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.
So, that sexual fantasy list has been doing the rounds. A bunch of people did a study on sexual fantasies, asking another bunch of people to rate various desires on a scale based on how much they wanted to do them.
It’s great, because:
a) it’s allowed countless news outlets to go ‘OMG loads of people want to get fucked by a stranger!’ and
b) it gives me an excellent thing with which to gauge just how well my next blog about piss play will go down (not that well, but better than anything on goatfucking).
Essentially, it’s a long and indulgent list of some of my favourite things, many of which turn out to be more popular than I’d previously thought (well over a quarter of people fantasise about swinging, for example). It also – like most scientific and sexual things – gave me a thrill of joy to hear pervery discussed in the language of the academics. “Being masturbated by an acquaintance,” is up there as one of my favourite new phrases.
Problems with listing ‘sexual fantasies’
However, despite my feeling that it’s generally A Good Thing, I have a couple of problems with the sexual fantasies study.
Six months ago I wrote a review of the Doxy massager. It did such amazing things to my clit that I nearly fired my right hand, so I have understandably been on the hunt for something that creates similar ‘tear down the walls’ sensations, but for cocks.
To assist me on my quest, Sextoys.co.uk gave me a ‘Pulse’ by Hot Octopuss – a magical dick-massaging device, which I think may well be ‘the one.’ What I really wanted to do was set up a stall in Camden and ask beautiful pierced boys if they’d like me to test it on them, but because I am selfless and giving, I couldn’t in all honesty test a penis-based sex toy myself. So I had it swiftly couriered to a gentleman, and demanded that he use his written eloquence and long-suffering cock to write me a special guest blog.
This is Lewis, and here is his totally unbiased review of the Pulse, by Hot Octopuss. Read it if a) you have a penis and want to find out if this thing is any good or b) you fancy dudes and want to read an intensely hot description of one jerking himself off.
Enjoy.
Review of the Pulse by Hot Octopuss – how to wank like Batman
I get endless joy from touching my cock. I like touching it, I like you touching it, I like jiggling my fucking leg while I’m at work, feeling myself getting harder and more sensitive until I’m straining against my trousers with a cheap desk for dignity and trying to work out whether I can get away with running my nails down the length of it one more time.
It’s a wonder I’ve not been fired, really.
This desperate drive for self pleasure isn’t a new thing – my teenage diaries took less than a week to devolve into a meticulously logged masturbation journal, complete with helpful suggestions like “NB: Bag of ice pressed against balls doesn’t chill spunk – just makes balls cold” and “managed to lick the tip again- more flexibility needed.”
I don’t keep a diary now, of course, thanks to both Twitter and the fact that a twenty eight year old man with a spreadsheet of his wanks is less “horny teenage charm” and more “here is my collection of nail clippings from the last ten years”. I do, however, still take phenomenal delight in wanking, whether it’s a quick functional tug in the toilet or a full-on, Sunday morning session that ends with an arched back and a stomach covered with come.
Naturally, when GoTN approached me and said “Would you like to review a thing designed to make your cock feel amazing?” my response was calm and measured and definitely not a slobbering desperation to Put My Cock in A Thing.
The object in question was the “Pulse” by Hot Octopuss, a company whose name sounds like a character from a porny version of Metal Gear Solid and whose design ethic seems to be “What if Batman was really keen on touching his junk?”
The Pulse is a hand-sized rubbery business (NB – actually silicone) which envelops your cock like an over friendly stingray. It charges by USB, has several speed settings, and, when you’re not tugging yourself senseless, can rest on your cock so your partner can straddle you to join the fun
I’ll be honest: I was initially apprehensive about reviewing this after GoTN set the bar so fucking high on her Doxy review and those god damn sound files. I’m not particularly vocal when I wank and was desperately worried that all I’d end up with was five minutes of what sounded like a hungry walrus being denied a fish. I’ve also never really used a sex toy specifically designed for wanking before, preferring the god’s honest method of my hand, a bit of spit and maybe something in my arse if I’m feeling decadent.
Still. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
The Pulse proudly states that it is the first toy of its ilk that can be used flaccid or erect, as well as being fun with or without lube, so like the pioneers of old, I popped my unerect cock in a thing to see what would happen.
The vibrations are deep even at the lowest setting – a bass rumble that builds into an electrifying buzz as you increase the power – and within a couple of minutes I went from “vaguely horny but nothing special” to “cock straining against the Pulse fuck me this feels good more more more”.
I spent most of my first go in a hands-off way, simply enjoying the new and powerful feelings as the weight of the Pulse pressed my cock against my stomach, the relentless vibrations making me twitch and whimper until I couldn’t stand it any more. Holding the Pulse tight I gave myself quick, hard strokes until I was just on the edge of orgasm. It took a Herculean effort of willpower to let go then, but I wanted the Pulse to carry me over.
Fuck me it did.
I was harder than I had been in weeks. My entire body twitching and desperate. Slowly, achingly, I felt myself get closer. For a man who is normally very quiet when wanking, it was a hell of a shock to find myself panting “Oh god” over and over again as I finally came, covering my stomach in spunk and collapsing into a heap on the bed.
I’m not going to tell you that you should buy the Pulse, but I will say is that I’m going to use it tonight while my partner sucks me off.
I can’t fucking wait.
Thanks Lewis, you have put some filthy-hot images in my head that I will only be able to exorcise with a strenuous wank of my own. I hope that now you’ve read his review, you understand what a massive wrench it was for me to give this toy away, and why even I – a person who is offered free sex toys on an hourly basis – am going to fork out actual cash money to get me one of these. What better way to express my love than by running excitedly into the living room and shouting ‘I’m going to wank you off with Batman’s jizz-extractor!’
