I have a favourite pervy picture. It’s not as explicit as you might imagine – in fact to certain eyes it could look like an innocent snap of two teenagers in love. But it is not that.

During my first year of University I fell what can only be described as ‘idiotically in love’ with a guy who was generous enough to reciprocate that love with spectacular and quite disgusting sex. He was a brunette. He was straight.

At the same time, I had a good friend in halls who was exquisitely pretty in a lithe, posh-boy way. He was a blond. He was also straight.

These two boys, lovely though they were to me, utterly despised each other.

Can you see where I’m going with this? Maybe not – I’m going to a kebab house at 3 am, on the evening of my 19^th birthday. We were waiting for food and I jokingly asked them to kiss. To my unending delight, they actually did. Forcefully, passionately, and with the kind of lustful instinct that you tend to only see in young ones. Luckily I was not completely paralysed with arousal and so, ever resourceful, I whipped out my camera faster than you can say ‘timeless wanking classic’ and took a snap.

If boys kiss in front of me I will probably perv on them

Watching two boys kiss is one of my absolute favourite things. I am frequently mesmerised in gay clubs at the sheer number of hot, lustful men eating at each other like it’s their final chance to do so.

But good though it is to watch any boys kissing, my personal favourite is seeing two otherwise straight guys pulling because they know it will turn me on.

Why? God knows. The kissing’s hot because boys are hot, and at that point it becomes a simple equation: if one thing is hot then if you double the number of hot things and attach them at the face you’ll increase the overall hotness output.

But I suspect there’s also something of a dictatorial streak in me. Despite being submissive when I’m fucking, as a general rule I love to see boys doing things that I’ve asked. Sometimes I can control boys purely by telling them it’ll make my cunt wet if they do stuff – I am God.

Part of the thrill with straight-boy kisses is definitely the fact that they’re usually a bit uncomfortable. In this situation the fact that the guys hated each other made it all the more arousing. I remembered the bitter rows they’d had, the way they snarked about each other to me to try and get me on side. I made these boys get over their mutual disdain just so they’d do dirty things to each other.

But mostly it’s hot because, even after initial reluctance, I’ve never seen guys snog timidly – gently – the way most try to kiss me for the first time. Boys snog more quickly, more passionately, almost angrily. Even reluctant straight ones.

And now if you could just take off your pants…

Of course sometimes, if I’m really lucky, it will develop into something else. I’ve been with a few guys who are willing to snog but no more – they’ll do it to make me happy then take me home and bang me with the force of someone trying to show how much they like girls.

But some of them are willing to go that bit further. Some will pull a boy and realise that perhaps boys aren’t so icky after all. Maybe this one will rub up against the other a bit. Perhaps he’ll start getting hard. Perhaps he’ll let me take off his trousers so the other guy can get a good, tight hold of his dick.

Even if that doesn’t happen, the promise of it is still there during their kiss. So whether I’m taking pictures on the sidelines or trying to crowbar myself in between them so they crush me with the force of their boylust, I’m grateful for every lip-locked minute.

I understand that not everyone’s into it. Not all straight guys are willing to get as stuck into another dude as they are into a woman. But honestly? If you are I’ll love you twice as much for it.

If you’ll pull a guy with the same force and passion as you’d pull me… If you’ll kneel down and suck on his cock like you want to draw all the spunk right out of him… If you’ll let him climb on top of you and bang you with quick, hard, grunting strokes while I lie underneath and feel the force pushing your cock deeper inside me… If you’ll do all of that then I will melt and drool and tremble and then fuck you until you have no fuck left.

Things it is not OK to do after sex

Ask a serious question

It’s not just women wanting to pillow-talk: guys do this too. From “do you love me?” to “how was it for you?” any question that’s going to require diplomacy or the accurate articulation of coherent thought should be ruled out.

Yeah, OK, your partner might well love you after you’ve banged twelve shades of awesome into their quivering, lustful body, but it doesn’t mean as much as it might under more considered circumstances. When I’m panting with post-sex exhaustion I’d happily declare my undying love to a passing springer spaniel.

Cry

This one probably goes without saying. Unless, through the weeping, your partner can just about make out the words “I’ve never had it so good.” or “Now I know what heaven feels like.”

Cuddle

It’s been suggested that cuddling releases Oxytocin – sometimes referred to as the ‘love hormone’. I am not entirely sure if this is good or bad science (feel free to correct me – I’ve had a read around and it looks OK) but whether it is or not, I think I do tend to develop stronger emotional bonds with people who snuggle me. Strong emotional bonds aren’t something I’m massively keen to develop, so cuddling: no.

