(tl;dr – we’re having a pre-wedding shindig on Thursday 10th August for our blogging/Twitter friends, and you’re all invited!)
As many of you know, Livvy and I have already set a date for our wedding later this year. We’ll be tying the knot down in Hampshire at the end of September – six months next Thursday, in fact. It means that preparations are very much in full swing, and we’ve made pretty good progress over the last few weeks. The marquee is booked, Liv’s bought her dress and shoes, we have a colour scheme (or so I’m told)…things are roughly on track!
One thing we haven’t yet finalised is the guest list, and that’s not going to be easy. Getting all our favourite people together in one place? Hell yes. Telling a handful of friends or family members that we simply don’t have room for them? Ugh, no thanks. Figuring out exactly where to draw that line – and who falls either side of it – is the painful little sting in the tail of what is otherwise a very enjoyable process; one I’m not looking forward to tackling when the time comes.
On Sunday morning, I sat down with lovely fellow blogger Coffee & Kink, to talk about pegging! Pegging, for those of you who don’t know, is the act of a woman (or any person with a vulva) fucking a man (or any person with a penis) anally with a strap-on. The term was coined when it won a contest in Dan Savage’s “Savage Love” column to name the act!
CK is a queer cis woman. She identifies as polyamorous, a swinger, and a mainly submissive switch. I’m a straight cis man, and…well you broadly know what kind of stuff I like!
Here’s what we had to say…
EA: Right, ok! So pegging. It might be useful to start with a bit of context here. At Eroticon, we discussed the possibility of you writing a guest post for me, and a few days later you suggested pegging as a potential topic. Can you explain a bit about why you landed on that, and what you had in mind?
Your body is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I’ll use my hands)
Your body is a wonderland
You’re fast asleep next to the open window when I step silently into our room. The duvet is heaped in a pile at the foot of the mattress, and your naked body is lit by the soft glow of the desk lamp above you. You look small and almost impossibly pale, stretch-curled out on a black ocean of bedsheet, head only just clinging to the edge of a pillow. There’s enough of a breeze to lift the hairs on your forearms, and I think about covering you back up again – but I can’t. Not yet. I need to look at you first. I need to drink you in – to stand in the doorway and fill my already-overflowing heart with this perfect image of you sleeping naked in our bed – because baby, you are stunning.
Two weekends ago, Livvy and I hosted an engagement party on Saturday night, then got both sets of parents and assorted siblings together for lunch on Sunday. Last weekend was completely swallowed up (in the most marvellous, magical way) by the chaos of Eroticon 2017. And on the Friday just gone, we got dolled up in our best Parisian finery for what turned out to be an almost perfect evening at Secret Cinema with Liv’s two sisters.
So it’s fair to say that by last night, we were both flagging a bit. The last few weeks have been a blast, but they haven’t left much time for R&R. Actually, you could say that about 2017 in general.
As we got ready to go out to the latest After Pandora sex party, I realised that not only had I failed to sort out a costume, I wasn’t sure I was even in the mood for kinky, exhibitionistic fun. A sad state of affairs indeed.
Ever since I first attended Eroticon back in 2014, one of my favourite bits of the entire weekend (and there are many contenders for that honour) has been the Sunday afternoon erotica readings, hosted by the indomitable Zak Jane Keir.
This year, a baker’s dozen of writers and bloggers – from published authors to nervous beginners – took to the microphone to share their work, and I was one of them. I went with this story, which I wrote in 2015 and had largely forgotten about, until I dug it out of a folder on Sunday morning. Appropriately enough, it will be two years old tomorrow – for that reason and many others, I’m really glad I got the chance to stand up and read it out to such a warm, welcoming conference audience.
Of all the things I’ve done on this site over the last year, I’m not sure any have proved quite as enjoyable as the two collections of reader fantasies I published in June and September. They showcased such a rich, honest, intimate – and occasionally surprising – array of desires and sexual scenarios that I wanted to jump for joy with each one I read.
The feedback on that whole mini project was really good, so I’ve been meaning to revive it for a while – for a variety of reasons, International Women’s Day felt like the perfect opportunity. Women make up the bulk of my readership, for one thing, and while the sex blogging community is fantastic at representing and championing female desire, the wider world is rather less receptive; in fact, it’s still often openly hostile to anything that even suggests women might enjoy fucking for the sake of fucking, especially when it turns out that what they want is unapologetically – proudly – explicit or filthy.
Here, then, are a whole bunch of fantasies – straightforward and complex, kinky and vanilla – that women have sent me over the last 12 hours. I loved reading through each and every one of them, and I hope you do too. In fact, I’ll go one step further: I hope more women feel empowered to voice, write about, and act on their own sexual fantasies as a result of the work published here today – because that would be kind of awesome.
I wrote this story back in 2014 for Tamsin Flowers’ advent calendar erotica project. As that seems to have disappeared from her site for the time being, I thought I’d publish it here too, for anyone who didn’t read it at the time…
As the place reached its cruising altitude, the captain dimmed the cabin lights and I settled back in my seat. I’d counted on getting bumped up to Business, but with only 10 days till Christmas I wasn’t the only guy in a suit looking for an excuse to head back to London; instead, I’d killed a couple of hours in the airline lounge before take-off, and I knew that even squeezed against the window in Economy, the free booze wouldn’t take long to work its magic.