Voyeur

I thought about it again yesterday afternoon – about fucking another woman while you watch. I don’t know what put it back in my head, but once it was there I couldn’t get it out. Even as the sweat-soaked shirt clung to my back, and my thighs squeezed with a weird mix of agitation and arousal, any sense of self-preservation resolutely refused to kick in.

Perhaps it’s the novelty. This is a new fantasy for me, after all. The MFF vault in my mental wank bank has always been pretty empty, and on the rare occasions I do think about sex with two women, they’re usually the ones in charge. They’re teasing and conspiratorial. Maybe even a little cruel. Not you though.

With you it would be different, in a way I find almost shockingly exciting. I want you to have zero control over what happens in front of you – this isn’t about fucking someone together (though trust me, we’ll get round to that…). I know that’s the way you want it too, but more to the point I trust you to tell me what you don’t want – the things that would spoil it for you, or turn cunt-clenching, stomach-churning lust into corrosive jealousy.

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Sinful Sunday: Afternoon Fuck

Warm outside.

Warmer inside.

And very sweaty by the end of it…

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World Cup of Cheese

For my birthday two years ago I ran a mini writing contest, in which I asked people to send me their experiences of – and fantasies about – birthday sex.  Judging it was great fun, though not nearly as enjoyable as actually reading through the various submissions.

Since then I’ve pretty much sworn off running competitions – judging may be fun, but it’s also pretty stressful – and until this morning I wasn’t planning to do anything special here for my birthday this year. That’s when I remembered this piece of paper.

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Sinful Sunday: Anonymous (July 2016)

It’s two years now since I first ‘donated’ my Sinful Sunday post to anyone who wanted to take part in the meme but didn’t have an easy way of doing so. Over the following 10 months a bunch of bloggers, tweeters, friends and fuckbuddies took me up on that offer, and I was lucky enough to host some really fantastic photos – including some from people who subsequently decided to join in on their own sites.

It doesn’t exactly fit with July’s ‘Change’ prompt, but for some reason this felt like a good time to revive the ‘Anonymous’ concept. In fact, in some ways marking an anniversary is the opposite of change – although in others, perhaps it’s just another side of the same coin. I dunno. Either way, the photos below made it a very easy decision, and I’m glad I get to share them here today. Enjoy!

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The Mystery Iceberg

I briefly found myself in a Twitter conversation yesterday about sending nudes – and specifically, about sending them before you’ve actually been on a date with someone (or, by extension, been to bed with them). Unsurprisingly, my position on this is pretty relaxed: do it if you both want to do it, don’t do it if you don’t, and at all times make sure you’re not pushing onto the other person something they’d rather not see.

Not everyone holds that view, of course, and that’s absolutely fine. Plenty of the reasons people have for not doing it make perfect sense, whether they involve a reluctance to sexualise something too early, concern about privacy/security, or simply a lack of interest in looking at that kind of image. However, there’s one argument against sharing naked photos that’s always bothered me, and I’d never really stopped to think why until it got rolled out again yesterday.

Mystery.

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Waiting…

…waiting is hard.

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Remain

I lived in Poland for 10 months in 2013-14. It was one of the happiest and most rewarding periods of my life. I’d like to say it was also one of the most challenging – it’s always good to push yourself, after all – but the reality is that my time in Warsaw actually felt very straightforward.

I didn’t need a visa to work there, nor were there any restrictions on my movements. I could rent a flat, pay taxes, and access healthcare, without any barriers beyond language and the occasionally daunting Polish bureaucracy. My friends were English-speaking Poles, the odd expat Brit, and a whole bunch of fellow Europeans, drawn to Warsaw by its openness, its optimism, and its thriving economy.

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