I’m more than willing to suspend my disbelief to enjoy a good TV show. I’ll ignore loud explosions in deep space, grin and bear anachronisms in historical dramas, and even nod through a paradox or two. But one thing I refuse to believe is that at no point in his long long life has Doctor Who gone back in time to fuck himself.

I mean COME ON. He used to look like DAVID TENNANT, for crying out loud! And Matt Smith: all gangly limbs and twinking nerdery. You would, wouldn’t you?

One of the things I enjoyed most about the book The Time Traveler’s Wife (if you haven’t read it then it’s about a dude who accidentally time travels) is that in it, when his teenage self meets another teenage self, they wank each other off. It’s not described in detail, but it’s straightforward enough that it made me go ‘omg realistic portrayals of identical-selves masturbating is exactly what has been missing from all time travel.’

So, in that spirit, here are a few of the sexual encounters that would happen if I had a time machine.

Time-travel threesomes

I don’t really want to have sex with myself, if only because I don’t tend to fancy women that often, and I suspect I am exactly the kind of person who would annoy myself by being obnoxiously loud and eating all the nice crisps at parties. So I don’t think me and me would make a good couple. However what we WOULD make is an excellent threesome double-team.

In the past I’ve turned down amazing sexual opportunities because I’m too jealous of the other girl involved, or because I’m scared that the guy I’m with will enjoy the other person more and be permanently disappointed with my own mediocre vagina. However, with a time-travel threesome, I wouldn’t need to worry about that, because I am basically the same person.

I’d pick and choose some of the less exciting fucks I’ve had in the past, and spice them up by introducing my future-self halfway through and watching the guy’s eyes widen with delight as he realised all the tingling possibilities. I’d join an ex or two in some double-penetration, strapping one on so I could fuck me while I was being fucked. I’d head to the first time I used a strap-on at all, and sit heavily on that guy’s dick at just the moment his prostate pushed hard squirts of spunk out of him. I could pop back to last night, when I ground heavily onto my partner’s dick while he wanked me off with a Doxy. Past-me could still do that: I wouldn’t want to ruin her fun. But while she was doing it I could be biting his nipples or letting him suck mine.

Being the first

Is this creepy? I think perhaps this is creepy. In my head it’s super-romantic, but I don’t think we need to worry about creepiness given that time travel is impossible, so if you’re thinking of writing angry letters, please save them for the day when we manage to break all the laws of physics and invent an actual Tardis.

It’s 2002, or thereabouts. A guy who – in 2002 – I’ve never met, is masturbating furiously and desperately wishing he could hurl away his virginity. Late one evening on his way home from a friend’s party, he runs into a woman. Old enough that he wouldn’t usually look twice, but young enough that he definitely would. She invites him into her Tardis, and because he is probably only 18 at this point, I will spare you the pervy details.

What’s important though is not necessarily what happens then, but what happens years later, when he runs into me for what he thinks is the first time.

“Wow. You… you look really familiar.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You look like this person I knew once, ages ago.”

“Oh really? What was she like?”

“It’s kind of a funny story actually. It’s how I lost my virginity…”

Fixing mistakes

Picture the scene: it’s three AM outside a shitty nightclub – in one of those vaguely Mediterranean ‘party towns’ that are magnets for young people who want to get drunk and sweat on each other. Two girls who are far too young to be there are sitting on the laps of two guys who can’t believe their luck. The guys are young too – not yet mature enough to realise that if you really want to get laid you need to avoid drinking twelve shots of AfterShock. They’re all snogging, and having a whale of a time.

One of these girls enjoys it so much that she tries to take the guy somewhere quieter to fuck.

“Give me a sec,” she whispers erotically, then runs to the bins and sprays rainbow-coloured vomit  in a decorative arc over the pavement. She wipes her mouth.

