I want you to ruin my life. Take the weak, thumping jelly of my heart and just… fucking… eat it. Yank it out of my body and hold it high in both your hands and laugh as you sink in your teeth. I want you to ruin my life.

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Note: I wrote this one quite a while ago, and it happened even longer ago. 

His flat is filled with mirrors, which is helpful for two people who really love watching ourselves fuck. He plays Massive Attack at just the right volume, which is great for two people who really like fucking to Massive Attack. And as I hold myself up on the corner of the kitchen counter, one foot planted on the surface and another on the shelf nearby, holding my cunt at the perfect height for him to slam his cock home, he growls: “What do you say?” And I tell him, breathlessly, “thank you.”

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Note: this post includes a sexy role-play scenario which touches on somnophilia (fucking someone while they sleep) and is only ever hot with someone I trust absolutely, with whom I’ve discussed this kink in the past, who knows how I can withdraw consent if I want to. It is not – and should never be – a ‘how to’ guide on fucking. Don’t do this unless you have the express consent of the person with whom you’re doing it. 

Please try not to judge me when I tell you that sometimes I like guys to fuck me while I’m pretending to be asleep. I like the idea that they’re so horny they just want to slip it inside and grunt their frustration out on me, spitting cum inside me without bothering to wake me up first. Something about it ticks the same boxes as the idea of being a fly-on-the-wall for someone else’s wank. That intensely private, pleasure-hunting-at-all-costs urgency that someone leans into when they allow themselves to let go, with a side-order of actual dick in me. Yum.

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When I arrive at the door, we kiss and hug and make all the noises you make during plague time: it’s so good to see you. I’m so glad you came. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. There’s wine in my bag, something smells delicious in the kitchen and earlier this week I texted him ‘pls can you tie me up?’ and he replied with ‘yes, yes I can’ so I’m fizzing. But somewhere in the back of my mind there’s a nagging girl who reminds me that ‘support bubbles‘ can impact the speed and intensity with which you embark on new relationships.

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I am fuckdrunk yet again. My legs are limp and my muscles weak and my throat is parched and all I can feel is the throbbing satisfaction in my cunt. For a split second I wonder if I’m making poor decisions, then I realise that fuckdrunk me could not possibly care less. Thinking straight is not as fun as being high on dick.

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