There are lots of things I enjoy about this time of year, but gifts aren’t one of them. I feel uncomfortable if people buy them for me (please don’t go to any trouble!) and I’m terrified of giving them. Although I occasionally have a flash of inspiration, or the time and ability to arrange a cool trip or activity, most of the time I end up panic-buying a present at the last minute that’s way over my tiny budget, because I didn’t have time to shop/think/make but I need this person to know that I care about them anyway. Even the cool things I do occasionally manage come with a hefty dollop of misery as I agonise over the fact that they will still fall woefully short. It never feels possible to buy a gift that is thoughtful enough, arrange an outing that’s fun enough, or write a poem in a card that’s meaningful enough to capture the weight of my love for this kickass person. But I tell you what I can do very well: gratitude.

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Today’s guest blog was dictated by Bev (who is in her 70s) to her son (in his 40s), and I’ve tried to only very lightly edit the story as she told it to him. As you all know, I am constantly thirsty for guest blogs from older people about the sex they have and want, because we don’t get to see nearly enough of their stories in popular culture. If you took the lead from films and TV, you could be tricked into thinking that there’s an expiry date on sexual pleasure. You and I know that is not the case, and that it’s important (not to mention horny) to read and share experiences from people who don’t often get sexual representation in mainstream TV and film. To this end, please give a really warm welcome to Bev, and join me in sending her tonnes of love and best wishes for a speedy recovery so she can enjoy her post-chemo hook-up…

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If there’s one thing economists can agree upon it’s that if you reduce the supply of any given item, it’ll probably increase demand. Remember toilet paper at the start of the pandemic? The best way to increase demand is to drastically reduce the supply. So if you want me to truly beg you for a firm, solid portion of your exquisite cock, the best way to achieve that goal is to gimme that dick like it’s rationed.

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A month or so ago, I abused my power made great use of my platform to post a shout-out on Mastodon for a guest blog that could satisfy one of my long-term curiosities. I wanted to know: what does it feel like to have someone come on your cock? I am, perhaps obviously, fascinated and intrigued by all the different feelings that people with dicks get to experience that I do not, and I figured one of the lovely articulate sex-nerd perverts who followed me might be up for explaining this in detail. And one was! Not just anyone, either: the lovely Starcross, who runs his own blog at Starcross Stories (some of which are available as audio porn too!). His post is so perfect – exactly what I was looking for – that I read it three times before I even started uploading it here to the site. Please enjoy this fabulous explanation of what it feels like to have someone with a vagina come round your cock…

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This gorgeous piece about dominant facesitting is written by Spencer Pritchard and read by Stephen Carling. 

I’m usually the fuck-er, not the fuckee. Generally speaking, I set the pace of our fucking. Of the strokes of my dick with my hips, egged on by your whimpers and moans, emboldened by your body reacting to mine. I like to be ‘in charge’. To have a handful of your hair as you swallow the tip of my stiff cock, guiding your rhythm and occasionally holding you in place whilst I tell how how much of a good girl you’re being. To hold your wrists behind your back, your face buried in the tangled sheets as I slowly push myself past your glistening folds. To wrap the fingers of one hand around your slender neck as I furiously fuck you with the other, splashing us both with your gushing lust as the pressure builds behind your eyes.

It’s not often that I get to be fucked.

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