Some of the best things I’ve published on this sex blog have kindly been contributed by other people. I usually post a guest blog every Friday, but because I’m away at the moment I’m posting a random selection of excellence from the guest blog archives. Some of these are sexy, some thoughtful, some a bit of both. 

If you’d like to write one of your own, check out the guest blog guidelines. Normal service will resume next week with a new guest blog, but in the meantime please do check out the blogs below, and come and vote on which of these pictures looks most like an orgasm. Gotn xxx

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Ah, guest bloggers. You make me laugh, cry, masturbate furiously, and want to hug myself with sheer delight that there are so many horny pervs out there who are just like me. This week’s guest blogger, Walter, has done exactly that. He’s captured the sense of delicious and electric arousal that comes from a seriously horny memory. Those fucks you know will never leave your head. The sex you return to over and over again when you need relief.

Please welcome Walter, who has a filthy hot story to tell about nostalgia wanks.

Nostalgia wanks

The initial spark can be small; an arousing image, a few words that make me go: “Mmm, that’s hot”, sometimes a mere suggestion of a particularly sexy activity, and there it is: a familiar twitch between my legs tells me that for the next couple of minutes my thoughts will be preoccupied with one thing. What can I say? I’m young and my sex life is less intense than I would like it to be. What I need to start wanking is more of an excuse than a reason.

But once I get started, things change. As I give myself a tentative stroke, as I feel the blood rushing, my cock swelling, as I finally reach down and squeeze it, enjoying the feeling of bare skin in my hand – that initial impulse is no longer enough. It’s too late to put on porn (it’s hard to type with one hand), so I search in my mind for something that will make me harder and desperate for release. I try to create an other: a mate, a partner, a fucktoy or a mistress that will make me shoot spunk all over myself and possibly my surroundings.

But imagined people don’t do it for me. They’re blurry and abstract, more a collection of body parts – a pair of tits, a cunt, a tongue, an arse – than a person. I need someone tangible. Someone with a voice, a smile, a personality. Someone real.

Quite often, I settle on ex-lovers, resulting in what I call “nostalgia wanks.” One reason is that I know them fairly well. I can remember what made them unique: the way they kissed, how their cunt hair felt on my face, how one of them used to say “Come” while gently pulling me deeper in just the way that made me squirt-come inside her in a matter of seconds.

Of course, it’s not just their bodies that become so arousing. It’s the emotions as well. In my mind, I go back to the beginnings of Us – the nervousness of our first dates, the excitement of first being naked together; the first time she took me in her mouth, and the first time I heard her come.

I also go back to the ending: the sullen fucks after a fight, with me biting her shoulder and roughly fondling her tits, reaching down to grope her cunt and see if she’s wet yet, her reaching behind and yanking on my cock. I imagine all that was, all that could have been, and sometimes I make up scenarios improbable or downright impossible…

I imagine our meeting, a little awkward at first, after all this time. We sit in a café, talking about our lives now, catching up. She seems happy and confident. She smiles a lot and throws me long looks, which I’d have no trouble interpreting if it wasn’t for our mutual history. Surely she wouldn’t want…?

“How about,” she says, moving closer, “we go to your place?”

A nod is about all I can manage.

I’m still hesitant when we arrive, but she kisses me just as the door closes behind us. One of my hands rests on her back, the other instantly finds the familiar curve of her hip. I pull her closer, our bodies touching. I’m hard and I think she can feel it, too.

“Do you want it?” she asks, stopping for a moment.

“Yes,” I gasp, and she reaches towards my belt.

We move into my tiny flat, pulling shirts over our heads, not bothering to turn on the light. All I see are glimpses of her body, brought out by the street lights from outside: her pointy breasts, high cheekbones. I kiss her neck, immersing myself in the familiar, intoxicating smell. A part of me wants to savour the moment, but I’m too hungry for her, to desperate to lose myself in her. I hear her sigh and I nearly come, pressing my cock to her stomach.

But she has other ideas.

She pushes me onto the bed, then reaches down to pull her pants from underneath her skirt. She straddles my face; I can smell her cunt, want to dive right into it. I grab her arse, try to push her a bit lower…

“Don’t be so impatient,” she says mockingly, and I obey, give in to her completely.

I hear her breathe once, twice, then something wet falls on my face, something warm and salty.

I start to protest, but it turns me on too much. I strain my neck upwards, lap her piss straight from her cunt. I grab my cock and start pumping.

“Do you like that?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to fuck me?”

A vigorous nod.

“Well,”she says, as the stream of piss stops. “Bad luck.”

She gives me a kiss on the cheek gets up, picking her shirt from the floor. I want to say something, but I’m too close to release, so I keep moving my hand faster. As the door closes behind her I come, hard, with a choked gasp.

I open my eyes and come back to reality, feeling wonderfully empty and calm.

