On the list of ‘top 10 emails most likely to grab my attention’, shortly behind ‘free gin’ is the email that says ‘would you like a guest blog about cock?’

This week’s guest blogger is Rose Tinted Glasses – someone whose writing I have admired for a very long time. He writes witty, charming, filthy stories and has a way with words that makes me wish I was sitting in the pub sharing these things with him.

He emailed me to offer a guest blog about dick – specifically on the age-old question ‘does dick size matter?’ I’ve always wanted to get a guest blog on this topic from someone who has a penis of their own. If I had one I’d be too busy masturbating and weeing patterns on concrete patio slabs, but he has kindly taken time out from penis-based fun to give us a filthy and insightful view on size, and everything that goes with it.

Does dick size matter?

I am old enough to have not had the Internet around when I discovered porn. Like most British boys back then I first saw porn in magazines, dumped in hedgerows in the countryside. A cliché, but like most clichés, it was borne of some truth. That really did used to happen. Walking along a country lane you think ‘what’s that in the undergrowth?’ and when you have a look, you have hit paydirt. A glossy, filthy magazine – thrown away by someone who did not want to be caught with it at home. Word would spread around the village, ‘There’s a jazz mag out by the path along the main road’ or wherever.

I remember one summer holiday afternoon a mate asking whether I wanted to check out the one he’d found that week. Of course I did. So we rode out on our bikes, left them at the top of an embankment just off the road, and scrambled down the grassy bank to a path at the bottom. There was a hedgerow and, sure enough, a porn magazine hidden in the undergrowth. We crouched down and flicked through the pages. “I’m gonna have a wank.” announced my friend, then added “If I wank like this more often, will my dick get to be as big as yours?”

I hadn’t got a clue. I told him I didn’t know. That was the first time I was really aware that cocks come in different sizes.

I’m in my mid-thirties and I am, generally, pretty secure in myself – in my sexual preferences, my likes and dislikes, and definitely comfortable with my cock. I’m happy with being me. It’s not enormous. I’m not a porn star with a huge dong. It’s bigger than average, but not so large as to be a ‘big deal’. I have learned, for certain, that size isn’t good or bad. It’s just what it is. There is no such thing as ‘too small’ or ‘too big’. No such thing as ‘too curved’ or ‘the wrong shape’. People either fit together well or they don’t – and whatever your cock is like, there are people out there who it will work perfectly for. So perfectly they will be screaming your name and begging you to put it back inside them.

Our self-image is governed by the reactions and comments of others. Their perceptions are filtered through their own past experiences. It’s circular. Whilst sort-of-dating (but really more like sort-of-shagging-regularly) two girlfriends in our first year of university, one of them would tell me often how I was the biggest she had ever had, how much she loved it and how much it hurt, just a little, in that good way, when I was inside her. The other girl said quite the opposite. That my cock was ‘nice but not all that big’. Then again, she was able to swallow me all the way to the base of my shaft, so I took her at her word. A cynic might have thought that the former of the girls was lying to flatter me. I didn’t. I thought that they had just had very different past experiences.

My ex-wife was more experienced than I was, when we first met. She had been around. I mean that as a compliment – I admire a little experience and an open mind. She never complimented my cock, at all. She simply wasn’t impressed. We had talked about it, I forget why … and she just said that she’d had much bigger in the past. And it had hurt, to the point where it was unpleasant. Size really isn’t everything, guys.

Widening my sexual horizons over the years meant that I developed a bit more perspective on the size of my cock. You learn a lot about other guys’ dicks when you start enjoying threesomes, group sex, or going along to swingers clubs. Even more so when you get stuck in and play with some of the guys as well as the girls.

For example … there was a couple I had met at a swingers club. Only chatting, before everybody split off towards the bedrooms later on. They were friendly, and we stayed in touch online. The husband emailed me a few weeks later, saying that it was his wife’s birthday at the weekend and he wanted to give her a treat. Would I be up for calling round, along with as many other guys as he could round up, to gangbang his wife? I had no idea people actually used that word in the real world. Gangbang. It sounded like something you should only ever use in comedies. I am a sucker for new experiences though, so I said yes.

