Sometimes, like many humans, I have fantasies that are grotesque and dark and weird. And sometimes I have days where I can think of nothing else to write, so with a sense of weary resignation and vague self-disgust, I tell you one of the odder ones. This disgusting fantasy is a not-quite-non-consent story that, I think, is an escalation of the fantasy dinner party. So if you like this kind of thing but the below gives you shudders, you might prefer that story instead.

For the record, it would horrify me if it happened in real life: that’s kind of the point of it. But as a film I play in my mind when I’m masturbating, something about the atmosphere and the attitude makes my cunt twitch.

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“Men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses”? Pah. Maybe more will after reading this post. Here’s why glasses can be incredibly sexy, and a few hot things to do if you want to include glasses in your sex games…

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There’s a look that says ‘I want to do this so badly.’ It’s similar to the look that says ‘I’m going to do this.’ The expression that says both ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ at the same time.

It usually comes from above.

I’m on my knees, or – as is the case in this story – lying on the sofa. Tired and horny and lazy and just that bit too Sunday-night-knackered to move. And he gets the look.

It’s straight-faced. Dark. A shadowy playfulness just behind it, but no hint of an actual smile. He stares directly at me, saying nothing. I look up, eyes wide with anticipation. Sometimes I’ll ask ‘what do you want?’ but far more often, I don’t. Because I know exactly what he wants: he wants to pull out his thick, warm cock, and fuck… well, not me specifically, but something. Anything.

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I like the feeling of come hitting my skin.

I particularly like the feeling of it squirting hard against one of my nipples as he presses the tip of his cock against me.

It’s not just the force and power of the liquid, but the accompanying twitches of his dick. Being able to squeeze it tight in my hand and feeling the rush of liquid hammering along the shaft.

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From casual conversations held with friends in darkened rooms, while they don’t realise that I’ve got a guy’s dick tight inside me, to moments when people walk in while we’re fucking. That split second where they stand and stare and can’t work out how to extract themselves if the ground resolutely refuses to swallow them. I was going to write about that stuff this week. It was going to be light-hearted and fun and a bit hot. Then, as I was collating anecdotes and remembering past fucks that fit the bill, I stumbled upon a sex story I’ve never written up – a brief encounter so horny that I couldn’t let it go. While sex interruptions are frustrating at the time, I doubt this brief fuck would have burned so clearly in my mind unless we’d been disturbed partway through, adding a heart-thumping fear and greater urgency to everything.

I might still write about sex interruptions in general, but for now you can have this: the filthy sex story that’s sat in my head for the last four days and won’t stop bugging me until I’ve relived it properly. Some things are just like that, you know? Well, you’ll see.

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