Also, you know, we’ve just shagged – I’m probably quite hot. Get the fuck off me.

Secretly knock one out

Unsatisfying shag? It’s probably impolite to let your partner know by waking them up with furtive duvet rustling at 2 am.

Things it is OK to do after sex

Openly knock one out

If the sex was unsatisfying, why not tell your partner that you loved it enough you could go for some more? Sit on them, grab hold of the nearest sexy bit, and use your other hand to masturbate yourself to frothy completion.

Fart

I make a mild effort to not appear disgusting in front of boys – this effort increases the chance that I will get to fuck them again. But I couldn’t give a flying wank how disgusting they are in front of me. Everything they do is part of their sweating, rugged, testosterone-oozing charm.

So if we’ve just had sex, don’t do the far-away concentrating look and clench your arse-cheeks until you go red in the face. Fart away, gents – I’ll be far too shagged to care.

Chat shit

Deep and meaningfuls are right out, but you know what your partner might appreciate? Some joke you heard at lunchtime. Or a rant about people who stand on the left when they’re on a tube escalator. Or an ignorant opinion you picked up from the letters page of the Evening Standard on the way over.

If you want to talk after sex, make sure you say something they don’t have to put much effort in to listen to.

Go for a beer

Whether it’s problems with rigidity or issues with balance, being drunk makes sex slightly trickier. Why not switch the order of your evening and have a fantastic shag followed by post-fantastic-shag congratulatory beers?

Fistbump

We’re both pretty pleased with ourselves right? Right. We both got laid, right? Right. Let’s celebrate our mutual victory in time-honoured fashion.

High fives are also acceptable.

Number 16 was a rare find – a genuinely good mate with whom I spent many a brilliant hour getting utterly pissed and chatting about anything and everything.

The first time we had sex was a complete accident – I don’t think either of us had entertained the notion until one night, after downing enough tequila to fell an elephant, we ended up snogging mid-karaoke in a dirty pub at 2 am.

Oh. We’re doing this, are we? OK.

That initial shag eventually led to a comfortable routine – beer, more beer, yet more beer and then a pissed stumble back to his flat where we’d swap stories of past sexual conquests, smoke an obscene number of fags, then undress each other and fuck like we were playing tennis.

I don’t want to describe a specific incident, but I would like to make an observation – number 16 made noises.

The sex itself was vanilla – frantic, hot, pissed and desperate. We’d both decide we’d had enough of drinking and went into his room to strip off. And while we were stripping he’d talk, and while he was cupping my tits in his hands he’d talk, and when we were fucking he’d talk. And it was so. Fucking. Good.

He spoke to me, he moaned, he said ‘oh yes’ when I did something nice. He sucked in big gulps of breath while I had his cock in my mouth. He sighed. He moaned a bit more. He went ‘ugh’ when he came.

Number 16 said things and talked dirty. He told me he was hard, that he loved how it felt when he was inside me. He told me how wet I was. He asked me if I liked it. He groaned and sighed and climaxed with vocal, lusty relief.

Good lord the world could do with more vocal boys. Vocal boys make me feel so good. I love the challenge of doing things to make them go ‘aaah’ and if I get that feedback I’m going to keep doing it again and again. If I could request anything from the gentlemen of this world it’d be to turn up the fucking volume.

You don’t have to shout it from the rooftops, you don’t have to scream and cry and wail like a mourning widow. But don’t lie there in silence, humping me stoically with a face of concentration like you’re solving a particularly difficult crossword puzzle. Come on boys – make some noise.

___

We’re still mates. He has a girlfriend now and is almost like a proper grown-up. They go on holiday and have dates and are serious with each other, and when we get together for beers he tells me about her and I’m pleased that he’s got the secure happiness which, let’s be frank, I can’t give to guys.

But I still look at him and want to tear him apart.

I see his sexy, filthy hands gripped round a pint glass and remember how he’d take his rings off before plunging his fingers into my cunt.

How he’d hold my hair back so he could watch me taking the length of his cock into my mouth.

How he’d squeeze my tits nice and hard, and tell me that I liked it.

I mostly remember the noisy sex – what he sounded like.  What he’d say to me, how he’d moan and sigh. Best of all that wonderful, audible moment when he’d shudder and – with a muffled cry – come deep inside me so hard I could feel it.