Author: Exhibit A

As I walked through London the other day, I happened to wander past the back of the Z Hotel, which looks out onto the Charing Cross end of Old Compton Street in Soho. The Z is one of a few places dotted around the city that never fails to make my cock twitch when I see it; along with pubs like The Harp and The Dickens, clubs like Candy and Heaven, and too many restaurants to list here, it was the scene of a particularly hot encounter, back in 2011, which I’m going to write about today.

She was an American living and working in London, running the Study Abroad programme for one of the big East Coast schools. Let’s call her Erin. Erin was tall, dark-haired, and very striking: big red lips, big tits, and a big arse, with curves in all the right places above and below it. We’d got chatting a couple of weeks beforehand, as the only two people sitting without partners in the waiting room before a late-night train. She was a few years younger than me, and incredibly open and friendly, in the way that visiting Americans tend to be; as we went our separate ways she gave me her number and suggested meeting up for a drink the next time I was back in town.

Well, the drink happened a few days later, and was accompanied by sweaty teenage levels of heavy petting, in the corner of a nondescript London boozer. It quickly became clear that Erin was looking for an adventure. She told me that most of her relationships back home had been very conventional and strait-laced; that there were all these things she fantasized about, but had never been in a position to try. Things like sex in public; like power play and role-reversal; like flogging, and anal, and toys, and threesomes, and…

With every new fantasy or fetish I coaxed out of her in the pub that afternoon, Erin got more and more turned-on, and eventually, just as she started talking about how good it would feel to have three or four guys take it in turns to fuck her, she gasped and came hard all over my fingers.

We agreed to meet again the following week. I had to spend a couple of nights in London for work, and the plan was to go out and have fun in Soho, before heading back to my hotel room to do some of the things she’d got so aroused by in the pub. Before that though, some shopping was required. We agreed a budget of £75, and I sent Erin off to one of the bigger London sex shops to use it as she saw fit. After a flurry of text messages, and a few suggestions on my part, she settled on a leather cock-ring, a flogger, a large butt plug, an even larger dildo, and a roll of bondage tape, all of which she was instructed to bring along with her.

Of course even the best-laid plans rarely unfold in the way you expect them to. I’d chosen the Z Hotel because it was central, had good reviews, and was offering a two-night deal that dropped the price well below the eye-watering London average. What I only discovered after checking into my first-floor room was that the back half of the hotel looked out onto Old Compton Street, home to some of the busiest, seediest, sexiest bars and clubs in London; not only that, but the bed sat right next to the low, wide window, and was visible both to passersby in the street below, and to any curious diners or residents in the restaurants and apartments opposite. Sitting there and looking out at the world felt like being a mannequin in a shop window, or a puppet in a seaside Punch & Judy show: as long as the curtains were pulled back, I was on display, framed perfectly for the whole of Soho to see.

It was November, so by the time Erin arrived at the hotel after finishing work it was dark outside, with only the garish neon signs above the gay bars and sex shops standing out against the gloom. I’d already told her about the window, and as I opened the door to the room she pushed past me, eager to take a look for herself. I joined her on the bed, and we gazed down at the street together, then across into one of the second-floor flats on the other side of the road, where a naked man was leaning casually against the wall, talking on his mobile. Erin quickly stripped down to her underwear, then started yanking at my clothes: first my t-shirt, then the button-fly of my jeans, her fingers clumsy but eager, till she was able to pull them down and off, along with the boxers below. We kissed, my cock pressed hard against her stomach as she lay on top of me, then she took me in her mouth and spent a few minutes backing up everything she’d told me about her oral skills over the previous couple of weeks.

As Erin sucked me, I lay back against the pillows and wondered how much was visible from outside. The top half of my body would be hidden from view, but I was sure that anyone looking up, across or down into our room at that point would be able to see her kneeling over my cock, her tits resting on my thighs and her mouth and hand sliding up and down the hard shaft. Right at the point when I was really starting to squirm, Erin sat up and glanced to her left. Her cheeks flushed, and when she spoke it came out as a whisper, even though no-one else was close enough to hear her.

“That guy in the flat opposite…he’s watching us. And I think he’s jerking off.”

