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Cock shots Sex

Edging & Why I Like To Wait (NSFW)

I’ve spent a lot of time at home over the last few months. In general, I’m pretty good at keeping myself entertained, in between bits and pieces of freelance work, and I’m lucky enough to be fairly solitary by nature – or rather, I’m what you might call an outgoing introvert, who needs regular ‘hits’ of human company, but is happy to exist for the most part in my own little bubble.

Nevertheless, passing entire days in the warm, calm silence of my apartment isn’t always easy. There are mornings where I feel almost paralysed by inertia, as if my brain has been boxed in and can’t form the thoughts necessary to navigate its way out. Other times it’s more the relentless grind of application forms and interview prep that makes me want to throw open the balcony doors and yell at the rooftops opposite.

It isn’t all bad, of course. I have a lovely flat, and on days when the sun shines I find myself stretched out on the sofa with a good book, or pottering around the kitchenette as music fills the room. I’ll often do that naked, taking advantage of the way heat gets trapped up here on the top floor; even when I’m clothed though, there will always come a point during the afternoon when I find my hands wandering over the front of my jeans, or slipping down inside them to find my cock.

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Sex

Threesome!

“Thailand? I’ve never been. You like it there?”

“Yeah, Thailand’s awesome! You need to go – especially the islands.”

“Cool, maybe I’ll do that some day. Thanks for the tip.”

Thinking about it now, I can’t recall many conversations simultaneously stranger and more banal than that one. Naked on a hotel bed out in the London suburbs, still recovering from an almost comically strong orgasm, I lay there and discussed holiday destinations with a man I’d met in person less than two hours earlier, when I led him from Reception up to the room.

But then what else are you meant to talk about right after a threesome…

Categories
Cock shots Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: Afterglow

I love those few minutes of dreamy, light-headed bliss, post-orgasm. I don’t mean the immediate aftermath, when my heart’s still racing and I’m a whirling mess – a deep pool of pure euphoria – though to be clear, I fucking love that bit too. I’m talking about the feeling I get when my breathing has returned to normal, but my body is still swimming with endorphins; when all I want to do is stretch out and let them flow through me.

It’s in those moments that I’m truly aware of my own happiness, and even as reality fades back in, I feel the lingering stamp of that rare, active contentment. It blocks off all anxiety, self-doubt and pain, so I cling to it greedily for as long as I can; because honestly, who would ever want to let it go?

Categories
Sex

On hand jobs (or: I just want you to touch me)

On the long list of super-hot things someone can say to me in bed, “show me how you touch your cock” slots in somewhere pretty high. It’s hot for various reasons:

  • It implies you enjoy watching me, and as an exhibitionist I love being watched
  • It means you’re curious and can ask for what you want, both of which are really sexy
  • Most excitingly of all, it suggests that at some point shortly afterwards, you’re going to touch my cock, and that makes me very happy indeed

I thought about the last of those today, when I read this very enjoyable – and impassioned – ode to the ‘lost art’ of fingering. I was chatting about it on Twitter afterwards and had the following exchange:

 

It’s rare that I encounter a partner who isn’t enthusiastic about sucking cock. It happens, of course, but experience has taught me that most women are perfectly happy to get down there and give it their best shot when it comes to oral, with or without guidance on how I enjoy receiving it.

That’s not always a good thing, and probably deserves a blog post of its own, but it does throw into sharp relief the relative lack of confidence with which a lot of women approach hand jobs. It’s not hard to figure out why that might be the case. Using our hands to get ourselves off is something most of us guys have been doing day-in, day-out since our mid-teens.

We’ve spent literally thousands of hours stroking, tugging, squeezing, and rubbing our cocks, and if the main thought going through your head as you curl your fingers round it is ‘I won’t be able to do this as well as he can do it himself’, the chances are you’re probably right…

…and at the same time so, so wrong. Because here’s the thing. Maybe you can’t make us come as quickly as we could do it ourselves. Maybe you don’t know just how much pressure we like, or what to do with your thumb, or how much time you should spend focusing on the head of the cock. Even after we’ve told you those things, you might not be able to grip as firmly as we can, or develop that instinctive feel for when to speed up, or slow down, or keep doing it exactly what you’re doing it right now because please don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop.