If you want to find out more about it, visit the Pulse website, where you can buy one using my affiliate link (so I get a bit of money that helps me keep this site running) also see some dirty hot pictures of a beautiful tattooed guy, like this one:
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.
Wankers unite! There is a revolution upon us and it’s important that you’re part of it. Wipe up the jizz, pull up your trousers, and join your brethren in the march for acceptance.
A while ago I wrote about male sex toys, and a desperately judgmental article at Jezebel that described the guys who used them as ‘lonely fucks.’ But it’s not just Jezebel – I’m frequently coming across examples of the double-standards we have around what men and women do to get off. The overall narrative goes a little something like this:
Men masturbate loads as a matter of necessity, and hence their wanking is something filthy and sordid that should be done behind closed doors, like defecation or voting UKIP. Women don’t really need to wank, because they don’t need sex, so female masturbation is empowering, yet also gentle and feminine and pink.
From this narrative, a lot of bullshit flows, of which the following is just a tiny snippet:
Male sex toys are a bit shameful and dirty, and must be hidden in a drawer so no one ever finds out.
Porn for women is basically a romance novel with a bit of shagging in it. Which men will never read.
All these things are bullshit, but it can be hard to discern that they’re bullshit because so much of our culture plays along to this tune. But even the most basic of research (and I cannot stress enough just how basic my ‘research’ is) shows that sexuality – male, female, or not-easily-forced-into-a-gender-binary – is clearly far more interesting than that.
Male and female sex toys
How many times have you read a mainstream sex advice article that recommends straight guys include vibrators during sex to please their partner? Loads, right? And now count up the number of sex advice articles that recommend women use a masturbator when they give hand jobs because holy Jesus they’re amazing and they make it way more fun? I bet you could count those articles on one hand, and at least two were written by me.
Similarly, guys using toys during solo masturbation is only just beginning to get talked about – traditionally our culture told the dude buying sex dolls and wanking sheaths that he was a lonely, desperate perv. So what’s the deal – are male sex toys only bought by lonely dudes? Or are they, in fact, bought by a significant number of people?
It’s the latter.
Thanks to sextoys.co.uk for giving me some info – here are the most viewed toys on their site.
Mojo Vigor Cock Ring (does what it says on the tin – designed to go round the penis)
To be fair, they have recently been doing some research and surveys into sex doll use, so it’s possible that’s what’s bumped ‘Brad’ and the ‘sisters’ up the list, but of the three remaining one could be used by anyone, and two are specifically designed to be used on a penis. Taking a peek at the top five search terms…
See? The search terms are delightfully universal – some of these toys can be used no matter what configuration of genitals you have. And as for the top toys, most are aimed at people with dicks. I appreciate this doesn’t prove that every guy has a Fleshlight in the cupboard, but I think it shows that male sex toys are not – as the general narrative has us believe – things bought by the few to sate loneliness or desperation. Male sex toys are, in fact, exactly the same as female sex toys: fun, optional additions to your sex life, whether you’re with a partner or on your own.
Men reading erotica
If you’ve been reading my blog for more than a post or two then you have read erotica. I don’t call it erotica, though, I call it filth. And there’s a bloody good reason for that: as soon as you call writing ‘erotic’ people file it away in the ‘just for women’ bank. As if men can’t cope with porn that’s told via this mysterious medium of ‘words on a page.’
I’ve lost count of the number of times someone publishing-related (not my publisher though, natch) has told me ‘oh but men don’t buy books, and they definitely don’t buy erotica, so we make the covers to appeal to women.’ Can you see the flaw in this? Course you can – covers designed to appeal to women may well put men off, because men are human and therefore influenced by their peers: they’re less likely to buy a book with a cover they interpret as ‘female-friendly’ because someone has effectively painted a barrier around it saying ‘this isn’t for you. If you buy it you’ll be the odd one out.’
I’ve used Google stats for the following, and it’s worth noting that Google’s demographic info can never be 100% accurate (and it also forces people into a gender binary, which naturally is a flaw in and of itself). But anyway. Here are my gender demographics – blue is male, green is female:
Sexuality isn’t simple
The info above doesn’t conclusively prove anything, so don’t go showing it to a proper journalist or anything. But what it does show, I think, is that sexuality is far more complicated than we’re tricked into believing.
I frequently talk about how women like sex too, and that it isn’t just a currency with which we barter for money or love, despite the constant stream of depressing sex advice that seems to assume it is. I think that male sexuality falls victim to the same assumptions. This idea that men are sex-obsessed, and only after one thing, is one of the foundations on which the original bullshit story is built. If sex is such a grotesque necessity for men then everything they do with it must be disgusting: the porn they watch, the toys they use, the dirty things they get up to alone behind closed doors, etc.
But actually that’s just as crap as the claim that women lie back and think of England. Not only does it paint every single man into the same sexual corner, but it spectacularly fails to understand the vast differences between individual sexuality (not to mention those who don’t identify with one side or other of the gender binary). It also fucks with morality, assigning moral actions to things which are at best amoral (such as wanking) and painting men as creatures incapable of making moral choices when their sexual desires are involved.
This started as a light-hearted blog, aimed at showing men that they’re being short-changed by society’s views on how they should and shouldn’t wank. It’s turned into something much more depressing. But it doesn’t always have to be this way. As women have gradually changed society’s views on female sexuality (Women can wank too! And watch porn! And be the architects of our own sexual fulfilment!) I think we can change what people think about men as well.
We can start by not giggling when guys buy sex toys, or read erotic stories. When we’ve mastered that, perhaps we can move on to the idea that men – like women – are unique individuals, whose sexuality can’t be easily generalised about or packaged. Then comes the wankers’ revolution. If you don’t want to join in then please step aside: it might get a little bit sticky.
