Category: Cock shots

To balance out the last post, I thought I’d briefly reflect on a few of the less gloomy consequences of yesterday’s bad news. For starters, it means I don’t have to spend the next four months in Watford, which was the prospect confronting me until Friday afternoon. It gives me as much time off as I could possibly want over Christmas (a time of year I love without reservation or apology). It opens up the prospect of a trip to Vietnam or Thailand in the New Year to visit one of my best friends, who is taking three months off work to finish her novel and travel around South-East Asia. It will almost certainly mean more blogging, more writing, and perhaps the sort of fundamental change my life needs at this point.

This afternoon, it meant a cosy, warm bedroom, a good book, and mug after mug of hot tea, as the light slowly faded from the sky. I ate lunch at the kitchen table, and nipped to Sainsbury’s for a pint of milk when I’d exhausted the bottle in the fridge, but otherwise I stayed determinedly rooted to the mattress: if not happy in my solitude, then at least strangely content.

Eventually, I started to feel restless, and it didn’t take long for restless to evolve into horny. I shucked my dressing gown, reached for the lube, and with the luxury of time at my disposal, I made sure I enjoyed every last second of what followed – then, after a quick nap, I enjoyed it all over again…only this time I reached for my phone camera first.

It’s been a shit few days, but as you can see (below the jump), I’m trying to grab hold of the positives…

I first posted something on this blog in October 2010. I first posted something with words in January 2013. Since I started writing regularly 13 months ago, I’ve given serious thought on several occasions to removing those pre-2013 posts. I’m not embarrassed by them, exactly, but after everything I’ve written and read and thought and discussed over the last year, they feel crude and immature. It’s impossible to see something like the excellent Critique My Dick Pics project, for example, and not wince at the thought of some of the photos in my blog archive, and the way they’re presented.

Initially this site was about boosting my self-confidence, and having a space in which to express the stronger exhibitionist urges that didn’t seem to have a home elsewhere in my life. I liked the thought of strangers looking at my body, at my cock, and maybe getting off on what they saw – or at least being turned on by it. The anonymity meant that I generally didn’t need to know about the people who found my photos ugly or sexually unappealing. Over the last couple of years, that need for validation has largely disappeared, and I’ve also met – both electronically and physically – a whole host of people who have a better understanding of how I feel and what I want when it comes to sex and exhibitionism.

I’ve also learnt to consider the impact of what I post. Someone called me out on Twitter a while back for having a timeline full of cock shots, without any content warning to alert people I follow, when they check out who I am: it really brought home the fact that I’m not just operating in isolation, pottering around in my own little corner of the internet, doing as I please with no consequences. Even people who choose to follow me on Twitter don’t necessarily want to be bombarded with context-free, attention-seeking photos of my dick, and in most cases they’d probably appreciate some warning or explanation when that kind of picture does come along. Y’know, basic stuff, but also issues that I hadn’t really given sufficient consideration, for the most part.

I made the decision at the end of last year to change the way I posted photos, both here and on Twitter. I unfollowed people for whom my timeline content was obviously inappropriate. I changed the banner on my blog, and added both a warning header and tags to allow people to navigate away from the dick. I tried to make the photos I posted less gratuitous: plenty of them are still explicit, but hopefully in a way that has something more to offer than just “hey, here’s my cock – isn’t it great!”

As @moscaddie has said repeatedly on her site, there’s no longer an excuse for men to take, send, or share lazy, uninteresting dick pics, and there’s neither justification nor defence for imposing explicit photos on other people – especially women – without seeking (and gaining) their consent first. I’ve been guilty of that in the past, and I’ve done my best to change my ways.

I didn’t remove the pre-2013 posts because they’re part of the history of this site and – more importantly – part of the evolution of my understanding of issues around aesthetics, privilege and consent. I don’t like all of them, but they’re still representations of my body, and I’m not ashamed of what they show. Neither do I believe that they all fall outside some universal consensus on what makes a ‘good’ dick pic.

People like @moscaddie are doing sterling work in educating men on the things they should bear in mind when photographing their penis for someone else’s pleasure (it’s all about the hand placement, right?). But it’s a bit like teaching people about food, or art, or literature. It’s good to eat healthily and well, and to have an appreciation of how different tastes and textures combine to make a good dish; it’s good to understand what distinguishes a well-composed painting or sculpture from one that lacks perspective, skill or story; and when we write books, it’s good to be able to identify how to construct a novel around themes and ideas that will enrich the reader’s understanding of human nature or the world around us. We need that, as a society, and as consumers most of us want to eat, look at, or read things that bring beauty and nourishment into our lives.

