My bedsheets smell like last night’s fucking. Well, fucking which lasted the whole of yesterday if I’m honest. Then once again this morning at roughly 5 am. We barebacked: my favourite kind of fuck. Rock-solid, exquisitely-shaped, diamond-hard cock sliding inside me, bare. Leaking precum. I could feel every single atom of his dick against every ridge of the inside of my aching cunt. His flesh meeting mine, stretching me out. Sensing, as he slid into my body, just how desperately and urgently wet I was. We bareback fucked to a soundtrack of tunes that he selected and I utterly loved while I clung to that man like my life depended on it and begged him to never stop doing what he was doing. He looked into my eyes and whispered: “you’re fucking incredible” and kissed me with a kind of gentle awe. This is a real thing which happened to me yesterday. This man fucked me like he meant it. And oh God, put me out of my misery now please: if this man turns out not to mean it, I will shatter.

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I want you to connect with this blog post. I want that with all of them, but this one in particular. Dive in, let go, have fun. Don’t wonder where it’s going or what might happen next. I want you to connect with this story.

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A lovely woman set me up on a blind date. Yes, my life is like a film now and I’m very grateful for that. How do you reckon the blind date went? For context, I can tell you that I had met this lady precisely once in my life, and during that meeting we’d spoken for less than two hours. She’s a very warm, open person though so our conversation went to fun places really quickly. We commiserated with each other about the terrible state of The Apps these days, and I told her about my dating challenges: why I’m trying to meet men in real life rather than repeatedly bang my head against the brick walls of Feeld and OKC. Three days later, this woman I barely knew texted me: I have a potential date option for you. (Yes I work fast). This magic dating fairy then went on to tell me that the guy in question was funny, sweet, asked questions and that a mutual friend of ours had approved the match. She wanted to know if I was still up for trying out the whole ‘blind date’ idea. I said what you’d expect me to say: Omg seriously?! I am SO IN. Predictions: what do you think?

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I can’t tease you any longer, my friends. It was cruel of me to do so in the first place. The fun little trilogy that started with a dating challenge and moved on to me and a hot guy swapping sex stories is just that: a trilogy. It’s not the first chapter in a brand new erotic romance. Fuck it, though, he and I had a lot of fun, and personally I find it fitting (and deeply satisfying for my overall philosophy) that the guy who restored my faith in dating didn’t do so by being the perfect match, but by embarking on our dates with genuine emotional honesty. When I set out on the initial challenge (‘ask out the hot man who works in my shop’) it wasn’t about whether he said ‘yes’, only about whether I was brave enough to ask him in the first place. Likewise, the success of our dates didn’t come down to whether we kicked off a serious relationship, but whether we met as equals with a genuine desire to find out if we matched. The fact that we don’t match is no more than a footnote. The headline is that we found that answer swiftly, respectfully, and while having a fair bit of fun. Shop Man Part 3. Let’s do this.

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One of the things I miss about having a regular partner – notably a live-in one, who hangs around the house, teasing me sluttily by existing in possession of a dick – are those moments of casual horn that come when you’re in close quarters. The fact that another person in my space will necessarily be sexual sometimes, and either by design or pure, gold-plated luck they’re sometimes sexual with (or at) me.  I miss silly, everyday, random bursts of horn.

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