But – BUT – so fucking what??

Going back to that finger-banging post, I can say with relative certainty that every partner I’ve had has known her clit better than I have. Known how to touch it, whether to be gentle or firm, when to apply direct pressure and when to tease around it. Same goes for her cunt.

When I push my fingers inside someone, it’s not my nerve endings being stimulated and not my brain receiving pleasure messages. I can read body language, I can fall back on experience, and I can respond to spoken or unspoken guidance, but I will never be able to feel the effect my actions are having, and as a result there will always be tiny missteps. Moments when she would stop thrusting if she was doing it herself, and just clench around her fingers, but instead I slowly force mine deeper. Moments when the rhythm is good – maybe even great – but not quite right. 95% right, 98% right even. Just not perfect.

That will never change. Sure, there might be days when I do give the A+, 100%, nine-dart hand job, exactly how she’d have done it herself, and if you don’t think I’m mentally jumping for joy on those occasions you clearly don’t know me very well. But even with a partner I know really well, and have been with for a while, it won’t happen every time. Not because I’m not fucking great at it, or because I don’t listen when she tells me what she wants – because it simply can’t.

Still, lots of women LOVE being fingered. Those I’ve spoken to about it have different reasons for that. Nostalgia. The power dynamic. The prioritisation of their pleasure. How easy it is to do it in public, or somewhere you really shouldn’t. Just the basic care and attention it involves.

There’s a physical side to it too. In most cases, my fingers are longer and thicker than my partner’s, and feel bigger inside her. I’m stronger, so I can thrust and pump more vigorously. I can also do it from different angles. From behind, with a pillow under her pelvis and her legs together, so it’s really tight and intense. Kneeling between her legs with a hand on her stomach, pinning her down, holding her still as I slowly squeeze three fingers inside. Standing up, my face buried in her hair and my cock pressed against her arse through our clothing; my hand slipping up under her dress and into her knickers – down between her arse cheeks and over her cunt.

From what I understand, women love being fingered – those who do love it – for any/all of those reasons and more. It’s not just the act of having their clit stimulated or their cunt filled, and it’s definitely not a direct proxy or substitute for something they could do themselves. There’s a wider context, which is often where the hotness comes from.

And y’know what – the same could not be more true of hand jobs. I generally try to avoid speaking for all men, but in this instance I’m happy to say that we don’t expect – or indeed necessarily want – you to touch our cocks in exactly the same way we do it ourselves. It’s not that we’re too lazy to wank and would like you to do it for us, please – nor that we see the end goal of your endeavours as an efficient, fault-free orgasm, complete with perfect dismount and landing.

We love hand jobs – or I love hand jobs – because of everything that goes with them. It’s that wider context again.

I love that you want to touch me, and to give me pleasure.

I love feeling you explore my cock with your lubed-up hand, and that discovering all the different ways of playing with it makes you happy.

I love that sometimes you’ll do something to it that I wouldn’t have done myself, but in a really good, surprising way – and I’ll file that in the back of my brain for future reference

I love the way you talk dirty to me as you do it – or maybe how you stay completely silent, focused only on listening to my breathing and responding to my body.

I love that every now and then your other hand will wander down to touch your clit as you stroke me. That you massage my thighs, or brush a finger over my balls, or pay attention to parts of me that I never think to focus on when I wank.

I love the delight on your face when I spurt all over your hand. The sense of achievement and the horny joy of watching cum shoot everywhere.

I love when you put your hand down my jeans on the bus to circle your thumb and forefinger around my stiffening cock, or when you pull me into an alley, spit on your palm, and roughly jerk it till all I can think about is fucking you.