I followed the husband’s directions out to leafy suburbia on a quiet Sunday afternoon and knocked on the door. He answered, said hi, we shook hands, and he led me inside and straight up the stairs. “We’ve got ten guys, including you. More might turn up. I have to keep pulling these trousers back on to answer the door …” He pointed me through the upstairs rooms when we reached the landing. “That’s the bedroom, the bathroom, and the spare. If you can take off all your clothes in the spare room and just pile them up somewhere, then come through … I’ll see you in a minute.”

Now, I had been to sex parties before, but ten guys and one girl was a different matter entirely. Walking into a room full of strangers, naked, is an unnerving experience. We were all completely nude. Guys of all sizes and ages, standing around the perimeter of the bedroom. The husband had slipped out of his trousers, but still had a T-shirt on. He was the only one. His wife was kneeling in the middle of the bed, in the centre of the room. She was wearing a black lingerie set – nothing fancy, but nice. She was giggling and grinning from ear to ear. This felt weird, but not at all unsafe. Her obvious glee put me at ease. Nothing bad was likely to happen here. The husband laid out some ground rules. Sensible stuff. Condoms for penetration and if any of you are bisexual, please don’t freak out the straight guys in the room – this is just about giving her a treat, not you.

“Come on then.” said the wife. “Give me some cocks.” She reached to her left, for the nearest guy, and took his cock in her hand. He was halfway hard and she slowly stroked him all the way, then leaned over and took him in her mouth. A couple of the guys on the opposite side of the bed sort of looked at each other and shrugged, before climbing on to the bed. One positioned himself beside her and guided her spare hand to his crotch, the other knelt on the pillows at the top of the bed and gave her a slap on the arse cheek. She let the first guy’s cock go and giggled again. “Good start. Come on, the rest of you.”

I’m not here to tell you how that afternoon progressed in filthy detail (that is what my own blog is for), but it is a good way to talk about variety. We went from awkwardly standing around in various degrees of arousal to being a room full of hard cocks taking turns, anything up to five at a time, with the wife. When not joining in, most of us were standing beside, watching and wanking. There were guys with small cocks. Guys with circumcised and uncircumcised cocks. Guys with straight cocks, curved cocks, and even a couple of guys who couldn’t get it up. There was one guy with an enormous cock. Probably the biggest I have ever seen in the flesh. Long, thick, and kept rock-solid with a steel cock ring. He was taking poppers as well, which nobody else in the room wanted to join in with, despite his generous offers. At one point he was sliding his fingers into the girl’s cunt whilst I was fucking her – reaching between my legs with my balls slapping off his wrist and pushing two fingers in alongside my dick. I was thankful it was his fingers and not that massive cock.

I did learn something from that afternoon. (Aside from the welcome knowledge that being surrounded by other men didn’t stop me from performing, as it were.) I realised that despite the huge variation in cock size, and body shape … that girl was just as happy with every single one of us. She just wanted cock. She did not care if you had a big one or a small one. They were all good. (Which sounds like a certain Girl On The Net we all know and love.) And she was right. I have gone down on guys in my time. I don’t care if yours is smaller than mine, it’s still going to feel hot as hell wrapping my lips around it and making you come.

Did you enjoy that as much as I did? Then please do visit his excellent blog – Rose Tinted Glasses – and follow him on Twitter. I agree with most of what he says, although I have to take exception on the phrase ‘gang bang‘ (it is one of my favourites). But on dicks? They’re beautiful – long, short, fat, thin, curved in any direction: there’s more variety than Heinz. Ironically, one of the few areas in which men tend not to differ is in their attitudes towards their own dick  – firstly that they worry about it, and secondly that they rarely ever need to.

In a fit of rashness, I recently wrote about how anal sex isn’t just hot because of the purely physical sensations. Most sex is – to my mind – enjoyably filthy because of how you do it. Exactly what you do matters less than the dominant, eager way in which you do it. You can wank me off in a way that both of us find tedious and uninspiring, or with the addition of a few dirty words whispered in my ear and one arm gripping me tightly around the chest, you can rub me off in a way that feels close and filthy.

But, in explaining how sex isn’t just about physical reductionism, I missed a key opportunity to talk about how some very specific physical things make me tense with swooning lust. Today I’m going to talk about feeling full.

Three dudes at once, obviously

The dream, of course, is to have three men at once. Something which, despite my very best efforts, hasn’t happened yet. To have one guy filling my cunt while another pushes deep into my arse, and a final man pushing his dick so deep in my throat that I can barely choke new oxygen down to my lungs.

