Category: Sinful Sunday

Smutathon weekend was wonderful for many reasons. The writing, obviously, and the collaborative, encouraging environment in which it took place. The hot tub – much to my surprise, as someone who’s only ever been able to enjoy them for 5-10 minutes at a time. The music, conversation and laughter over wine and takeaway pizza on the sofa.

Even the dull or stressful bits of the weekend were redeemed by the company I had around me; a nightmare 6h journey on Friday was made bearable by the chance to chat away about everything and anything with Jayne Renault – someone I’d met a grand total of once before, at Eroticon this year, but now count as a firm friend.

As most of you will have seen from Liv’s ongoing series of pregnancy Sinful Sunday posts, her body is changing more and more each week as we get deeper into the same trimester. I love those photos, because each one does an incredible job of showing just how beautiful those changes are, and how well she’s wearing them.

Last week’s post also provided a timely reminder that while her body is currently halfway through a very important, serious – and tiring – project, it’s still capable of kicking back and having a damn good time too. In fact, since the first trimester Liv’s sex drive has pretty much returned to its previous level – and she’s comfortable enough at this stage for kink and other forms of adventurous play to be firmly on the table.

We’ve spent the week on the North Cornish coast, lazing around on beaches, sleeping in till midday, and generally not doing much except eat, play games, and have a good time. It’s been wonderful.

Yesterday afternoon, we packed our bags and hit the road back towards London – but not before one last trip to Polzeath beach. Under brooding grey skies, we strolled together across the sand, and found what would’ve been a lovely little spot for a bit of sunbathing. Not possible at that stage, given the weather, but still perfect for adding to our collection of holiday photos – though we probably won’t be putting these ones on Facebook.

Overnight train journeys spent in a private compartment are inherently glamorous. They’re James Bond and Tatiana Romanova on the Orient Express, or Eva Marie Saint purring seductively at Cary Grant in North by Northwest. They’re fancy dining cars with waiters in white tie, followed by late-night cocktails and sex with a mysterious stranger…

…but most of all, they’re falling asleep to the rhythm of the train, as it clack-clacks softly through the night, whisking you off to somewhere new and exciting – or back to the familiar comforts of home.