This fabulous casual sex story about getting savagely fucked by a reply guy is written by Charlotte Bayes, read by Sherryl Blu. Note that it contains some consensual choking. 

I do not wish to be perceived as desperate, but after a catalogue of bad experiences both on and off The Apps, I really didn’t know what else to do but to debase myself on Twitter dot com. Asking for a date at the very least on the ‘hell site’ might be able to at least bring some more like-minded people together as opposed to random swipes and hours wasted talking to seemingly normal men. Or men who seem normal at first then turn out to use curtains instead of bedroom doors in their houseshare. They made it very clear I had to try something else.

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Is Liquid Silk the best lube on the market, or does it just happen to be popular with guys I’ve fucked? This question has played on my mind for a long time. Far longer than is reasonable, to be honest. When I was single in my twenties, I rarely paid much attention to brands, I’d just use the lube provided by whoever wanted to fuck me up the arse. Eventually, though, I started to notice a pattern. If ‘every single guy I fucked using the same lube’ could constitute a pattern. Is block colour a pattern? Whatever. My ex used Liquid Silk, and I assumed he just really liked it, but after he and I parted ways I went on to fuck some more guys and… yeah… they all used Liquid Silk too! So obviously that’s what I bought, because although I pretend to be feminist deep down I’m obsessed with impressing men. The type of men I most wanted to lick all tended to use it, so I assumed Liquid Silk must be the best lube around. But is it actually? Or have I just jumped on a bandwagon beside other lazy, sexy, wank-loving Londoners? Let’s find out.

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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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This incredible edging erotica is written by David of The Big Gay Review, and originally appeared on his website. It is read aloud here by Luke. 

I’m impatient. I am the type of person who will obsessively watch their tracking emails as soon as they get a dispatch notification. I’m always rushing ahead from A to B because I just can’t stand waiting. I’m the same with my orgasms. I want them quick, fast and lazy where possible. So the idea of being edged honestly does not appeal, personally.

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[Ages ago I did a tweet that included a silly joke about wanting to bundle men up in a blanket and give them a hand job and a stern talking-to. Someone messaged me to say there might be some smut in that, so I had a go at writing some. I don’t know how good it is, just that I had fun writing it. It hinges on eroticisation of sexual shame (specifically masturbation shame), so please note I don’t actually think it is shameful to masturbate, obviously: wanking is one of my favourite hobbies. But shame is fun to kink, so that’s what I’m doing here.]

You promised you wouldn’t come while you were away. I was looking forward to all the spunk built up during my seven day absence – that thick, powerful brand of cum that thuds from your dick after a long period of denial and frustration. You promised me you wouldn’t come. And yet the second my flight had landed, I received a text from you letting me know that you failed.

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