Category: Other photos

Though let’s be honest, they do actually look much better on her…

I am not a naturally graceful person. My body often feels utilitarian rather than elegant – built to get stuff done, rather than look good doing it. It’s why salsa classes have proved to be a really enjoyable – and occasionally frustrating – challenge: dancing doesn’t come naturally, and I’ve often been pushed well outside my comfort zone, so I’m proud of the way my body has responded.

I will never be a gymnast though. In fact, I actively choose sports where balance isn’t really a conscious consideration. Hockey. Running. Squash. The movements required for each are dynamic and instinctive, rather then precise or measured – and that suits my body just fine.

However, I do like a challenge. When I saw this fallen tree out in Epping Forest the other day, I couldn’t resist stepping out onto it and forcing my body into total stillness. Surrounded by lush green canopy, I tensed my muscles, curled my toes around the wood, and strived for something I don’t often have the patience – or control – to find.

Balance.

I absolutely love having hands all over my body, and what better occasion than the Saturday afternoon at Eroticon to get naked and let people touch you up?? The question is, can you guess who each pair belongs to…?

I may rethink the title.

In a pretty weird week for me – family funerals rarely feel like business as usual – it’s been good to have something utterly trivial with which to distract myself, and the (inaugural!) World Cup of Cereals certainly fell into that category.

After the voting was done this evening, one cereal stood alone at the top of the tree. A childhood favourite of mine – and of you lot too, it seems – Rice Krispies put the snap, crackle & pop into my weekend. Felt only right to polish off a bowl at the end of it…

The people have spoken! 57 of them, anyway. This afternoon’s impromptu poll produced a clear winner, with a whopping 46% of you voting for the nifty pink-and-purple Paul Smith boxer-briefs. Stripes are clearly in this year – the colourful CK boxer-briefs came (a distant) second – and briefs…well, briefs are not, much to my eternal disappointment.

Anyway, as promised, here’s the winning pair in action, just a few minutes ago…

So the monthly Sinful Sunday prompt for April is ‘Favourites’, and I decided this morning that it was the perfect opportunity to post a photo of/with my favourite underwear. The only problem? Deciding which pair fits that description.

Underwear has featured in a number of my blog posts, stories and Sinful Sunday photos over the last couple of years, and several different pairs have made an appearance. Men’s pants may not have the same cachet as fancy lingerie, but the right pair can make me feel really good – sexy and confident – so I tend to get quite attached to the ones I like.

For that reason – and because everyone likes voting on stuff – I decided to crowdsource my final selection. I picked five of my go-to underwear options, which are shown in the photo below, and all I’m asking you lot to do is pick your favourite.

Just getting dressed for a roast dinner with the family. As it’s Easter Sunday, no outfit would be complete without the addition of a little white tail…

The dance floor is empty. The bar staff are gone. I take your hand and spin you round, till we’re flying through our own perfect vacuum: a space where only we exist.

I enjoy a morning quickie, and obviously I love to fuck through the evening and into the night, but as far as I’m concerned few things in life are better than afternoon sex.

It’s gorgeous in summer, when warm, hazy sunshine pours through the bedroom window and forms a shimmering halo of light around your bodies; when you collapse together at the end into a sticky, sweaty mess and race each other naked to the ice-cold shower. In summer, even a whole afternoon in bed means emerging afterwards into a world still achingly bright and bursting with colour. Every lungful of air you take feels super-charged by the lingering physical memory of what you’ve just done.

Even that, though, struggles to beat afternoon sex in the middle of winter. In January the sunlight is weak and watery; short-lived, and more precious for it. Burrowing under the covers with another warm body means more than just shutting out the day for a few hours – it is a tacit admission that you’re happy for it to pass you by completely. That you have better things to do. A secret to share.

In winter, long, lazy afternoon sex demands to be followed by a nap. By two torsos stretched and curled around each other, and my thighs tucked up under hers. With an arm slung across her body, pulling her in tight, I feel more relaxed than I know how to describe; I’m grateful for her hair, muffling my already-inarticulate murmurs of pleasure as I drift off to sleep.

I can sleep for hours like that in winter, pressed-up and post-coital. Sometimes we wake up horny and want to fuck again right away, disengaging from our clinch just far enough to ease my hard cock between her legs. On other days, I open my eyes in time to see the sun setting outside the window, and the last of the daylight bathing the duvet with a splash of orange. I sit up and rub at my face, disorientated but conscious of how fat and content the day has left me; how catlike in my fuzzy, stretched-out splendour.

As energy starts to flood back into my limbs, I want to hurry out and enjoy every minute of this freshly-formed night. After a day wasted so wonderfully, I feel full of life and purpose – ready for whatever’s still to come.

A couple of months ago I went to the first day of SexPo UK with The Other Livvy. Unable to resist a bargain – or maybe just a good sales pitch – we walked out at the end of the night with a voucher for an ‘intimate’ photo shoot at a Central London studio.

Seeing yourself through the eyes of a stranger is always a little unsettling, even after a shit-ton of free wine (there for a reason, apparently). I wasn’t sure about our photographer at first, but as the session unfolded we grew more and more comfortable in front of the camera, while he gradually tuned in to what we thought was sexy.

Eye contact.

Skin.

On skin.

Arms curling round each other’s bodies.

The firm press of my hand on her arse.

Of my hand on her neck.

As she leans in close.

And lets me hold her.

Tight.