I love the power dynamics, of course I do, and the way you can use your hand to control me; to edge me closer, closer, closer to that orgasm I really want, but can’t have.

Pretty much everything I love about hand jobs has very little to do with their mechanics. Yes, there are definitely things you shouldn’t do – I don’t really want to feel like I’ve got my cock caught in a mechanical vice, for example, and nor do I want you to try and pull it off my body – but it’s up to me to tell you what those are, or better yet to show you.

I’ve got 20 years’ experience of making myself come, and unsurprisingly I’m pretty fucking good at it. If all you want to do is replicate how your partner does that – right down to the nth degree – you are probably going to fail. However, once you realise that there’s so much more to a hand job than its basic parts – that honestly, sometimes we really just want to be touched – it becomes one of the absolute best things you can do to, for, or with a man. Trust me on this one.

Categories
Sex

On the hotness of prostate play

One afternoon last spring, I was messing around in bed with someone I was seeing at the time. Let’s call her Daisy. Daisy’s big thing was orgasm denial; it was a kink she’d only just started exploring, but she got off on it in a way I found incredibly sexy, and as a result I was an enthusiastic participant in her various experiments.

For her part, Daisy liked the fact that I could exercise that sort of control – or maybe just that I was willing to do so while she played with me. I could spend a couple of hours fucking her, then get up and struggle back into my jeans while she lay on the bed and stared at my twitching, straining cock. I was happy to edge in front of her, bringing myself closer and closer as she made herself come repeatedly with a vibrator, then stopping the second she decided she’d seen enough.

Sometimes I’d go without an orgasm for a few days before we met up, and those were the sessions that really brought out her inner sadist.

“How badly do you want to come right now?” she’d ask, her fingers curled firmly around my cock, or her cunt squeezing it with every thrust. I’d grit my teeth and stare at the patterned wallpaper above her bed, my stomach and arse tensing with the effort of holding back.

Daisy liked those visual cues, those little signs of distress, and she would find ways to intensify them. On one occasion, she smiled down at me, tightened her grip on my cock, and whispered “you can come now” as she slowly pumped her hand up and down. It was only when I started to push my hips up to meet her, my cock sliding through her fist and the white noise in my head fuzzing out conscious thought, that she opened her fingers and sat back with a smug grin on her face.

“Just kidding,” she said, and licked the pre-cum off her fingertips.

Anyway, back to that afternoon last spring. We were in my bed this time, and Daisy had two fingers jammed in my arse. Her other hand played lazily with my cock and balls, but most of her attention – and increasingly mine too – was focused on the way my muscles clenched around her each time she pushed in a little deeper, as if they were encouraging further exploration.

It was the first time we’d tried any focused anal play, and I realised very quickly that Daisy knew exactly what she was doing. There was nothing tentative or random about the way her fingers curled up into me, and she clearly wasn’t trying just to fuck my arse.

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I press….just…there…”

And all I could do by that point was nod. Pretty much all of my previous experience of prostate stimulation had been trial-and-error solo prodding with one of my toys; to have someone else massage that part of me so casually was intense in a way that suddenly made it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

As Daisy continued to work her fingers inside me, I lifted her other hand away from my cock, scared that if she kept touching it I wouldn’t be able to hold back. The drop in pressure, in the tingling, aching sensitivity, lasted a matter of seconds. If she picked up on the change in my breathing, on my sudden helplessness, she certainly made no allowance for it; instead she just flexed in and out, pressing the tips of her two fingers against my prostate and kissing my lips, muffling my weak sounds of protest.

Until that afternoon, my willpower with Daisy had always been top-notch. Since we’d started playing around with denial, I’d never come during one of our sessions, even after hours of her own special brand of provocation. Even when I’d gone the best part of a week without an orgasm, and it was just about literally the only thing I could think about. But with her fingers inside me like that, all my self-control vanished. I knew it was going to happen – could feel it building in a way that I’d only rarely experienced before then – and for the first time with Daisy I said and did nothing to stop it.

