Girl on the Net

This week’s guest blog is a fabulous rant by Liv Arnold – an erotic author who has a bone to pick with men who expect blow jobs but don’t want to return any oral favours. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m getting more ‘fuck this’ in my forties than I was a decade ago, but I find it joyful to read stories about people who have realised they no longer want to accept mediocre – or outright bad – treatment from people and have worked out the perfect way to say ‘no’. You don’t have to do things in bed that you don’t want to, and that means you’re allowed to walk away from sex where the pleasure is so one-sided. Take it away Liv…

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I’ve written so much on this blog over the years about watching people wank, you’d think I’d have run out of things to say about it by now. You’d be wrong, though, because just as no two snowflakes – or two fucks – are ever exactly the same, so two precious opportunities to watch somebody beat one out will always be different in ways that I believe deserve fawning appreciation. Thanks to the uniqueness of every person I fuck, and the infinite ways in which I lust after their quirks and kinks, I can always find something in any given wank to get drooly and cross-eyed over. Today I want to talk about intentionality – how part of the joy of watching someone wank to porn is in understanding their specific choices about who and what will turn them on in this moment. Seeing them select a scene; skip through the parts they’re not interested in; maybe rewind the sections they want to to enjoy more than once… all this gives me horny little clues about their specific lusts in that moment.

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I’m a sucker for a guest blog that melts my heart as well as my knickers, and this week’s guest delivers exactly that. A beautiful story of first time anal fingering, with a glimpse into the blossoming trust and intimate dynamic between the writer and his partner. Please give a warm and sexy welcome to OldManOnAJourney, I am so grateful to him for sharing this gorgeous experience!

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I can’t quite believe I’m having to say this. Even as I pull this guy aside for a quick word, there’s a part of me that’s sitting outside my body, surveying the scene and wondering how the fuck I’ve ended up here. In the 21st century, as a grown adult with another grown adult, about to explain to him that ‘casual’ sex does not mean you get to treat me with contempt.

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It’s late, and I’m tired. So tired, in fact, that I’ve just slept through the last twenty minutes of the film we were meant to be watching. You can’t blame me: it’s not often I get to snuggle up on a sofabed with my head in somebody’s lap, sinking into the duvet and enjoying the gentle, rhythmic stroke of their hand on my bottom and thighs. It is blissful. Beautiful. Like stepping into a shower that’s set to the perfect temperature, or hugging a loved one when you meet them off the train. I am safe, cosy, happy. This scene is tranquil as fuck, so you can’t blame me for falling asleep. I am also a horny bitch, though, so I hope you can also understand what happens next.

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