Before I suck dick, I take out my lip ring. I haven’t always done this – some guys used to enjoy the extra sensation, so I’d leave it in. Others felt it made very little difference – a blow job’s a blow job, right? – so I wouldn’t bother taking it out before I began. But my current partner prefers his blow jobs au naturel, so I take out my lip ring. And in doing so, I’ve inadvertently managed to achieve a bizarre sexual ambition.

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He likes me to make eye contact when I’m sucking him off. He likes to see my big, wet eyes staring deeply into his. Imploring. Desperate. Needy. Close.

But when the roles are reversed, I want no eye contact. I want him to look down, or away, or at the colours and shapes behind his own eyelids. Never looking into mine.

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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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How did I chat people up before? When I was single, and I had to put some effort in beyond just saying “Your dick. My mouth. Now”?

I think I probably started with a hint: a story about this one time at college, leading to a detailed breakdown of who did what. But where there were strangers, now there’s one guy. Where there were hints, now there’s directness:

“Your dick. My mouth. Now.”

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Sometimes I want to arouse you. Sometimes I want to rant at you. I always want to entertain you. But occasionally I want to disgust you.

Partly because I think it’s important to highlight the fucking weird things we all do sometimes, because it makes everyone else feel a bit less weird about themselves. Partly because we’re constantly – constantly – told that experimenting with our bodies or enjoying them is dirty and bad and wrong (especially if we’re women).

But mostly because so much of what we think about sex is based on knee-jerk reactions, and when our knee-jerk reaction is one of disgust it’s worth examining why we feel disgusted. Is there a rational reason for it? Or is it, like that dildo made from human ashes, just something we condemn because our gut tells us we should?

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