I stayed quiet and put my hand over hers, waiting to see how she felt about that idea. I didn’t have to wait long. Erin moved my hand away and pinned it down on the mattress next to her. She reached for a condom and after rolling it down my cock she sat astride me and started to draw it inside her, each tilt of her hips causing another inch or so to split her open. When there was no more left for her to take, she locked her thighs tight in against my body and lent back, twisting her head so that she could look directly at whoever was watching us, while giving him the perfect view of her tits. I jammed my finger onto her clit as she rode me, applying the pressure that she’d said was the key to getting her off quickly; I wanted her to come like that, with the length of my cock inside her and her body on full display to the world.

Her orgasm was short and intense: Erin would later describe it to me as a bright, jagged lightning-fork of pleasure, rather than the slow, rolling rumbles of thunder she was used to. She dug her nails into my shoulders hard, then again, even harder, till I took a fistful of her hair and forced her round, onto her knees. I reached for the flogger she’d bought, and flicked it against her arse. She flinched almost before the leather bit into her, but after a couple of experimental lashes had cascaded across her skin, she thrust her arse back towards me and said the one word I was waiting for: “more”.

I didn’t even bother to count the number of times I drew back the flogger and whipped her round, red arse over the next few minutes. At some point, about halfway through, I lubed up the fat butt plug and squeezed it inside her, making a big show of it and telling her a story about the man watching us. I told her that he got off on watching innocent young women getting corrupted and used. As I secured her wrists to the end of the bed with the bondage tape, I told her that I was going to leave her like that in the window, whipped, plugged, and helpless, while I went and rounded up a handful of guys in the local bars to take it in turns with her. As I slid the head of my cock inside her cunt again, suddenly aware how tight she was with the butt plug still filling her arse, I asked her whether she wanted me to find someone with a video camera, to stand in the doorway opposite and film them using her holes.

Erin screamed when I fucked her like that; screamed till I shoved her knickers in her mouth and pinned her upper arms tight against the bed. I don’t know how many people saw me do that. I don’t know whether the couple I caught out of the corner of my eye, sitting in the bay window of one of the neighboring flats, were having a casual conversation about what to do that evening, or were touching themselves under the window ledge at the sight of us going at it. I know what I told Erin, and how hard she clenched around me when she came, and again when I lost control, deep inside her.

And I know what happened after that, when I was the one naked and taped up in the window. After all, Erin’s a filthy little switch, and so am I. Who did you think the big dildo was for…?

(This is the second part of what will ultimately be a three- or four-part post, so read the first bit before you continue with this one!)

About a year after I realized how hot I found the idea of sex with another guy, I had my first threesome. I’d met a Canadian woman in an online forum, and we’d quickly established that we shared a lot of interests, both sexually and in other areas. We started to correspond by email, and a little while after that she became the first person I used Skype with. ‘Kate’ was a little bit younger than me, but had already been married for four years, to her childhood sweetheart ‘Jonny’. They lived in Toronto, where they were both finishing up PHDs. Neither of them had been with anyone else, either before or during their marriage, but they both found the idea of playing with another guy very appealing; Jonny because he was bi-curious, Kate because she was naturally dominant, and loved the idea of two guys pleasuring her and each other.

That last scenario started coming up more and more during our conversations. Sometimes she would call my phone while Jonny was going down on her, and tell me how much she wished she had my cock in her mouth at the same time; on other occasions, she’d get me to touch myself on Skype for her, usually with a butt plug in my arse, while she stroked her strap-on in front of my face, Jonny already handcuffed to the bed in the next room, ready to be fucked. We never played together on camera as a threesome, but the idea was always there in the background, lending a sort of edgy anticipation to our calls and emails.

After we’d known each other for a few months, Kate floated the idea of me visiting them in Canada. At that point I’d never been to North America, so the thought of spending some time in Toronto appealed to the adventurer in me, as well as to the emerging kinkster. We agreed that I’d go and stay at their apartment for five nights, and I booked my flights before any of us had time to get cold feet.