“I’m done. Let’s go.” The guy nods, looking a little queasy himself, but clearly game. The girl leads him to what she thinks is a secluded spot. They snog again, briefly, before he backs away. It might be the taste of her sick-washed mouth, but our heroine decides it’s probably just because he’d rather do other things. She pushes his head down between her legs, pulls her knickers to one side, and he licks at her with eager enthusiasm – this is clearly a dude who’d rather taste cunt than cocktails.

In the faint distance she can see the nightclub lights illuminating her best friend and the other guy, snogging on a chair. Her cunt twitches with pleasure but she’s far too pissed to notice.

At this moment the sky splits, and a time machine appears. An older version of the girl leans her head out of the time machine and – in the manner of a Mum yelling at her kids to get inside for dinner – she shouts:

“You fucking idiot! Everyone can see what you’re doing! You’re not in a secluded spot at all, you’re in a field right next to a busy road! Go home and sober up or in ten years’ time you’ll have to write a blog post about how much you regret this whole sordid incident!”

Time travel sex – watching and wanking

Of course it wouldn’t just be about joining in or changing the path of history – that’d kind of imply that my sex Tardis would mostly be about regrets. I’d probably spend most of my time popping back to my favourite moments. That first ever threesome with two guys, which fulfilled a list of long-held sexual desires so spectacularly that I still remember it in a sleepy, dreamlike way. I’d watch as they kissed each other, and look out for the expression of shining delight on my face. I’d take mental photographs of every beautiful moment: as they fucked me, as they fucked each other, as we all tangled together in a huge pile of happy fucklust.

I’d visit a few fetish clubs to watch myself get beaten.

Head to old bedrooms in which I frotted tirelessly against exhausted ex-boyfriends.

Watch a few of the hottest boy snogs I’ve ever seen.

It would be like having a live-action replay of some of the best fucks, and the most beautiful people I’ve ever known. Hot and horny but also tinged with wistful nostalgia.

Maybe one of the best things I could do if I had a sex Tardis would be to leave little notes for myself on the morning of each hot encounter, saying:

“This one, tonight: this one’s special. Drink it in. It’ll never happen the same way again.”

Fetish fascinates me. It can be an incredibly difficult path to navigate – whether it’s someone enjoying the kind of pain that scares them or someone role-playing a situation you’d never want to happen in real life. Without it, though, life would be so dull.

I love getting guest blogs from people who have different kinks, desires, relationships and views to me- it makes this blog far more interesting. But this week’s guest blog may be uncomfortable for some of you – it’s about Mummy role play. I’ve published a guest blog before on daddy role play, and understandably it got a mixed reaction: lots of people are uncomfortable with the idea of age play, or the ideal of any role play that breaches the incest taboo.  If you’re one of those people, I’d advise you not to read it. But if, like me, you’re curious about fetish, and want to find out more about why some people incorporate these taboos into their sex lives, then read on.

The guest blogger, who wants to remain anonymous, gives a thorough and considered glimpse into his own desires, and the fun he and his partner have during Mummy role play.

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You know how sometimes a particular smell evokes a really specific memory? Hot days smelling like childhood holidays, Baileys smelling like Christmas or – if you want to be less saccharine and cheesy about the whole thing – dick that smells exactly the way your ex used to?

I have a style of skirt that reminds me of my first spanking. No, really. It was grey, and patchwork – silk and corduroy and cotton and linen all sewn together in a rough pattern, draped perfectly over my hips and arse. It was one of the best items of clothing I’ve ever owned, and I can’t work out if that was because it sat just right on my bum, tight enough to cling so I could feel it when I walked, but loose enough that the material would billow out around my thighs when I walked somewhere, or if it was the best because it reminded me of spanking.

The first spanking

I’d been slapped before – occasional smacks on the bum as I walked naked to the bathroom. Boys who’d slap it when we were flirting after school, or boyfriends who’d give it a whack when they ironically ordered me to the kitchen for beer. But I’d never before had a proper spanking.

