Tag Archives: illustrated
Lessons learned in 2021: life, lust and loneliness
This post is just a random collection of lessons I learned in 2021, and if I’m honest it’s also partly a vehicle for me to share with you some of my favourite posts and images from the past year. I’m extremely lucky to get to work with Stuart Taylor, who draws fresh new art each week which brings this blog to life in ways that are not only extremely fucking sexy (here’s my favourite hot image from the year – unngh) but also cute and funny (here’s my favourite cute/funny one!). The image that illustrates this post, by the way, comes from one of the things I most enjoyed writing this year: an ode to the walk of shame. Anyway. The end of December is a good time for taking stock of what you’ve learned in the last year, for for what it’s worth here are some of my lessons from 2021.
Sex writing and consent: do people approve their blogs?
It’s important to me that you know this: I don’t publish sexy blog stories about people without their permission. That hasn’t always been the case – when I first started blogging I wrote about people who were so far in my past that I couldn’t have popped back up in their lives to get their OK, so I just fudged a lot of details and shot for anonymity. These days, everyone I’ve slept with recently knows that I’m girl on the net, which handily bypasses some of the more awkward conversations I might have to have with a stranger, and also means there’s no excuse to not ask before I turn our fuckstories into #content. So: sex writing and consent. Do people approve their blog posts? And if so, how does that work?
Throb: let me hold your twitching cock
He puts my hand up against his crotch, tells me ‘press here – not too hard’ and twitches his pelvic floor. His muscles flutter at my fingertips and in the palm of my hand, his dick jumps. Throbs. I press my hand tightly against him and stare. Openly. Impolitely. Greedily. I look down his body, see my own hand cupping his cock, and feel the pulsing throb as he works those muscles.
Gamble: low expectations, high reward
It’s a huge gamble, both of us know that, so we’re careful to tiptoe gently around the implications. I haven’t seen this guy in many many years, and he lives far enough away that we can’t just catch up over a drink. A visit? For three nights? It’s a huge gamble. But he asks me at exactly the right point – says ‘shall I come and stay for a bit?’ when I’m feeling brave and horny. So I bury the doubts, keep my expectations low, embrace the knowledge that life is far more fun if you gamble sometimes and tell him ‘fuck it, yes.’
Don’t be cool, be desperate
If someone were to ask me what I bring to the table, sex-wise, I wouldn’t mention specific parts of my body. My body is fine, my hair is fine, my clothes are basically clothes. I like to think I’ve got a pretty filthy grin, but apart from that my physicality is nothing to either write home or pen a strongly-worded letter of complaint about. So if we’re having sex, what I’m bringing to the party isn’t my body, it’s my attitude. To be blunt: my enthusiasm.