar. Every drink comes with a second, because the regulars are feeling generous, and he, I and a bunch of other staff are lining them up. Landlady’s insistence: we’re allowed to drink on shift. And it’s Christmas, so no one thinks about saving the money, we just say ‘ta’ and line them up:
Vodka and cokes: have one yourself. Have six yourself. Slur ‘Cheers’ as you’re pulling the next pint.
When I rush round tables to collect glasses, Steve (a regular – skeezy and greasy and ‘harmless’ depending on who you talk to and how many pints he’s had) sneaks up behind me. He follows me around until I’ve got four, five glasses in each hand. Then as I turn to take them back to the bar he grips me round the waist. Hard hands, insistent squeezes.
Guest blog: Latex fetish wear
When people send me guest blogs which so beautifully capture the delight and desire in a very specific fetish, I go a bit weak at the knees. I don’t think you have to share a particular fetish, or kink, in order to enjoy hearing about it – one of the things I love most about fet is the twinkle in someone’s eyes as they wax lyrical about the exact reasons why they love something. I might not understand the fetish in itself, but the passion and delight with which someone explains their desire is arousing in and of itself. I think so, at any rate.
So when this week’s guest blogger – LatexLegs – sent me ‘part 1’ of a story about his fantasy night dressed head to toe in latex fetish wear, the delicious intensity with which he described his arousal stood out pretty strongly. It’s fantasy rather than real-life, and there’s an aching longing there which reminds me of certain wistful stories I wrote before I had the opportunity to fully embrace the sex I wanted to have with a partner. As I say, this is part 1, and I’ve had a sneak preview of part 2. I don’t usually publish more than one guest blog from each person, but this covers something which I can’t talk about with the same degree of fiery passion and hotness, so if you like this leave a comment and I’ll squeeze part 2 into the new year.
No pain, no pleasure, all the joy – anaesthetic sex
This post talks about anaesthetic sex – detailing a super-hot fuck I had while I was a bit ‘out of it’ and asked a guy to take advantage of that. It was fully consensual and negotiated between both of us before I took the anaesthetic, but if the idea of intoxicated sex makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read on.
Where are all the pervy women?
One of the most common questions I am asked (and I say this not to boast but to point out just how much disappointment I could unleash if people found out who I am) is “where can I meet a girl like you?”
This question is usually asked by straight men, who are keen to go to a bar, hook up with someone, fuck her face, then drink a few pints with her before getting ready for round two. Sadly when people ask ‘where can I meet a girl like you?’ I inevitably have to reply: you can’t.
Sorry. I’m not a figment of your imagination as such, but I’m certainly a figment of my own selective storytelling. You can meet me in a bar if you stumble into the right Wetherspoons at the dirty back end of a Friday night, but I won’t look just like this, or talk like this, or engage in this kind of pervy behaviour while you’re sipping your pint.
I’ll be wearing jeans and a jumper with holes in. I might drink and swear and shoot daggers at people who make sexist jokes, but I’ll also be a bit shy and awkward. I might forget your name, or flirt with you in a manner so clumsy it’s a gigantic turn-off. If you’re lucky, I might even sneak off to the toilet to be sick, before ducking out the side-door to avoid awkward goodbyes before I stumble onto the night bus.
So, the short answer is: you will never ever meet a woman who is exactly like a sex blogger, because sex bloggers are – as everyone is online to a certain extent – curated versions of our incompetent, real-life selves. But that’s OK, because that’s not really the question these guys are asking. What they’re usually asking is this: