Whenever I ask a new person to teach me how to suck their dick, Jez from Peep Show’s voice pops up to tell me “That’s cheating! Anyone can please [someone] in bed if [they] tell you what to do! You’re not allowed to ASK, that’s the whole point!” It’s ridiculous, of course, because you absolutely are allowed to ask. In fact, sometimes asking is the only way you’ll find out exactly how this particular person likes their dick to be sucked.

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Did you know this week is Autism Awareness Week? And tomorrow (2nd April) is World Autism Awareness Day. To mark it, @HowlieT has dropped by with a kickass, funny, informative guest blog about sex on the autism spectrum. So whether you are on the spectrum yourself, or you’re shagging someone who is, she has some top tips on things you might want to think about to make sure your banging equals a banging time for both of you.

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This gorgeous caring kink story is written by the Queer Earthling, and originally appeared on their site. It is read aloud here by My Wild Lens. Note that this story contains consensual pain play, nipple clamps, sensation play, kink honorifics including “Daddy,” passing mentions of caregiver-little dynamics, mentions of depression and stress.

Daddy says, “Let’s make it better.” It doesn’t matter what’s wrong, in this story. Maybe I slept badly, maybe I’ve just had a stressful day, maybe my constant low-level depression is creeping in again. But something is wrong, and I can’t quite pull myself out of it.

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As I hope you can tell from the title of today’s post, this week’s guest blog contains some mild peril. Luckily, the fact that you’re reading it is evidence enough that the author of the piece is fine now, so please don’t worry. And naturally, once you’ve recovered from intense sex (or a hilarious sex accident), human instinct is to share that story with anyone who’ll appreciate it. So please welcome this week’s anonymous guest blogger, with a true story about an extremely powerful orgasm…

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If you’ve ever tried to hunt down my Real Life Identity, you probably know one thing for sure: my name is not Sarah. Sarah is the name I used in my books, and it’s the one I use when talking to journalists about sex blogging, if they aren’t comfortable calling me ‘Girl’ or ‘GOTN’. It’s the helpful comfort blanket I wrap around myself to maintain my anonymity: a tasty morsel of reality with which to distract people who might look further. But there comes a point when ‘helpful’ nudges into ‘deceptive’ territory. Notably, when I’m shagging someone.

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