Almost exactly a year ago, Liv posted this Sinful Sunday photo, taken somewhere out along the Metropolitan Line.
Tonight we were up in North London, having dinner with friends, and when we got on the Tube to head home, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for a repeat performance…
…with one little twist.
Face, cock…or both – sometimes it doesn’t matter. Sometimes all you want is for her to hop on board and take you for a ride…
Last week, I wrote this piece of filth about messy office blow jobs, blue jeans, and the consequences of failing to beat the clock. I knew it was the kind of story that wouldn’t resonate with everyone, but might have a fairly delicious effect on those who did enjoy it. And apparently I was right.
Eight days after posting it, I received an email from Hannah Smythe, better known to most people reading this as @confess_hannah. She’d rewritten the story from the female character’s perspective, and wanted to know whether I’d be interested in reading it. That was not one of the more difficult questions I’ve ever had to answer.
Maybe it’s a sign that I’ve spent too much time in East London over the last couple of years, but I really like the exposed brick wall opposite our bedroom window. I’ve been thinking for a while that it would make a good backdrop for Sinful Sunday photos, and I’m sure I’ll find a way to make that happen at some point – today though, it was so lovely and sunny outside that I couldn’t resist trying out a couple of simpler shots.
I’m still slowly rediscovering my blogging mojo – I have one story I’m hoping to finish this week, and a couple of ideas for posts that I need to start working up in order to see where they take me.
In the meantime, I have two pretty exciting guest posts to share with you all. The first of them comes courtesy of Coffee & Kink, who joined me for this mammoth discussion about pegging back in March. CK is a kickass writer, who also has a bunch of really interesting, insightful things to say about sex, so I’m thrilled to be hosting her again here.
The second post…well, you’ll have to wait till later today for that one. It’s a piece of fiction, it’s a response to this story from last week, and it’s super hot – really, what else do you need to know??
My love for button fly jeans is hardly a secret. They’ve featured here on several occasions over the last couple of years, and if you’ve met me in person, whether at Eroticon or elsewhere, the chances are that I was wearing blue Levis at the time. They’re everything I want in a pair of trousers: practical, durable, stylish, low maintenance…and very easy to remove – or just to open up a little bit. What’s not to like?
I didn’t manage to get my site back up and running in time to join in with last week’s Sinful Sunday prompt. That’s a shame, as I think this photo would have suited the brief rather well (though as the round-up made clear, there was hardly a shortage of images that did exactly that – and more!). As it was, it inspired the story I posted earlier tonight, so it only seems right to share it now instead – and to relaunch the blog by showing off something so close to my heart (yes, I mean the jeans…).
Either way, it’s good to be back 🙂
A little while ago, I took a photo that immediately gave me an idea for a story. The image itself was nothing remarkable, but I was at work at the time, and something about the setting sparked a series of very interesting thoughts…some of which I’ve tried to capture here…
There’s no point getting tangled up in an office fling unless you’re really going to have fun with it. That’s what Gwen told me anyway, the first time she pulled me into the third-floor stationery cupboard halfway through a sleepy Tuesday afternoon and guided my fingers inside her cunt.
And she was right. There are risks inherent to any workplace romance, casual or serious; risks which have to be respected. From complicated power dynamics to petty interdepartmental politics, there’s no shortage of minefields to navigate, and one or two of those are bound to blow up in your face if you’re not careful. Sometimes even if you are careful. So you might as well enjoy yourself while it lasts. Really go to town, y’know?
Over the last few years, ‘-porn’ has become a popular suffix, especially on the internet. Food-porn, property-porn, holiday-porn; you name it, if it’s something we crave, aspire to, or merely enjoy looking at, you’ll find the word ‘porn’ after it somewhere online. Probably Instagram. Or Pinterest.
Maybe it’s a sign of age, but recently I’ve found myself scrolling through pages of bookcases, shelving units, and assorted soft furnishings. That’s what happens when you move house, I guess – though lord knows, we do not need any more bookcases. There’s plenty out there to admire, whether you’re looking for antiques, checking out some of the boutique/independent stores around London, or just sticking with the likes of Habitat and I**A. Some of it is even pretty sexy. But pornographic? Eh, I’m not so sure…
A couple of weeks ago, I read this super-interesting post by Kate Sloan on the gender orgasm gap, and I’ve been thinking about it off-and-on ever since. In part that’s because I’ve somehow ended up in my own orgasm gap experiment; I recently went 10 days without coming, which you can read about here, while Livvy has been enjoying daily orgasms for the last three weeks, thanks to Tabitha Rayne’s ’30 Day Challenge’ – often with me lending a hand, alongside various other body parts.
However, Kate’s post also made me scroll back through my own experiences over the last 14 years. Not to figure out whether I think the gender gap is really ‘a thing’ – clearly it is – but to help provide context and data for the instinctive response I had to what she wrote.
What was that response? I guess the best way to describe it would be a mix of sadness and frustration. Sadness because orgasms are wonderful, and even though there’s much more to sex than whether or not you get off, it would be great if everyone who wants to come when they fuck was able to do so. And frustration because…well, because as guys there is both a huge and a hugely limited amount we can (should!) be doing to help enable and facilitate that.
For 10 moderately tortuous days over the last couple of weeks, I didn’t have an orgasm. I had plenty of sex – probably more, in fact, than I’ve had in any other 10-day period for quite some time – but at no point did I actually get to come.
This brief (and at the same time seemingly endless) period of climactic abstinence came about because Liv decided to join in Tabitha Rayne’s 30-day orgasm project. When I suggested that I might give it a go as well, she pointed out that it might be altogether more interesting if I went the other way instead, and made it an orgasm denial challenge. Denial (in its various forms) is a definite kink of mine – as Liv knows well – so I wasn’t about to back down once she’d put it on the table.