Maybe a part of me didn’t quite believe that I could come like that, with absolutely no cock stimulation, or maybe I thought she’d ease off when it became clear that I couldn’t do so myself. I don’t know – at that point everything got pretty blurry, and I barely had time to gasp “I’m coming” before it happened.

At the last moment she realised what was going on, and forced her fingers hard inside me, moving them back and forth to the rhythm of my spurting cock, as it shot cum all over my stomach. I was going crazy, overloaded with sensation and desperate for her both to stop and to really really never stop; in the end I grabbed for her wrist and she took the hint, easing her hand off my arse and rolling over to look for tissues.

That remained the only orgasm I had with Daisy. We stopped hooking up a short while later, after a couple of more controlled attempts at prostate play, and I went back to my butt plugs and other anal toys. Every now and then though, the memory of that afternoon would bubble up to the surface, and I’d have to make myself come pretty much immediately – something about the thought of her fingers working in and out of my arse is just impossible to resist, in the same way it was when she actually had them there.

Orgasms triggered by anal penetration are different in a way that’s actually not easy to describe. As they build up I feel constantly like I’m about to come, or even that I am coming, but without quite getting to the point of full release. It’s agonising and glorious and overwhelming all at the same time, and when I do finally push past whatever’s holding it back, there’s nothing that quite compares to that first rush of energy flowing out of my body.

It wasn’t until this week though that someone else touched me in the same way. Again it was unexpected, and this time the prostate stimulation was accompanied by her soft, warm tongue on my cock, and her lips moving up and down it. I knew right away that I was in serious trouble; at first I tried to fight it, but then those little surges of pleasure started, and with her mouth over me I suddenly couldn’t tell whether I was coming or not.

That disorientation was perhaps responsible for me yanking her up my body, onto my cock. Either way, it took no more than another 30 seconds before I really was coming, unstoppably and with one arm around her torso, clutching her tight against me as I pushed my cock deep inside her.

Having got back into bed expecting a long, lazy afternoon fuck, the urgency and intensity of that orgasm was the best kind of surprise. Ever since then, I’ve been thinking about her mouth and fingers, working together on my cock and arse, but also about the similar effect prostate play had on me with Daisy last spring.

Given how much I enjoy anal penetration more generally, I’m surprised by how reticent I’ve been about initiating or asking for that kind of stimulation. That’s perhaps because it requires the sort of anatomical explanation or guidance that can feel a little jarring in the heat of the moment – “no, a little more to the…yes, like that, only deeper…ouch, too much, too much” is pillow talk I maybe try to avoid with more casual partners – but I think it also has something to do with how I tend to want anal play to work psychologically. I want to feel like the other person is in total control of me, and that can make asking for it weirdly difficult – or confusing, at least.

I don’t know. What I do know is that having your prostate touched and massaged in that way is something every guy should try at least once. For my part, I certainly don’t intend to let another 10 months go by before I ask for it again.

Categories
Sex

Sex Talk Realness: Anal Sex (aka "the interview Cosmo SHOULD have published")

Last Friday I read a Cosmo article on anal sex that made me angry and sad in equal measure. Claiming to be a ‘practical’ guide to a ‘misunderstood’ sex act, featuring two ‘anal enthusiasts’, it instead managed to combine a frankly horrible message about consent with a prudish, ill-informed and distinctly unenthusiastic attitude towards anal. Fail fail fail.

Anyway, after washing the bad taste out of my mouth with this response, and prompted by some lovely people on Twitter, including Girl on the Net and Citizen Erased

…I decided that if Cosmo couldn’t put together a decent guide to anal sex, I’d have to do it for them. Keeping the same interview structure, I tweaked the questions a bit to make them, y’know, good, and sent them out to a couple of women who actually do enjoy anal.

As part of this revolutionary approach, I also decided to include a male perspective, because whether gay, straight or bi, there are plenty of men out there who adore being penetrated that way.

