My bedsheets smell like last night’s fucking. Well, fucking which lasted the whole of yesterday if I’m honest. Then once again this morning at roughly 5 am. We barebacked: my favourite kind of fuck. Rock-solid, exquisitely-shaped, diamond-hard cock sliding inside me, bare. Leaking precum. I could feel every single atom of his dick against every ridge of the inside of my aching cunt. His flesh meeting mine, stretching me out. Sensing, as he slid into my body, just how desperately and urgently wet I was. We bareback fucked to a soundtrack of tunes that he selected and I utterly loved while I clung to that man like my life depended on it and begged him to never stop doing what he was doing. He looked into my eyes and whispered: “you’re fucking incredible” and kissed me with a kind of gentle awe. This is a real thing which happened to me yesterday. This man fucked me like he meant it. And oh God, put me out of my misery now please: if this man turns out not to mean it, I will shatter.

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One of the things I miss about having a regular partner – notably a live-in one, who hangs around the house, teasing me sluttily by existing in possession of a dick – are those moments of casual horn that come when you’re in close quarters. The fact that another person in my space will necessarily be sexual sometimes, and either by design or pure, gold-plated luck they’re sometimes sexual with (or at) me.  I miss silly, everyday, random bursts of horn.

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We’ve been chatting on Patreon lately about dating, and today someone asked me what I was looking for. I thought I’d spell it out for you, in the form of a little poem.

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Here’s something that has never happened to me in the whole of my slutty life: after a fuck, a guy pulls his dick out of me and shuffles down the bed, so as to get a better view of all the cum dripping out of my freshly-fucked cunt. Never happened. Ever. This is the shining truth at the heart of why I hate the term ‘creampie’.

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He’s at the toilet, pissing heavily into the bowl. I’m standing behind him with my arms wrapped round his waist, gripping him ever so gently so I don’t put him off or change the direction of the stream. Both of us are staring down at the task in hand. The fat head of his flaccid cock gripped between thumb and forefingers. When he pushes out the last few drops, he grunts a little at the back of his throat. The same way he sometimes grunts when he comes inside me. When he’s finished peeing, he turns his head towards me and whispers in my ear ‘what do you want?’

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