At the same time, not only do we tend to disagree with each other on what makes a great meal, there are also nights when we do just want that dirty kebab. We want the basic watercolours, and the manufactured pop music, and the trashy airport thrillers. We want to see tits, or cocks, or people fucking, and we don’t care if they’re in our faces, devoid of subtlety. The bigger and more obvious the better, in fact. Our palates might have been nuked by years of bland, tasteless food and bland, tasteless dick pics, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still crave mindless consumption from time-to-time, when we’re hungry, horny, or just plain bored.

All of that is a long-winded of way of saying that I do still get asked for basic, no-frills cock shots. Mostly by people I know fairly well, but occasionally by those I don’t.

“I’d love to see it sticking through your fly”

“I want to see how hard it is right now”

“Can you take a photo of the head for me?”

“Seriously, I just want to see your cock.”

That kind of stuff. The sort of shot that takes 30 seconds of fumbling around with a camera phone, and a couple of clicks to send. I don’t tend to post that sort of picture online any more, for the reasons outlined above, and because they’re generally taken within the context of a specific conversation with a specific person. Yesterday though, I took what could only be described as a bog-standard, basic dick pic, and this morning I had the urge to post it. There’s no real story behind it – I was at work, feeling horny, and decided to take a photo – but after sticking a filter on it I decided it looked alright and the exhibitionist in me reared his head.

Cocks shouldn’t be imposed on women without their consent, and they don’t represent a lightning rod to the pleasure buttons in the female crotch, whether in photographic or flesh-and-blood form. They are neither as interesting nor as important as most men think….but on the flip side, they’re more interesting and more important to a lot of women than we’re sometimes willing to acknowledge. To assume that dick pics always require context to be attractive to a female audience is to echo those who assert that women aren’t turned on by porn, or that they don’t love casual sex. It’s reductive and sexist: just as men do sometimes want nothing more than to look at tits, so plenty of women enjoy staring at cocks. As a man, the important thing to consider is how you enable that without imposing it, and how to select the right time, place and safeguards before electronically whipping it out.

This is just a dick pic, which I’m posting here (after the page break!) because it pleases me to do so, and because I hope it might please other people too, while not offending or upsetting anyone who sees it. I’m ok with that position, I think.

MACDUFF

What three things does drink especially provoke?

PORTER

Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes. It provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery. It makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.

—

I’m lots of things when I’m drunk: cheerful, boisterous, melancholy, indiscreet, tactless, loquacious, impulsive…often all in the same night. I’m not a violent drunk, nor am I an angry drunk; I’m not vicious or nasty, or the kind of guy people are instinctively wary of after a few beers. Broadly speaking, I trust myself to get drunk and make decisions that stay the right side of the line separating A Bit Dumb from Really Fucking Stupid.

What I’m also not is a horny drunk. Not really. For me, booze often removes the desire as well as the performance: it leaves me mellow and relaxed, rather than fidgety and desperate. It’s not that I never want to fuck when I’m pissed, but it doesn’t accentuate or enhance my arousal in the same way that it does with other emotions and impulses. If I was happy at the start of a bottle of wine, I’ll be happier at the end; if I was sad, I’ll be sadder; if I was horny, then at best I’ll be roughly the same, and a lot of the time the drink will have taken the edge off things a bit.

Needless to say, this has been an occasional source of frustration for various girlfriends and fuckbuddies. I’ve been with several women for whom alcohol seemed to turbo-charge the libido, and while that’s normally worked out just fine from my point-of-view, there have also been those nights when all I’ve wanted to do is open another a bottle of wine and settle down in front of a movie, rather than have the sort of extra-loud, rough, sweaty, adventurous sex that lowered inhibitions and heightened emotions often encourage. It’s one of the big reasons why, these days, I often prefer to do things the other way round and fuck at the beginning of an evening out, rather than the end. Even if you occasionally miss out on some of the slow build-up, the anticipation, it sends you both out into the night feeling happy, buzzing and satisfied, and makes anything that happens later on feel like a bonus.

So I suppose I disagree with Macbeth’s Porter. Why am I writing about it now? Because last night I went to a dinner party and ended up somewhere between moderately wasted and completely shitfaced. I swayed home, passed out on my bed (fully-clothed – classy)…and woke up at 7.30 this morning feeling so fucking horny that I thought the vein running up the side of my cock was going to explode.

And that’s the thing. Alcohol does nothing to my libido at the time, but when I’m hungover the next morning I’m invariably also shaky and weak with lust. My head might be pounding, my mouth dry, but between my legs there’s almost more life and heat than I know how to handle. If I’ve had a good night’s sleep, and it’s late enough in the morning that the pain is more of a dull ache than a sharp, stabbing assault, that’s usually channelled into a slow, sleepy, spooning fuck, neither of us inclined to move more than is absolutely necessary, but both relishing the tightness, intimacy and warmth of lying together like that.