All three of my interviewees were happy to be named in this piece, because none of them see a love of sex – any kind of sex – as something to hide. Good on them.

Woman A is Ella Dawson. Ella is a twenty-something blogger, writer and feminist, whose passions include sexual health and education, media depictions of female sexuality and STIs, and The Bachelor. She is, quite franky, awesome.

Woman B is Honey, owner and author of the sex blog Happy Come Lucky. Honey is in her mid-4os and describes herself as a shy exhibitionist, who is loving life now more than ever before. It shows.

Man A is Gryph, a Pervert Ninja, Paperwork Assassin, Flesh Heckler, former podcaster, and one of the nicest men I’ve met in the sexblogging community.

As a group they were awesome to interview, and I hope their answers give anyone curious about anal sex a real sense of what ‘butt sex in the wild’ is like.

Categories
Erotica

The Window

The table is a mess; but then the table is always a mess. He stares at it anyway, only half-listening to what she’s saying as he thinks about the way her body pressed against him when they danced. Warm. Soft. Eager.

A gusting wind rattles the living room windows, and he lifts his gaze over her shoulder to take in the street below, stretching down towards the main road between two lines of neatly-parked cars and the red-flecked houses behind them. It’s eerily quiet, he thinks, like something lifted straight from a movie set before the actors have had the chance to take their places.

story photo

“Stop,” he says, and she pauses mid-sentence, her hand reaching up automatically to brush a tight curl of auburn hair away from her face in anticipation of his kiss. Instead he pushes her back until she’s leaning against the edge of the table, arms hanging awkwardly at her sides.

“Spread your legs for me. A little wider. Yes, that’s it.”

Her tights are brand new, and a rueful look passes between them as his fingers dig into her thighs. He is tempted to rip them anyway – one wide, gashing hole at the crotch, so he can take his time deciding which of her holes to fuck – but there are other ways to do this, and besides, it will be hard to keep control of himself once he feels the tight fabric start to give way.

She is silent as he rolls the tights down from her navel; he can feel her watching him, and is pleased when she lifts her bottom unprompted, allowing him to unwrap her slim, strong legs all the way down to the knees.

Her underwear is an almost inconsequential triangle of dark green fabric, and his fingers slip under it without ceremony. She is already wet, but if he is surprised by that he doesn’t show it. He’s learned to conduct her body’s response with a degree of fluency; his touches are quick and light, and her hips jut forward instinctively, in what her brain belatedly registers as a futile desire to feel more of him.

As she squirms against him, he allows his eyes to drift back towards the window. This time she follows him, twisting her head so she can look out into the silent street.

“Someone could see,” she says between small gasps, and he nods once, still distracted by a feeling he can’t quite place. It’s less a movie set, he thinks, than the aftermath of a disaster; the jarring evidence of human habitation in a world suddenly empty and quiet.

“Yes, but what would they see? Eh? This would all look very innocent from the outside, wouldn’t it? Maybe if I do this…”

He pulls her off the table, holding her upright as she stumbles into him. The pleather sofa behind him squeaks under her dress as she bends over the arm. His hand is on her arse, but he doesn’t need to guide her, not really; she’s already arching her back in anticipation, her legs spread as wide as the tights now bunched around her ankles will allow.

Lifting her dress, he slowly peels off her knickers and allows them to fall down her legs. As his fingers brush over her skin they leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and she shivers, wobbling a little on the heels she knows he won’t remove.

He slips his thumb inside her cunt, pressing down as his other hand tugs impatiently at the belt around his jeans. She wants to turn and help him, to sink to her knees and take his cock in her mouth, but there is an insistence and a control to the way his thumb strokes her – she is anchored to it, and to the palm that lightly cups her pubic mound.

It’s hypnotic enough that she cries out when he stops, her cunt gripping frantically at the sudden void.

“Quiet now,” he whispers, and his hand finds the small of her back. It is late, but her flatmate is a light sleeper, and her bedroom shares a wall with the cramped, cluttered lounge.