I arrived at his house at the usual time – what we’d have called ‘after work’ because we were students, but something far closer to 3pm. I’d been away for a week or so and I couldn’t wait to see him. This guy. This dream-come-true. This person I jokingly called The One when he was out of earshot.

He didn’t think much of me back then. We were mates who fucked, but while we were both equally enthusiastic about the fucking, I suspected there was a serious imbalance on the ‘mates’ front. He was my best and my almost-only – the one I’d seek out and chase and invite to every occasion. I was the one he ditched when something more interesting came along.

Still, we were pretty happy, not least because each time one of us came up with something new to do with each other’s genitals it would be greeted with an enthusiastic and husky ‘fuck yeah.’

When I came in he gave me a brief hug. We did some small talk. He told me to bend over a chair and flip up my patchwork skirt.

He could almost certainly feel the wetness through my knickers. He ran his hand over me quickly – not savouring the feel of my cunt through the fabric, just planning where his first slap would fall. He pulled down my knickers and settled for my left cheek.

Smack.

Firm, stinging, perfect. I yelped.

He adjusted my skirt, hitching it higher to stop the hem falling back down over my thighs. I was bent almost double over the chair – the wooden back digging into my stomach, hands gripping the front legs to try and keep my balance.

Smack.

He was testing us both. Trying something that neither of us had done with this level of seriousness. Playful slaps turned to full-on, powerful blows and I made enough of a racket that he asked me to sssh. His housemates weren’t in but that didn’t mean the neighbours weren’t.

Smack.

I imagined him rolling up his sleeves.

Smack.

One stroke fell slightly left of its mark, half of it catching me in the crotch where I was wet and sensitive and raw.

Smack.

This time right in the middle of the cheek. Satisfyingly thuddy and good enough to make me wriggle.

Smack.

Enough of this now.

Smack.

I said ‘enough.’ I said ‘I really need you to fuck me.’

Smack.

He held me firm – one hand on the crumpled skirt pulled up to the small of my back.

Smack.

‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes. I like it. But I need you to fuck me.’

He paused for a while, and I could almost hear his indecision. Feel the stiffness of his cock pushing through his jeans and against my hip as he took a step to stand beside me. He ground his dick into me and my legs started to tremble. I asked again. ‘Please fuck me.’ Note the ‘please’. I asked nicely. I choked out the ‘please’ like if he didn’t fuck me, I’d cry. To be fair, I would have.

He told me I’d get six more slaps and that I’d have to count them. And he said they’d be hard enough to sting his hand.

After he’d delivered the spanking, I was a mess of arousal and emotions and red, raw pain. I pulled down my knickers as quickly as I could and pulled him into me, feeling his dick fill me up seemed to push the pain away. With each stroke I twitched and tensed the muscles in my legs, worried that I’d knock the chair over.

As he fucked the frustration out of me, and came hard into my aching cunt, his hands gripped the patchwork skirt around my waist, pulling my sore arse back to the base of his cock, to get the most pleasure possible with each angry stroke.

This post uses affiliate links, which means if you buy things from the shops you visit, I get a small cut which helps me keep this site running.

Listen up, people! I have googled around a bit and have been unable to find a word that sums up the level of knicker-moistening excitement that I experience when a gentleman lets me suck him off while he codes, so I invented one: Vimphilia. To mean: a kink/fetish for programmers.

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Remember those ‘Choose your own adventure’ books? Well, this guest blog is a bit like one of those, only it’s pornographic. And instead of turning to page 24 to decide what the characters should do with their shivering arousal, I’m throwing it open to you to write the next chapter of the story.

When Steve got in touch with me to share a hot story he was writing, the fact that it had a ‘to be continued’ ending opened up a whole bunch of possibilities. I had a fairly clear idea in my head of what I wanted to happen next, but it occurred to me that others might have equally strong, but completely different ideas.

