“It’s hot when two girls get off, but it doesn’t work the other way round.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Like women watching a guy play with another guy’s dick. It doesn’t have the same effect.” 

I’ve had this conversation too many times. Far too many times. There’s a longer blog to post another day about the fact that straight-guy sexuality is so tightly woven into our culture that often dudes struggle to get their heads round the fact that, you know, they can be objects of lust just as easily as they’re subjects. But I’ll bore you about that another day.

For now, in response to the person who said this to me, allow me to describe an interaction so hot it makes my toes clench, even just remembering it.

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This is a fantasy about a porn cinema that I wrote ages ago, for reasons I can’t remember. I like things that are simultaneously sexy and grotesque – like the blow job/dripping sandwich fantasy. That’s my way of saying the following story might be weird. And maybe disturbing. And creepily voyeuristic. Alternatively it might not be, and the fact I’ve waited six months to publish it has been a complete waste of my mental energy.

If you asked me to write my own future, I would write the following story. Then you’d wish you’d never asked, and I’d have to burn it, and we probably wouldn’t be friends any more because the whole thing would get awkward.

Anyway. Some erotic fiction. Or a disturbing vision of my distant future. Don’t judge me. Let’s go. 

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I’ve wanted to write about sensual masturbation for a really, really long time. This rant has taken about three months to percolate in my mind, and eventually boil over – I estimate that’s roughly 2.5 months longer than the total time I’ve spent wanking in my entire adult life.

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He wears a watch, and it’s beautiful.

It frames his big hands so neatly, drawing attention to the curve of his wrists and the tension in his fingers as he grips his cock.

I don’t see it at first. It’s early, and grey, and Thursday. My brain’s only just kicking itself awake when I hear the telltale shuffle of him rubbing his cock in bed beside me.

The rustle of the covers. The tight breaths that go with a swift, functional morning wank.

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Top of the list of ‘things I never expected to write’: butt plugs for men. Why? Well, because we all have butts, and the things which plug them will plug them the same no matter what your gender. In the course of my everyday life, I’d be as likely to utter the phrase ‘male butt plugs’ as I would to walk up to a Starbucks counter and order a ‘female caramel latte.’

And yet…

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