“It’s hot when two girls get off, but it doesn’t work the other way round.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Like women watching a guy play with another guy’s dick. It doesn’t have the same effect.” 

I’ve had this conversation too many times. Far too many times. There’s a longer blog to post another day about the fact that straight-guy sexuality is so tightly woven into our culture that often dudes struggle to get their heads round the fact that, you know, they can be objects of lust just as easily as they’re subjects. But I’ll bore you about that another day.

For now, in response to the person who said this to me, allow me to describe an interaction so hot it makes my toes clench, even just remembering it.

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How did I chat people up before? When I was single, and I had to put some effort in beyond just saying “Your dick. My mouth. Now”?

I think I probably started with a hint: a story about this one time at college, leading to a detailed breakdown of who did what. But where there were strangers, now there’s one guy. Where there were hints, now there’s directness:

“Your dick. My mouth. Now.”

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Morning boners on a Monday morning? I’m spoiling you. Here’s two things for this week, which includes an ace blog about morning boners, a romantic artificial intelligence engine, and a chance to be interviewed about your sex life. I realise this is rapidly expanding into ‘more than two things’, which I hope you’ll see as a bonus rather than a flagrant disregard for my self-imposed brief. Here we go…

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A few weeks back, I gave the best blow job I’ve ever given. Apparently. I don’t like writing that down so starkly – it’s far easier to talk about how mediocre I am in bed, or how incompetent I am with certain sex toys.

But I’m writing it because the sentence itself will spin round in my head forever. I don’t want anyone to tell me that anything was ‘the best blow job ever’, because I’m primed to root through any compliment until I eventually find a negative. And so this week I’m tortured by this one simple fact:

None of my other blow jobs were as good as that one. 

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He wears a watch, and it’s beautiful.

It frames his big hands so neatly, drawing attention to the curve of his wrists and the tension in his fingers as he grips his cock.

I don’t see it at first. It’s early, and grey, and Thursday. My brain’s only just kicking itself awake when I hear the telltale shuffle of him rubbing his cock in bed beside me.

The rustle of the covers. The tight breaths that go with a swift, functional morning wank.

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