While I’m enjoying being gagged by one guy, the other two can feel not only the aching throb of my cunt and arse, but the taut force of each other’s dicks, sliding together through my own skin. They fill me so I cry out, and push back onto them – wanting to experience the full length of each of them, as deep as they can possibly go. They fill me so I can’t remember what it felt like to be empty. Until I can’t believe anything else will fit. And then, as one, they come inside me. Vigorously pumping spunk into anywhere it will go, proving that I was ever so slightly easier to fill than I thought.

Sadly, this dream of feeling full of cock will have to be put to one side for now: the logistics of finding three willing men, all of whom I fancy and all of whom fancy both me and each other is a challenge that I am yet to conquer. Besides, double penetration looks easy in porn when all the actors are lithe and athletic and don’t seem to mind one dick slipping out every now and then. In my fantasy this can work exactly how I want it to, with none of those pesky physical limitations to get in the way.

“I can come like this”

In the meantime there’s always option two: the late-night lazy fuck that sees me lying on my stomach, being fucked hard from behind. I can grip the iron bars at the headboard and push back to feel his thick cock stretching me open. I can hear the squirt of lube as he covers his fingers, and feel achingly full as he pushes them into me.

A long time ago a guy did this, during the very last fuck we ever had. He pushed two fingers deep into my ass and groaned as he felt the solid length of his cock through my own skin. His fingertips rubbed the inside of me, simultaneously pressing onto the ridges around the head of his dick. Back and forth, faster and wetter and slicker, as I moaned at the feeling of being full. As he moved faster and faster, rubbing at both me and himself, he grunted, and exclaimed with delight: “I can come like this. Just like this.” A few more back-and-forth movements, the twitch of him deep in my cunt, and I felt all the excitement pour out of him and into me.

I still regret that it was the only time he got to do it. I’d have loved to have more fucking stories that involve him revelling in this new trick, testing new and different ways to jerk himself off through my ass, as I writhed in fullness and squealed delight into the pillow. If you’d like to try doing this but you don’t know anyone to try it with, I’m told there are double-holed masturbators that you can penetrate with both your dick and either your fingers/another object of your choice that will allow you similar sensations.

Filling fucks between just two people

The fingers are hot because he can control the sensation – other things are hot because I can control them myself. The feeling of being full doesn’t always require a stable of willing men or a guy who knows how to use his fingers in just the right way. This is one of the places where a well-made and perfectly shaped sex toy has not just a place in my bedroom but pride of place nestled deep inside me.

Sitting dead still on someone’s cock is fun – the moaning, twitching, desperate need for movement and sensation gives me a feeling of total power and control. I could grind slowly, I could clench all the muscles inside my cunt and watch his eyes grow wide as he feels the whole of me squeezing – hugging – his dick. Even more fun, then, to hold him tight in that position, gripping him with force and power, then slowly push something deep into my ass. Something long and slim, that I can control easily. Something that buzzes and vibrates against the length of him. He can feel what I’m doing as I push it deeper, as I angle it so it shivers down the full length of his cock. And as I do it, I squeeze harder – the better to revel in that full-up sensation.

But having the power is a rare delight – something that’s only fun for me because it happens so infrequently. Far more enjoyable, I think, to have him on top of me – bearing down. The fullness is better when someone else is controlling it, and I’m begging for more of it. His dick in my cunt anchors me in place – I squirm and wriggle on it as he pushes something slim inside my ass. Then something bigger. Then, with a growling whisper, he asks me if I can take more. If he can swap it out for the third most filling item in the trio. Despite knowing that it won’t fit, I’ll always say yes. Please. Do it. Try it. I’ll fail, yet again, but the temptation of finding something that stretches me out to the point I know I can’t feel fuller is just too much to resist.

When I fail at the largest one, we’ll step it down again, and I’ll enjoy knowing that I very nearly made it.

Can you come from ‘filling’ sex?

Does it make me come, though? This specific, hot, physical sensation? Of course. Although there’s nothing biologically that says ‘this will thrill the nerve endings in just the right way’, the feeling of being stretched and full adds to all the other things that are going on – the sensation of his dick pushing against the inside of me, the sound of him breathing heavily, telling me I’m so good for taking it. The gentle slaps on my arse, sucking bites at my nipples, rough hands gripping my hips to pull me further back onto him. All of these build, one wave on top of another, eventually pushing me over the edge of arousal and into that rushing, twitching, gagging choke of orgasm.

