He sent me a picture of it once – swollen, bright red, and leaking a fat, shiny drop of pre-come. Skin so taut I could tell he’d been edging, even if he hadn’t told me. Seven days’ worth, if I remember correctly. Seven days of edging – touching it, stroking it, playing gently enough that he wouldn’t quite climax. Until the whole thing ached and he had to go to extreme lengths to get settled down before he had to leave the house. Digging fingernails into his thighs, cold water, that kind of thing…

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As the sun will rise every morning, so each day an internet commenter will decide that something new is The Worst Thing To Ever Have Happened.

I’m not prone to slagging off commenters – you who join in below the line, adding critique, debate, praise and hilarious jokes about this one time you fell off the bed while fucking – you are a valuable and incredible part of the internet. Sniffy bloggers like me don’t have a monopoly on opinions, and frequently the contribution of thoughtful, awesome people adds loads to a topic, or makes me snort coffee out of my nose when they drop a particularly hilarious pun. Comments are incredibly valuable: I’d be a liar if I told you differently.

But there is one kind of commenter who can fuck utterly off. And it’s someone I had only made passing acquaintance with until I started working for hot porn site Dreams of Spanking. It’s this person:

“Eww. Why on earth would you post two men going at it?”

“Sorry, but this just isn’t my thing AT ALL.”

“What the hell is THAT?”

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“Don’t you fucking dare come,” he says, with a growling, horny tone and the power to make me do it. Holding a wand toy right tight and hard against my clit, cock firmly in place, pulsing against the walls of my cunt, and giving me something to grip down on as I try to fight the waves of unavoidable orgasm.

Sometimes the sexiest thing in the world is being ordered to refrain from something that you know is inevitable. The strain of having to bite your lip, tense your muscles, arch yourself away from the source of pleasure so as to hold something back for just a few seconds? Amazing.

But not always.

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Forgive the meta-blog, this is one for other sex writers and bloggers, so if you’re just here for the filth or the ranting, check out a random archive post or two and normal service will resume on Sunday.

When I first started sex blogging, I didn’t really think it’d be a big thing. I thought I’d write some half-baked opinions and spit out some of the sexy stories that I was itching to tell people, and then one day I’d shrug my shoulders and just… well… stop. Then some people started reading it. They were joined by more people, and in the brief periods of time between writing a blog and worrying that it wasn’t any good, I managed to start doing things like writing articles for other websites, and a book, and other stuff.

Then I went to a conference in which loads of people gave me advice on how to be better, and it was amazing. It basically answered a whole bunch of questions I had about sex blogging, like ‘how do you get people to pay you to write about hot things on the internet?’ and ‘how do I pitch articles to people who have never heard of me before?’ To be honest, the only question that remained unanswered was ‘how much time do you spend masturbating?’

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God, I love nipples.

Never has a bunch of nerve-endings been collected so neatly together in one place only to be so frequently overlooked as on the human nipple.

Sure, they have a legit purpose – they can sometimes be used to feed babies. Occasionally they can be used to shock facebook users into pressing the ‘OMG get rid of it I am so horrified’ button. After a lot of experimentation, I can tell you that they can’t be used as an alternative to a fingerprint to unlock the iPhone 5.

But what they can be used for is to push me swiftly over the edge into fairly intense arousal.

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