If it’s really early though; if the sunlight is pouring in through the window like an absolute bastard; and if my tongue feels gritty and furred, it’s a different story. This morning, I didn’t want gentle, snuggly sex. I wanted someone to push the duvet aside, straddle me, and ride my cock so hard and fast that she’d already be panting for breath by the time I flipped her onto all fours and nailed her from behind. I wanted it rough and dirty, and I wanted to be so dizzy and light-headed by the end that all I’d be able to do before passing out again would be to gulp down a few sips of sweet, clear, cold water from the bottle by my bed.

I don’t know the science behind it. I suspect it’s less a genuine increase in arousal, and more the giddy rush of your body returning to normal after having receptors dulled by booze, but either way, those hungover morning fucks are often among the most intense. They’re best at the weekend, of course, when you have time to enter the cycle of napping, eating and fucking that can see you still in the same sweaty, messy bed by the time the sun starts to go down again; even during the week though, when I know I should be rolling back over and catching up on precious sleep, waking up with a hangover invariably sees me reaching for the person next to me and pulling her in close, my cock pressed hard and hot against her arse.

When I’m alone, like I was this morning, I have to take matters into my own hands. I have to squeeze my thighs together, and clench my arse muscles, and rub my cock against the sheet, till I’m too horny and desperate to keep my hands off it any longer. A quick squeeze of lube, a few firm strokes up over the head, a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and I can collapse again, limbs flopping down onto the mattress, and the room starting to blur and swim.

Hangover sex is great – whether or not you have someone there to enjoy it with you.

I’ve got a couple of posts in the pipeline at the moment, including a (loose) sequel to this and this. I’m also talking to a few different people about guest posts and collaborations, which should start popping up here over the next month or so. In the meantime, I thought I’d write about sex toys. I occasionally get asked whether there are particular toys I like, or how I feel about toys in general, so last night I had a quick rummage through the bag at the back of my wardrobe, and picked out a few of my favourites. These are the toys that do it for me, or that I most enjoy using on/with others:

Aneros MGX Classic prostate massager

I’ve had the Aneros for almost ten years now. It’s the first sex toy I ever bought, and it’s still my go-to butt plug whenever I want some intense, but fairly unchallenging anal play. It’s designed to curve up and stimulate my prostate, but mainly I just enjoy clenching around it as I masturbate or – even better – as someone teases me with hand or mouth. It tends to generate very powerful orgasms, and is the toy to use if you ever want to see cum shooting right up over my chest and neck. Or over yours.

Doc Johnson TitanMen Anal Plug Number 3

By and large, I’m not sure Doc Johnson make good sex toys. However, in this (not so) little beauty, they’ve provided me with a lot of incredibly filthy anal fun, both alone and with partners. It’s pretty much exactly the same size as my own cock, which one ex-girlfriend really enjoyed reminding me of as she pushed it all the way inside me.

“You want to fuck my arse, do you? Want to bury your hard cock deep inside it? Well first I think you should know what that feels like. I’m going to stretch your arse with this nice thick dildo, and maybe if you’re a good boy, maybe if you tell me how much you fucking love it, I’ll let you do the same to mine with your dick.”

Or words to that effect.

Basic jelly cock stroker

Here’s the thing with male sex toys: butt plugs/dildos aside, I’ve never been convinced that they actually add much to the solo experience. Enjoy having your clit stimulated? Well a vibrator is probably going to be more powerful than your hand. Want to have your cunt or arse filled? A good-sized dildo will reach the places your fingers can’t. For guys though, there’s nothing really out there that replicates – or beats – the feeling of a lubed-up hand stroking firmly up and down my hard cock. I’m never feeling so lazy that I can’t be bothered to do the job myself, and the skin-on-skin contact makes for a much more effective and intuitive wank than a Fleshlight ever could.

That said, this  6″ jelly stroker can be a lot of fun when it’s being used on me by someone else, ideally when I’m tied up and blindfolded. It provides a different texture – a different sensation – and for that reason I’m never too disappointed to see a partner fish it out of the bag and turn to me with an evil glint in her eye.

Tantus Feeldoe

As a concept, the Feeldoe is basically my perfect toy. It’s a satisfyingly large, cock-shaped dildo, with the added bonus of a vibrating ‘pony’ end that enables my partner to use it as a strap-on, without having to deal with o-rings, and a harness, and all the rest of it. The lack of straps enhances the psychological element of that kind of scenario: when she twists her fingers in my hair and forces my mouth down onto her cock, it somehow feels more authentic, especially when the other end is vibrating inside her, making her moan with pleasure as I slide my lips up and down it.

The drawbacks? It takes a woman with well-trained cunt muscles to wield it effectively, and getting the angles right can take a lot of trial and error. The material also isn’t the best, despite Tantus claiming that it’s made of ‘Ultra-Premium Silicone’; I find that without a shitload of lube, it drags inside me in a way that other toys don’t, which can make a properly hard fuck feel slightly uncomfortable.