I often walk down the street and imagine a hot guy (who probably looks a bit like David Tennant but with piercings and maybe a bicep tattoo) stepping out of a nearby shop and saying “hey there, you look incredibly attractive and exactly my type – do you fancy coming into my dungeon so that we can have all the sex?” Sadly my life is not a porn film, and the closest it’s ever come to one is that one time a plumber came over and I’d forgotten to put trousers on before I answered the door. That’s where the similarity ended, though, as he blushed a bit and I had to pretend that my boxer-brief/jumper combo was how I greeted all my house guests.

This week’s guest blogger has had far more interesting experiences, though, and he’s here to tell you a couple of deliciously exciting stories about unexpected sex. Take it away Simon…

Guest blog: the joy of unexpected sex

Sex is fun, exhilarating, a relief, all sorts of things. When it is unexpected it is even better – and I don’t mean when your partner suddenly decides that “Tonight’s the night, dear” when you’re settling down in front of Match of the Day. I mean when someone you know, but haven’t paid a great deal of attention to, surprises you with an out-of-the-blue session that leaves you completely sated. It’s happened to me twice and both times were mind-blowing.

I used to work at a hospital. A bunch of us would get together once a year to put on a show – all very silly and amateur but we took it fairly seriously and I had massive, full-on lustful cravings for one of the nurses who was part of this group. Very sexy, black wavy hair and a cracking smile and laugh. A real shame, as my amorous advances were never returned and she ended up with someone who I considered far behind her in evolutionary terms. What I didn’t realise was that another nurse in the group (I’ll call her Evie) had her eyes and ideas set on me and I was totally unaware of it.

We gathered one evening in my flat – I lived quite close to the hospital – was the usual messy, friendly  hilarious rehearsal for the show, spurred on with more than a few drinks and everyone (I thought) left quite late. I ushered them all out of the front door, dumped the empties by the bin, washed, brushed my teeth and jumped into bed to find Evie there wearing nothing but a chunky necklace. Genuine blonde, booby and a seriously gorgeous figure. This was well before the acronym “WTF” was invented but that’s probably what I thought at the time. (I should have written it down and patented it). However, being unmarried, unattached and certainly not one to look a gift nurse in the mouth, we had a rompingly good time involving massage oil, hands tied together, feet tied together, clothes pegs – use your imagination – and a pair of airline eye-shades. I am fairly certain I had four decent orgasms over the following hours and I am not sure I have managed that in one session at any time since. I know I was very late for work the next morning and several more in the following few weeks.

Wind the clock forward quite a number of years and I am on the way to deliver some training in the north of England. This is to an outfit whose manager I have known for some time on a purely professional basis – friendly, but definitely professional. I am due to be at her office between 8 and 8.30 a.m. but I get a call to ask if I can swing by her house to pick her up and drive us both in, then (she says) we can use her parking permit at work. So I drive up at about half past seven, ring the doorbell and she answers the door wearing a dressing gown.

That stopped me in my tracks for a start – I was expecting business attire and a “Let’s get the day started” attitude – but she had the gown open quite low, her hair was down and she did look absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and more than just a little sexy. Even more so when she reached past me to shut the door, then walked a few steps into the house, turned round and let the dressing gown fall away. It had the sort of effect that she obviously wanted. My jaw was probably following the dressing gown on its way down to floor level and my cock inside my trousers responded with a speed it hadn’t displayed for a while. I can’t remember if I actually said anything but, if I did, it was probably gibberish and pointless. She looked pleased at the effect she was having, climbed a few of her stairs and sat down, waiting.

I really didn’t need too much encouragement after that. Would any man? My jacket and tie came off remarkably quickly and I positioned myself at her feet and opened her knees wide, kissing and licking up the inside of her thighs as she lay back on the stairs and closed her eyes. I found she was extremely wet already – and extremely tasty, too – and the next few minutes were spent teasing her, opening those beautiful cunt lips to admire a swollen clitoris and to help it to swell even more. I slipped two fingers into her and she arched and shuddered and came hard and it was all I could do not to join her, though I was still mainly clothed. I stood up and started to undo my trousers and let my aching cock into the light; she turned her back on me, climbed another couple of stairs and stuck her arse out towards me, presenting me with a picture that most red-blooded men would like to frame and keep. Still with my trousers around my ankles, I slipped straight into her and she braced herself against the stairs with one hand and pulled me harder into her with the other. We fucked in that position harder than I had known for ages – the excitement of the situation, a new experience with someone who was almost a stranger made me rock hard with pleasure and I came like a train inside her, flooding her with my come for what seemed an age. For some inexplicable reason – guilt, pleasure, surprise? – we both collapsed and started laughing helplessly on the stairs and slithered to the bottom step in a sticky, tangled heap.

The trickiest bit was walking into her offices, washed and cleaned, over an hour later and keeping myself from smiling inanely while trying to train her staff with her present in the room.