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Erotica

Eroticon 2023: Virtual Meet & Greet

Finally, after four LONG years, it’s time once again to saddle up and get my ass to Eroticon! I don’t think any of us who attended the riotously enjoyable 2019 edition thought we’d have to wait till 2023 for the next opportunity to gather in Camden and talk all things sex (writing), but here we are…and, well, there was Covid.

As in previous years, Molly has set us all a few questions to answer before things get underway later this evening. You can find other people’s answers on the link-up page here – make sure you check them out!

Right, without any further ado…

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Cock shots Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: Holding Pattern

I travelled overseas for work this week, for the first time in over five years. It was an intense and exhausting trip, which reminded me of all the things I love (cool new cities, big hotel beds, dinner on expenses) and hate (being away from family, long hours, transport disasters) about business travel.

The transport disaster came on my way back to London, when my late-evening flight was postponed due to ‘bad weather’, forcing me to spend an extra night away. To make things worse, Easyjet dicked us around at the airport for long enough that by the time they finally got everyone booked into a nearby hotel, it was pushing 2am.

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Sinful Sunday: The Kingsroad

“Duh-duh duh da duh duh…”

I watched the first episode of Game of Thrones in a cheap hotel room on the outskirts of Front Royal, Virginia, a gateway town just north of Shenandoah National Park. I’d been a fan of the books since 1998, and was incredibly excited to see how HBO would manage to bring it to the screen. From the first few seconds of Ramin Djawadi’s iconic theme to Bran Stark’s climactic descent from the tower window, everything about the pilot was note-perfect, and I remember rolling over on my hotel bed with a massive, goofy smile on my face at just how good it had been.

11 years later we found ourselves in Northern Ireland, where many of the show’s scenes were filmed over its eight seasons. On our penultimate day there, we hired a car and drove up the Antrim coast. The views were spectacular, the sky was a glorious blue…and pretty much every five minutes, I found myself idly humming the Game of Thrones theme tune.

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Sinful Sunday: Challenge Accepted!

I don’t have a catchphrase or a life motto; very few of the things in which I believe most deeply can be boiled down to a handful of words or a pithy aphorism. But if I had to pick one expression that summed up my attitude to sex, photography, my friends, adventure, and sure, life generally, it might just be the title of this post: challenge accepted!

I am game for most things (you may have noticed): the more ridiculous or extravagant, the better. So when Exposing 40 mentioned casually a while back that she was trying to take nudes in each of London’s Magnificent Seven cemeteries*, obviously I wanted to get involved. And that’s exactly what I’ve done! From the silliness of Highgate’s perfectly-located Vault of Cockshott to the muted colours and contrasts of Tower Hamlets, I helped with two of the six she ticked off over the last couple of years – leaving only one to go.

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Sinful Sunday: Chaise Longue

The first thing we do after getting to our holiday home is allocate bedrooms. Three couples, three double rooms; all lovely, light and well-furnished…but only one of them has a chaise longue. That’ll be ours then.

“You’d better believe I’m getting drawn like one of your French girls,” I say (and tweet).

The chaise longue is next to a window, facing east. In the mornings it’ll be flooded with sunlight, and I think about how that’ll feel on my skin when I’m stretched out naked, a cool breeze drifting over me.

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Cock shots

Repurposed

Tomorrow is my 40th birthday. More on that to come, perhaps. Over the last 24 hours, I’ve been looking back through old blog photos, trying to find the ones that best capture how I looked and felt in my early 30s. The images by which I’d most like to remember that time in my life, from a sexual perspective.

During my trawl, I came across a photo from November 2014 that I’d completely forgotten about. It’s one I really like: I think my body looks good, I remember being achingly hard when I took it, and the washed-out edit works well. What I like (and want to remember) much less is the post that went with it; I’d just been let go at work, and was trying to cheer myself up by posting nudes, which kind of worked at the time but isn’t an event in my life that I want to think about now.

So I’m going to repurpose the photo here, nearly seven years later (wow), and throw in another from that set for good measure! What do you think? Fancy taking 33yo Exhibit A for a ride?!

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Sex

On Sweat

A few nights ago, I slipped quietly into bed and snuggled up to Liv, who was already fast asleep. She’d exercised that evening – a particularly energetic Joe Wicks workout – and while she’d got in the bath with our daughter a short while later, she’d neither washed her hair nor used any soap. When I pressed my face into her neck, I could smell the sweat on her skin.

Over the course of a six-year relationship, you get to learn your partner’s different scents inside and out. The way their brand of shampoo lingers on their hair. Their aftershave or perfume. Their genitals; in the case of someone with a vulva, their genitals at different stages in the menstrual cycle, as well as pre- and post-orgasm. The skin on their hands and face. Their morning breath.

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Other photos Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: One Year

It’s a year to the day since we moved to Croydon and bought this house. Clearly a lot has happened since then! Even beyond its direct victims and their friends/families, I don’t think any of us will emerge from the Covid pandemic completely unscarred (for every person beset by loneliness, there’ll be another trapped with people they hate; for every job loss, there’s a role changed beyond recognition by home working, etc etc), but I have no problem admitting that we’ve been luckier than most, and our living situation is a big part of that.

We have space here, space we never had in Brixton, and we also have a garden. Especially as parents of a very active toddler, both those things have been hugely beneficial where our mental health is concerned. To our surprise, we’ve also been helped massively on that front by Croydon itself.

Ah yes, unlovely Croydon. Much like unlovely Swindon, which I also came to feel a deep affection towards (in a way) during my two years there, our new home is an easy punchline for jokes about, well, shit places to live. And the resemblances don’t end there. In both cases, brutalist architecture, a moribund town centre, and a parochialism among sections of the population that’s easy to mock, are more than offset by qualities that the casual visitor may miss.

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Cock shots Erotica

Watch Me

I’m stretched out on the sofa in a plain white t-shirt and blue-checked Calvin Klein PJs, one bare foot hanging over the edge as I scroll idly. There’s maybe a two-inch gap between the t-shirt’s hem, which has ridden up, and the waistband of my bottoms, which I’m pushing down far enough with my other hand that I can jam my thumb into the base of my cock. Tufts of pubic hair curl out from the faded CK logo towards my navel, eventually giving way at either side to soft, pale skin.

You can picture that, right? Like something from the Loungewear section of a department store catalogue, minus the male model abs and designer stubble.

The sofa is solidly beige, if you need a bit more context (I could go with light brown or mid-grey, and get away with it, but really it’s beige). Generous two-person, with a fairly low back. There are cushions – little oases of colour – most of which are arranged behind my head and shoulders, so I can recline more comfortably.

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Sinful Sunday: Gilded

Work the ridge of my cock with your fingers

Smooth and shape its soft contours

Spin a gossamer ring of finest rose gold