“I’ll try, I promise I’ll try,” she says, almost believing it herself. The words have barely left her mouth when she feels the wide tip of his cock nudge inside her. She hates it when he teases her; hates even more the knowing smirk on his face as he holds back, giving her just enough to make the subsequent denial feel genuinely cruel.

He’s not though – cruel, that is – and however much he’d like to draw it out there’s no way he can resist her like this, bent over the arm of her flatmate’s sofa, trembling under his fingertips. She is tall enough in heels that he has to rock forward onto the balls of his feet to enter her fully, but the noise she makes, somewhere deep in her throat, is worth any momentary discomfort.

He has to steady himself to avoid collapsing down onto her, so intense is that first thrust, and for a second they both forget the need for silence. It is a form of possession, he will think later; the way sounds just bubble out of him when she clenches hard around his cock, as if squeezed up from his chest by an invisible hand.

All around them the world seems to hold its breath; or maybe life is being drained from it, sucked up into them with each tilt of his hips. They are a rough, raw kinetic force, and as he fucks her – fucks her hard – the contrast with the watchful stillness of the road outside induces in him a weird, lightheaded euphoria.

His hand finds its way up the back of her neck, into her hair, and she squeezes her eyes shut in anticipation of the pain. She wants to lift her own hand off the sofa and place it over his – to feel his fingers flex as he pulls the hair between them – but she knows she can’t support the weight of him inside her with one arm alone. It is a brief, agonising dilemma, resolved only when he tugs harder, lifting her away from the sofa, away from his cock, and spinning her round to face him.

“Take off your dress. Yes, that’s it, bra too. Here…I want you here. Up on the table, come on. Sit up there.”

She can’t move at first, hypnotised by the splash of streetlight on her bare breasts. All the people in those houses, she thinks. Those hundreds of people. All they have to do is step outside and they’ll see me.

“I want them to see me,” she says, and he kisses her on the forehead, before pushing her towards the table. When she’s perched on the edge, he slides his arms under her thighs and enters her again, his hands cupping her arse and pulling her onto his cock.

“Fuck me, please. Fuck me right here.”

The table shakes as he slams into her. It shakes so hard that magazines and medical textbooks start to tumble off it, dropping to the floor in a clattering counterpoint to the staccato beat of the cheap wooden legs. In the distance, a small silhouette bobs along the empty road, and even above the breathy, juddering chaos of their fuck he imagines he can hear heels clacking against the tarmac.

Sweat flies off his body, landing on her chest and shoulders, but she pulls him in close anyway, wanting his warm, solid torso flush against hers. At this angle she is acutely aware of the way his cock saws along her clit with every thrust; it is almost painful, but she pushes down on it anyway, feeling her stomach loosen in response to the familiar series of short, sharp jolts that quickly coalesce into a long, knifing orgasm.

He keeps his hand on her back, taking her weight until she comes back to him. He is starting to tire now, and the lights outside swim and blur as he looks again for the dark figure moving between the cars. The figure is gone though, or maybe it was never there in the first place; from his vantage point it seems improbable that anyone would disturb the desolation in front of him.

She kisses him then, a sweet press of her lips on his that drags him back to the reality of her body and the heat of her cunt. It has the power to make everything else immaterial, and he knows that their time in the window’s curved bay is at an end; he needs her in bed, curled into him under a thick duvet. He will fuck her again in their own dark cocoon, and she will pull a pillow to her face to muffle her sobbing gasps.

With a final glance behind him, he leads her through the living room door, into the hallway. They leave behind only silence, and the dim yellow glow of a sleeping outside world, cast onto a table that has shed its mess under the weight of their two bodies.

Categories
Sex

Why Cosmo is the worst (again)

Oh boy, where to start with this one. Last July, Cosmo published an article with the following title:

anal

I’ll get this out of the way now – no, I don’t know why I read it either. Cosmo sex articles are, almost without exception, epically shit. I could link to a dozen different smackdowns of their weird, warped, shamey take on sex and the female body, and I’d barely have scratched the surface.