So here’s the deal: read the filthy sex story below, have a think about what you’d like to happen next, and leave a comment at the bottom of the post telling us what you think should happen in the next chapter. The guest blogger and I will pick one of the suggestions, and pass the story on to you to continue. Then someone else will pick up where you leave off, and so on, until our characters have gone on a rollercoaster ride through different fetishes, perspectives, sexual experiences, and sticky fun. A kind of adult chain story. Sound good? Sweet. Read on…

A trip to the woods (part 1)

The car engine judders to a stop, the sudden absence of noise exacerbated by the stillness and quiet of the woodland where we’re now parked. We’d driven here so fast that the journey had seemed like a blur, buildings and trees flashing past as we sped out of the city and onto the country roads. We both knew why we were coming here, to this deserted clearing in the woods, so the sense of urgency and anticipation had been strong.

But now we’re here in this woodland clearing – no sign of another human being for miles around us. The woods are eerily quiet now that the throaty rumble of the engine had died away. There’s just the faint ‘tink, tink, tink’ of the car as the engine cools.

We step out of the car, blinking slightly in the bright sunlight. You turn the full force of your smile on me, a smile which has the power to quicken my pulse and start my brain racing. I lean back against the car door and take your hands in mine, pulling you close to me. I can feel the heat of your body through the thin, summer dress and there’s a mounting feeling of excitement as you look up at me with those big, soulful eyes.

I feel your hand slide down my body and come to rest on my belt buckle. You look deep into my eyes and give a look that says ‘shall I?’ but without uttering a single word. I give an almost imperceptible nod, and stroke the palm of my hand over your cheek, before kissing you on those full, tempting lips.

Your fingers fumble briefly with the belt, finding the fastening and pulling it free. Then you start to unbutton my flies, revealing the inviting bulge inside my boxer shorts. In the harsh sunlight, the light casts some appealing shadows across my boxers, outlining the shape of my cock, already swollen and hardening at the thought of your touch.

You softly brush your fingers over the contours of my hard dick and give a mischievous giggle as you feel me twitch. I slide my hand down so that it rests on top of yours and our fingers entwine, both gently stroking along the length of my cock through the boxers.

You lean in for another soft kiss. Then, very slowly, you bend your knees and squat down in front of me, your hands reaching for the waistband of the boxer shorts as I lean back against the cold metal of the car. You tug hard on the boxers and pull them down just enough for my cock to spring forth. The thought of your touch has worked its magic and the shaft is hard and engorged, ready to please or to be pleased.

You lean in even closer, so close that I can feel your warm breath on the tip of my cock. You look up at me, checking the reaction, as I stare down at you, desire written across my face. You place one solitary kiss on the tip, your lips soft and tender as you run them down the shaft towards my smooth, shaved balls. I feel the warmth of your fingers reaching up to caress my balls, and then your lips are around the tip, taking me into your hot, inviting mouth and making me tense my hands against the cool metal of the car door.

Your mouth feels so hot, your long hair brushing against my stomach and my naked balls as you delicately suck on me. I run my fingers through your hair as you slide your lips back up along the shaft and let the wet tip slide out from between your lips.

You stand up and lean in to kiss me, so I can taste my own cock in your mouth and feel the tip of your tongue gently exploring mine. Then you pull back and gesture that we should move to the back seat of the car. I take your hand and open the door, wondering what pleasures await us…

To be continued…

If you want to continue the story, drop a comment below with a brief explanation of what you want to happen next, ideally something that is both a) sexy and b) carries on the plot of the story. Where do these people go next? Do more people arrive? Is there a car chase or alien abduction? Whatever your imagination throws up.

Usual erotica/decency rules apply: nothing illegal, discriminatory, etc. If you want to be picked, you need to use a real email address (which won’t be published) so I can contact you to let you know the baton is being passed to you. There won’t be a deadline, though, and it’s not a test, so don’t be shy. And, of course, you’ll receive the same payment as all other guest blogs and (unless you’d rather remain anonymous) you’ll have the chance to plug your own blog/Twitter feed.

What would you like to happen next? Let us know.