A couple of days before I flew, we discussed some limits and ground-rules for our time together. Jonny was happy for me and Kate to play while he was at work, but I wasn’t allowed to have vaginal or anal sex with her, while she wasn’t allowed to put my cock in her mouth; we agreed that if any of us wanted to propose a change to these or the various other rules, we had to discuss it as a group, then wait 24 hours before the new rule took effect, in case someone decided they weren’t comfortable with it after all. As I’ve learned more about group sex and poly relationships in the years since then, I’m more impressed than I ever was at the time by how maturely and sensibly we handled that part of things, and I think that laying those foundations made the actual experience of being together much happier and less inhibited.

The trip itself was amazing. I took a couple of afternoons and one evening to explore Toronto on my own, to give us all a bit of breathing space and allow Kate and Jonny some time together for after-care, but most of my stay was spent hanging out with one or both of them, in their apartment or out on the town. Kate would fuck Jonny in the mornings, their bedroom door open so I could hear the whole thing, then after he had left for work, she’d come into the spare room where I was sleeping, and we would do all the things we’d talked and fantasized about together. That was my introduction to strap-on play, actually; I was amazed at how this sweet, geeky academic could turn into such a dominant, demanding mistress when she had a cock strapped between her legs, and I willingly submitted every time she wanted to use it on me.

I could write for hours about those long mornings and afternoons we spent on their crappy fold-out sofa-bed…but that’s not what this post is about. On my last day there, Jonny came home from work early, and joined the two of us in the spare room. We were spooned together naked, napping after a long session, in which I’d mostly had my tongue between her legs, licking her clit, cunt and arse. Jonny stripped down to his boxers and joined us on the bed, wriggling in between Kate and the wall. They lay face-to-face and kissed: one of those long, sweet, sensual kisses, which points to a level of affection between two people that extends beyond physical lust. His hands started to explore her body; none of us had said anything at that point, but I started to follow the path Jonny took, letting my fingers caress her back as he teased her nipples, and stroking the backs of her thighs when he moved down to feel how wet she was.

We stayed like that for a long time. Kate was content to let us touch her, our fingers occasionally brushing against each other as we focused more and more on her making her moan. She told me afterwards that feeling my cock hard against her arse, while the fat head of Jonny’s cock pressed against her cunt through his boxers, made her want both of us inside her right there and then, though we’d agreed that things wouldn’t go that far.

As we lay together, I’m not sure any of us knew how the session would end, but eventually Kate yanked down Jonny’s underwear, slung one leg over his hip, and fed his cock inside her. They fucked very slowly, neither of them moving much, and I watched them, my fingers still between Kate’s legs. She was soaking wet, and as Jonny moved his cock in and out, I took the opportunity to touch them both; her soft, pliant skin, and his hard shaft, the wispy hairs at the base brushing my knuckles each time he pulled out. When he was close to coming, she rolled onto her back and let him slide out of her. She put her hand on my cheek and said “I want you to suck him for me.”

Kate and I knelt beside Jonny, and she showed me exactly what she wanted. She curled one finger around the base of his cock to keep it upright, then gently pushed my head down onto it. Her fingers ran through my hair as I sucked him, and, out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she was using her other hand to play with her clit. I can’t really describe that feeling to you: if you’ve sucked cock before, you’ll know that it’s utterly unlike any other sensation; to have something that soft-yet-hard in your mouth, pulsing heat and warmth and life into your cheeks and throat, is a strange and wonderful thing. In the distance, beyond the blood thumping in my ears, I heard Kate come with an almost anguished intensity. Moments later, I felt Jonny start to thicken in my mouth, and sucked harder; Kate pulled my head up in time for me to catch the first ribbon of come on my lips, then her hand wrapped round his cock and she jerked it till his stomach was covered in small, sticky pools.

That was the only part of the trip that we spent together as a threesome. Jonny went off to get cleaned up and change into fresh clothes in their bedroom a couple of minutes after he came, and Kate used her hands on my cock and my arse to get me off as well. We kept in touch for six months or so after I got back to the UK, but relationships (mine), study-pressure (theirs), and work (all of ours) meant that we gradually let the connection between us break. I still hear from Kate every now and then, and have kept track of their movements, from Toronto to rural Ontario, to Saskatoon, where I think they still live now. I doubt I’ll ever see them again, but even if that turns out to be the case, I will always think back with fondness on the time we spent together. It was my first holiday outside Europe, my first pegging experience, my first threesome, and most importantly in the context of this post, the first time I sucked another guy’s cock.