Still, when this delicious-looking clickbait popped up in my Twitter feed this morning, I couldn’t resist; encouraged by the words ‘anal sex enthusiasts’ and ‘real talk’ in the lede, I dived straight in.

The intro was…not promising.

“the urban sex legend goes, ‘Guys want it because they’ve heard it’s tighter than normal sex and they’ve seen it in porn, and girls occasionally acquiesce as a bargaining chip/reward/very special birthday present.’” [all emphases mine]

Nice straw man to kick things off there. Anal sex ≠ normal sex and only men actually enjoy it. Women give in from time-to-time, but only in exchange for something they really want or when their fella deserves a nice treat. Got it. Right.

(Whoops, sorry, I mean wrong, wrong and really fucking wrong.)

Depressingly, things get much, much worse from there. The two women described as ‘enthusiasts’ at the top of the piece are asked a series of questions about their experiences with anal, ostensibly as a way of dispelling that myth and telling Cosmo readers how ‘real’ women feel about having their arse fucked.

And that would be absolutely fine – if either respondent came off as enthusiastic in any way. I’m going to bypass Woman A, who seems basically indifferent to the act itself (sample quote, when asked if it ever feels good: “I know some girls who love it…”), and go straight to the clusterfuck that is Woman B. Woman B does NOT enjoy anal sex. In fact, Woman B’s answers are full of red flags about the sex she’s having more generally.

Probably the No. 1 thing we all want to know is … does it hurt?

Woman B: Yes! If it didn’t, this wouldn’t be a topic of conversation.

Why do it?

Woman B: I usually only do it when drunk and if trying to impress the lucky dude I’m with.

Who wanted to do it more — you or the guy?

Woman B: Him. When it happens, it’s because I’ve conceded. Depends on how much I’m into him … and afterward, I kind of feel like he “owes me something.”

To recap: anal sex causes her pain, she only does it while drunk, it’s entirely for the dude’s benefit, and after she’s been pressured into letting him fuck her arse, her takeaway thought is “now he’s in my debt.” None of this exactly screams ‘active consent’. Let’s go on…

What does it feel like the first time?

Woman B: At first, extremely unpleasant. Kinda feels like a penis going in your anus.

What does it feel like over time?

Woman B: Over time, you adjust. Similar to vaginal intercourse, I suppose.

Does it ever feel good?

Woman B: It never really feels good. Just becomes more tolerable, I suppose. It also depends on the size of his manhood.

In case her first answer wasn’t clear, Woman B really wants you to know that anal isn’t fun. Nuh-uh. Maybe you’ll adjust, in the same way you did to that whole ‘normal sex’ thing, but don’t expect to enjoy it, especially if the guy you’re with has a big dick. Sorry, ‘manhood’.

On average, how soon in the relationship — if it’s a dating scenario — do you think it generally happens?

Woman B: Hmm … in my experience, if he’s into it, you know soon into the relationship. This type of “fetish” isn’t easily concealed, in my opinion.

Do you have to get an enema and/or anal douche?

Woman B: Nah. If he’s requesting entrance to my exit, he should know the risks at hand. Unless you had Chipotle for dinner. Then I’d say enema, for sure. I feel like this tends to present itself in the heat of the moment. Who’s gonna say “Hang on, hon, let me go flush my ass. I’ll be back in a few?”

Anal sex is a ‘fetish’. Anal sex is risky. Anal sex is the sort of thing you don’t talk about, you just do, mostly when you’re drunk and want to impress someone – or when they wear you down enough that you give in.

Honestly, even measured by Cosmo’s abysmally low standards, this is dangerous, depressing stuff. It sends a fucking horrible message about sexual consent by implying to readers – female and male – that it’s fine/normal for anal to happen only when the guy is persistent enough and the woman is under the influence.

