Welcome readers, I like to imagine you’re on the edge of your seats, eagerly anticipating the climax of my efficient dating experience with a man who kindly fulfilled my last-minute request for a date, then came with me to a Travelodge to make out on one of the beds. Quite a few people replied excitedly to part one expecting porn in part two, thus falling into my cunning and evil trap. I wanted to raise your hopes nice and high because that’s the energy I brought with me on this date – it’s the energy I bring on every date. I wasn’t expecting anything, but naturally it would have been a welcome joy to have a sexy dude put it nice and hard inside me. The resulting disappointment will give you a true taste of my dating life because brace yourselves: this man well and truly talked himself out of a fuck.

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I have rarely felt so seen by a guest blog as I do by this one on fucking your ex. Not that I’m going to fuck any of my exes, you understand. Nuh-uh. I probably shouldn’t. Love is an addiction and fucking your ex is like having just a bit of your favourite, favourite thing: like picking up just one cigarette when you’ve quit for three years, then buying a whole pack then another and another… Christ, I felt this blog post resonate in my skin. Please welcome the absolutely brilliant LM, whose last guest post was a searingly gorgeous BDSM love story (and she’s also written about sex supplements and feeling small and cute – check those out too!). Today she is here to talk about fucking your ex. Why you probably shouldn’t… and why she did anyway.

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It took twelve journeys in the end. I only got fined on three of them, but still – three hundred quid is a pretty hefty blow. Worth it though, to find the guy. The one train guard who’d let me off a fare in exchange for a grope of my tits and a sloppy face-fuck.

This one’s erotic fiction, obviously. I wrote it while I was on a train, which is why that train line gets a mention, but I assure you the guard was incredibly polite and I slammed my laptop shut at light-speed when he came to check my (valid) ticket. Note that this story might contain elements of coercion, if it weren’t for the carefully-written thousand-word intro that I stuck on the front of it to make it a bit more consensual. Feel free to ignore it if you like the non-con/dub-con stuff, or revel in it if you like your stories more consensual and your heroines more gleefully slutty. 

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I set out to find a date within twelve hours, using only my phone. Could I summon a man to come hang out with me on the same day I set up my profile, then get him to bang me sideways in the twin room of a Travelodge? If so, this would make for the most efficient dating experience of my entire life to date. How successful was I? Come find out!

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I often get asked if writing turns me on, or how often/whether I wank when I’m composing something. The answer is ‘sometimes’ – honestly, most of the time, if it’s a story I’m retelling that involves an especially hot real-life fuck or a fantasy I’ve nurtured for a while. But this week’s guest blogger has a far more vivid and delicious answer to that question. Please welcome RalpH_himself (who you can find here on Mastodon or Fetlife) who’s here to show you what the sweet agony of writing erotica is like…

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