My final, and favourite trick is the one that brings me there most quickly: crouched on my knees, with my face pushed hard into the bedsheets, his dick dripping with lube and deep inside me, and my hands working busily to push something hard into my cunt. A rabbit vibrator, usually. Despite it’s often twee connotations, it has exactly what I’m after: length and girth to fill me up, and the added bonus of a vigorous buzz directly against my aching clit. I’ll hold it there, right up to the hilt, a still and solid anchor to clench down on, while he fucks up hard against it until he comes. 

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Five years ago, if you’d asked me if I’d like an ‘erotic massage’ I would have told you to fuck off to Ann Summers and take your gentle vanilla sex with you. I used to think that ‘erotic massage’ was basically a cunning way to delay a fuck, and thus an unnecessarily cruel trick that a partner might play on me when he didn’t really want to shag me and hoped I’d fall asleep before things started getting sticky.

I think it’s partly because the word ‘erotic’ is, to me, anything but. It evokes a gentleness and romance that I don’t find particularly hot. Filthy? Yes. Hot? Yes. Erotic? Nah. It’s why I’d always rather say that I write ‘filth‘ than that I write ‘erotica’. For many people that word may well mean total cunt-throbbing power, but for me it sounds like soft strokes and feathery kisses and the tickling touch of a considerate lover. Erotic massage, to me, never felt like something I could enjoy with the all-out aching lust that I look for in a decent fuck.

I was wrong.

Erotic massage as powerful filth

It’s late, and as usual I’m in bed first. Face-down on the pillows and just nodding off as he comes into the room.

“Are you awake?”

“Just about.”

He grabs a bottle of moisturiser from the shelf and pulls the bedcovers down so that I’m exposed from the back of my neck to the tops of my thighs. He slaps me on the arse. He straddles me.

I’m tired – so tired. I’m struggling on the edge of sleep and torn between wanting to fall into it, and wanting to stay awake for his touches. I hear the slick squirt as he grabs a handful of moisturiser.

“Do you want a massage?” He asks like it’s a gentle thing – a generous thing, but I know in this instance it’s not. Because, over the course of a year or so, he’s changed my opinion of the ‘erotic massage’ – it’s become something exquisitely filthy, dirty. An excuse for him to touch me. It’s something he’ll only do when his dick is hard and he’s throbbing and he wants to coax my cunt into throbbing in the same way.

He puts his hands on my back. One at the top, pressing down just below my neck so my face is forced deeper into the pillow. The other slides roughly down, snaking from my shoulder to my spine, down below the line of my knickers and into the crack of my arse. The wetness from the moisturiser spreads. He pushes his hand back up to join the other at my neck, then pulls both down hard, dragging along my wet skin, forcing my back into an arched curve. His hands reach the small of my back, and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my knickers.

His dick is pushing into me – hard and urgent through my crotch. His hands work more quickly. Pressing, pushing, dragging along my naked skin. Not gentle: rough. Not generous: desperate. He squeezes me, presses me, moulds my back into willing shapes. Up again to the nape of my neck to push my face further into the bed. Down to the small of my back to force my stomach tight against the sheets. Up to grab a handful of hair and make me gasp. Down to my arse, squeezing at me, spreading the cheeks so he can shove his cock right up against me.

I’m awake now – wide awake. Arching and pushing against him, lifting my arse and spreading myself to guide his dick into me. He drops the moisturiser and grabs lube.

As he did with my back, so he does with my cunt. Moistening, pushing, shaping. Rough hands and slick fingers working lube all over me. Every inch of his cock and every line and fold of my crotch. He pushes dripping fingers into me, and uses wet hands to pull me open. I grip the pillow with my fists and push back, begging him to fuck me.

“Please,” as I can feel the tip of his dick stretching the entrance to my cunt. “Pleeeease.” A whining, desperate moan, and his hand is on my neck again. One hand at my neck, and one on the small of my back, holding me in the perfect shape. He holds still. Waiting. Twitching. Controlling.

I urge him forwards but he won’t move – he’ll never move. He’ll wait until I make it on my own, as I struggle against his grip and try to pull myself down right onto the shaft of his swollen cock.

“Please.”

I push harder, straining against his solid grip. Finally, I feel it – the rush and twitch in my cunt as I ease backwards onto him. As he fills me up with his lubed-up dick and tells me I’m a dirty girl.

Then – and only then – does he really start to fuck me.