Look, there are plenty of guys out there who are shit at consent, and who undoubtedly do pressure women into anal. It’s important to acknowledge that, but it’s bad journalism to hold it up as the norm; as what happens in ‘the real world’. What’s even worse – what elevates this above your average, shitty Cosmo sex article – is to do so without flagging that behaviour as wrong, especially when you then bundle the whole thing into an article that purports to showcase the views of women who are enthusiastic about anal. That’s not just bad journalism, it’s borderline irresponsible.

The responses of both women also reinforce the ‘urban myth’ cited earlier in the piece, by painting anal as something to be enjoyed by men and endured by women. Female pleasure is pretty much nowhere to be seen here, and that’s a massive problem, given how many women out there clearly do enjoy the physical sensation of being fucked that way.

Of course not everyone is a member of Team Buttsex and that’s fine, just as it’s fine not to enjoy oral, or missionary, or spanking, or whatever. I happen to love putting cock-shaped objects in my arse, and I love it even more when partners put them there for me, but I can see why plenty of people don’t share that preference. It can hurt, and it is sometimes messy, and I don’t want it all the time.

But the answer to all that is pretty simple: if anal isn’t really your cup of tea, maybe don’t do it. If you actively dislike anal, definitely don’t do it. It’s not a bargaining chip or a reward, and anyone who thinks it’s fine to nag, coerce or drug you into ‘acquiescing’ ought to be tossed firmly and quickly into the bin.

If I’m reading a practical, mythbusting article about anal sex – about any sort of sex – I want to hear from people who fucking adore getting busy that way. People who can talk knowledgeably and passionately about the dos and don’ts, the ins and outs, and whose enthusiasm shines through in what they’re saying. Those people are the ones who will tell me what it’s like to have anal sex; who will give me an idea of whether I want to try it and how to go about doing so.

Instead, Cosmo gave us a piece that does a disservice not just to women who dislike anal (“hey, I know it hurts, but maybe consider trading it for something shiny, yeah?”) but to those who love it too (“here, this is what normal women think, you deviant”). It fails on every single level.

Categories
Cock shots Sex

Dickfest 2016 (aka Cock the Vote!)

There aren’t many sex bloggers out there who can hold a candle to my friend Oleander Plume in terms of creativity. From self-published anthologies about magic chocolates through to well-hung gay space pirates, she sees the sexy in places that others might leave well alone – sees it, AND makes it awesome.

cock the vote

Her latest project is Dickfest 2016, a contest designed to find, showcase and recognise some of the best phallic photography floating around the internet. Together with her friend and fellow writer, L Maretta, she asked for submissions early last month, and boy did she get them. Over 70, in fact, from men, women and couples alike. In Oleander’s words “the pics vary in size, age and body type and all are wonderful.”

My feelings on dick pics are not exactly a secret – I’ve even interviewed the queen of cock shot criticism – and it’s an area where I’m always happy to contribute when asked to do so. If you click on the Dickfest 2016 link, you’ll find a few of my photos among the submissions…but this is not a plea for your votes. No.

This is a way to reiterate that all body photography is (or can be) beautiful. Dick pics are problematic not because they feature cock, but because they’re too frequently unsolicited, unwanted, and used as a way of imposing and asserting power. It’s not the photos themselves that are the issue, but the men who send them.

Oleander’s contest sidesteps all of that – and is worth celebrating as a result. It’s original, body-positive, and, if you’re a fan of penis, sexy as fuck. So go check out the entries, vote for your favourites, and enjoy a bit of ethical, home-made porn while you’re at it!

(And for a quick peek at the photos I submitted, take a look at the gallery below!)

Categories
Erotica

Elust #78

Malin James Elust 78 Header Image
Photo courtesy of Malin James

Welcome to Elust #78

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #79? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

£10.53
Balance of Light
Advent Calendar 2015 – Day 24

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Why Sex Fiction?
On using him

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Guest blog: ‘Quite Delightful’, James Deen and me
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!