I’ve always enjoyed fish and chips. When I lived in Oxford, there was a great fish bar at the top of my road, and I used to stop by there every month or so to pick up a nice meaty fillet of cod, cased in batter and served with a generous portion of salted, vinegary chips. It wasn’t quite a ritual, but my visits there were regular enough that I never really thought about fish and chips outside of them; I’d be walking down the road after work every now and then, and would veer right instead of left, having decided almost on the spot to head into the chippy and scratch an itch I barely realised I had.

Fast forward to Tuesday last week, when I was browsing the Guardian website and clicked on an article about the best fish and chip restaurants in the UK. I’ve been living in Poland for nearly six months, and suddenly, out of nowhere, I was hit by this intense desire – a craving, really – for the dirtiest, saltiest, greasiest fish supper imaginable. I was at work at the time, with a full afternoon of meetings ahead of me, but that meant nothing: five minutes later I dashed out of the office, jumped on a tram, and went in search of a place I’d found on Google, which might, might still be in business.

The (fairly laboured) point is this: yes, we want what we can’t have, but we also want – obsess over – the things we don’t get to have, or that we haven’t had enough of. I love having sex first thing in the morning, spooning sleepily in the precious minutes before the alarm goes off; I love going down on my partners; I love the feeling of kneeling behind someone, nudging her legs apart, and slowly sliding my cock inside her. However, those aren’t the things I fantasise about when I’m really turned on – when I’m craving sex, rather than just wanting it.

Instead it’s the expat fish and chips on which I tend to fixate. That’s why, when I’m tapping my feet against each other under my desk like I was this morning, or finding every excuse possible to brush my fingers over my crotch like I was in a meeting this afternoon, it’s not oral sex or missionary that’s driving me crazy; no, it’s sex parties, and public nudity, and, today at least, pegging.

For a while, as I read through a report on who-the-fuck-cares, it was all I could think about. The first time it happened. The last time it happened. The next time it might happen. Take the middle one of those.

Scene: we’ve fucked before, but only once, and we’ve kinda, sorta discussed this by email since then; I rock up at her place one weekday afternoon with a harness and dildo that I’ve just bought in Soho – there’s been no real planning, just the blood-rush and head-thumping as I quickly scan the shelves of some seedy sex shop and pick out the one that looks the biggest, the most obscene; I go down on her first, like we agreed, but within minutes she’s yanking my head up and pushing me back onto my stomach; she figures out the harness quickly, with fumbling, frantic fingers, and slaps my arse when I try to turn around and watch; when it’s done, and her cock is in place, I expect her to explore me gently with her fingers, but instead she just goes for it; she pulls my hair with one hand and lubes up the dildo with the other, then shoves it inside me, almost all the way with one thrust; she takes me like that for a bit, really just getting used to the idea of having something long and hard to fill me with, then suddenly something clicks, and she pulls me to the edge of the bed, stands up, and starts to really pound my arse.

It didn’t end there, of course. It ended, after a lot of experimentation – most of which involved my legs slung over her shoulders – with me riding her cock and shooting come all over her tits. She then clamped my mouth tight against her cunt and held it there for the 30 seconds it took her to come too. And all of that came back to me today. I thought about how good it felt to push back at exactly the same time as she thrust inside my arse. I actually groaned out loud in the kitchen while making tea, as I remembered the noise she made – part surprise, part arousal – when she realised how completely she filled me. I wondered how it would have looked to anyone filming us from above, with her strong arms pinning my legs far apart, and my arse wide open for her to use. I savoured each and every filthy thing we said to each other that afternoon, and I craved the intensity I felt there with her.

I wouldn’t want to experience that kind of pleasure every day. It was physically and emotionally draining, and after leaving her flat a while later I went home and slept for the best part of 12 hours. It was a few weeks before I felt like doing it again, and that’s been true every time someone’s fucked me in that way. Today though…today I would have killed to feel a couple of lubed-up fingers pushing inside my arse, and a long fat dildo following them a few seconds later. Today, fish and chips was the only thing that could satisfy me…and today, just like last Tuesday, I didn’t get what I wanted.