Many of my friends are people I’ve never met. That’s weird, isn’t it? It is genuinely a very different world to the one I grew up in, where friendship meant ‘the people whose doors you’ll knock on if you want to hang out at the weekend.’ Now, though, friendship usually comes with an @ and an avatar.

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What, dear friends, is the point of the male orgasm? That moment when spunk shoots out the end of someone’s cock is surely a thing that could happen without pleasure? Could evolution not have given penis-havers a simple urge to ejaculate that was not in any way based on physical sensations of joy?

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Most of the ones that got away did so because of timing.

Paul (not his real name, but he looked like a Paul. Or a Peter. Or a Stephen – with a ‘ph’ not a ‘v’) will never know just how perfectly wrong his timing was.

I met Paul in a beer garden. Again, most of the ones that got away escaped from beer gardens. Or pub lounges, if the weather was shitty. Metaphorically slipping out of the window when I was busy fucking someone else in the toilet.

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Today I’m thinking about butter. Which is, I know, not the ideal lube. Especially if you’re vegan.

But today I’m thinking about butter for lube.

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This week’s guest blog is about something very close to my heart, which features in some of my hottest fantasies: the glory hole. While I’d love to be able to tell you utterly filthy stories about anonymous rendezvous with people through glory holes, I’ve sadly never had the pleasure. So Laura – from School of Squirt – is here to share a story of her own glory hole evening. And holy shit it’s hot. Don’t read this at work, unless your work is totally comfortable with you getting so turned on you immediately run to the office toilets and start hacking holes in the cubicle walls.

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