Pearl Shine 9 inch Anal Vibrator

I’ve never used the vibrating function on this toy, and I’ve never really needed to. It’s a pretty basic bit of equipment, but for warming up my arse, or for times when I just want some proper length inside me, it takes some beating. I’m not generally very loud in bed, especially when I’m on my own, but I’ve been surprised a few times by the level of grunting this can elicit when it’s pushed all the way in and out at a decent speed.

Fetish Fantasy Plus Size Strap-On

Regular readers may well remember this post from January. A lot of my sex toy purchases have been fairly spontaneous, and this was no exception. When I found myself in that Soho sex shop, looking for the strap-on set that was ‘the biggest, the most obscene’, this is what I ended up with. The harness is fairly low quality, and the dildo is made of jelly, which isn’t great for your body, but Jesus, it was exactly what I needed that day. She was a cute, queer, sarcastic bisexual, with a mess of dreadlocks on her head and hair under her arms; she had this sort of slow, sleepy, sexual magnetism, but when she strapped that cock around her waist it seemed to infuse her with this hot, feral energy that she was only too happy to take out on my arse.

I get shivers whenever I look at it.

Leather cock strap

I got lots of good birthday presents this year, but this, from Malin James, was one of the very best. I’ve tried numerous cock rings over the years, and always enjoyed them, but this is a cut above the rest. It’s padded, I can clip it nice and tight around the base of my shaft and my balls, and as yesterday’s experiment proved, it does a very good job of keeping everything super-hard for a long time. Hopefully I won’t be the only one who benefits from that.

—

I have other toys too. I have handcuffs, anal beads, a flogger, a couple more butt plugs, a Rock Chick, a vibrator shaped like a corn-on-the-cob, and a genuinely enormous strap-on dildo, but none of them really see much use. Toys are great, especially when I have a regular partner with whom I can properly explore them, but with a couple of exceptions they’ll always be a support act, rather than the main event. In the end, it’s human contact – physical and mental – that I enjoy.

That’s how I feel at the moment, anyway. This is an area where I’m pretty sure other people know far more than I do, so if you’re reading this and you have any thoughts on toys in general, or you’d like to recommend something you think I might enjoy, please do leave a comment, or get in touch via Twitter/email.

This post will be password-protected (or simply taken down) in 24 hours, because it’s fairly explicit even by my standards, but until then I’m going to make it available to all.

I was having a conversation with someone last night about orgasm faces, and how sexy they are. An orgasm is – or should be – a moment of open, naked, visceral pleasure, when all the control we normally exercise over our appearance disappears completely. When I make someone come, and I see her face contort and redden, or her eyes scrunch together, or her mouth open and gurn, I know it means she’s completely lost in the moment. Lost in whatever it is that I’m doing with/to/for her. That’s really fucking hot.

Anyway, during that conversation I realised that as great as orgasm faces are, orgasm noises can be even better…but only with a partner I know really well. That’s because, even more than facial expressions, they act as a guide to how someone’s feeling, what they want, and what I should – or can – do next. I can take that ragged, whimpering shortness of breath that tells me she’s seconds away, and I can decide exactly what to do with it: press on, with firmer, quicker strokes of my tongue or cock; or ease off, hold back, and make her wait for more.

When my partner’s actually coming, and I know her noises well, I can control them in a way that I can’t with her facial expressions. A hand over her mouth to cut her off mid-moan, or a few whispered words to make her start swearing at me between breaths, or even a couple of extra-hard thrusts as she’s tumbling over the edge, if I want to really increase the volume. At their best, those noises also act as a trigger for my own orgasm, and we end up coming together before collapsing in a big, sweaty, sticky heap of happiness.

Orgasm faces are great because at a moment of huge vulnerability they take everything someone’s feeling and lay it all out there for you to see in an incredibly intimate way. Orgasm noises – however quiet or subtle – go one step further and form an integral part of the communication between you. It’s true that they can also be less honest: I’ve been with people who’ve clearly treated it as a bit of a performance, which is why I need to know someone well to really get off on the sounds they make; I need to trust that they’re ‘real’.

Anyway, I can’t really share my own orgasm face here, for obvious reasons, but I thought I would offer a taste of the sort of noises I make. The video below the jump was filmed a couple of months ago, and the quality isn’t great; it’s also very graphic, so don’t scroll any further if that’s not your thing. Is it ‘real’? Well, I suppose that’s a hard one to answer: all I can say is that for a few seconds, right at the end, I definitely forgot that the camera was there. I had that ‘white light’ moment, where your brain first seems to empty completely, then to explode into a million tiny pieces. It was pretty awesome.