I did not intend to write this post on a Tuesday! For one thing, I’m roughly 36 hours too late for the link-up deadline, so don’t stand any chance of winning one of the fabulous prizes Molly has lined up for this most auspicious of Sinful Sundays. For another…well, the clue is in the name! This is in no way a midweek meme, yet here I am, styling it out like a schoolboy trying to get away with handing in an overdue piece of homework.
Any other week, I obviously wouldn’t bother. I’d wait another five days and post it to the next link-up instead. However, this is not ‘any other week’, and it’s definitely not just any other Sinful Sunday. As most of you reading this will already know, it’s Sinful Sunday #500! How could I not take part??
The clocks went back last night, which means it’s officially THAT time of year. You know the one I mean? When you look out of the window at 4.30pm to find it’s already dark, and each morning seems to bring with it a slightly more menacing chill in the air. When the sad remnants of those joyous piles of crunchy autumn leaves lie plastered to the pavement by sleeting rain, and you feel the damp clinging to your skin and clothes as you scurry down the street, breath billowing out in front of you.
In a normal year, we’d be looking right now to the small, simple comforts – the baggy jumpers, hot chocolates, toasted teacakes, and favourite movies – to sustain us through winter’s first biting salvo. In 2020, with its Covid lockdowns and its election anxiety and – oh God – impending no-deal Brexit, those things feel even more essential than ever.
That’s one of the reasons why I found myself in Berlin this week. With a sister and nephew to visit there, I try to get across at least once a year, but really they were just a pretext this time. Because alongside the jumpers and the teacakes, solo travel is very much one of my comforts. The destination is a huge bonus, of course, especially when it’s a city as awesome as Berlin, but the mindless process of getting from A to B is often hugely satisfying in itself, as is the cloak of anonymity provided by the hotel room at the end of a journey.
On my first afternoon in Berlin, I spent a couple of hours lounging naked on the comfortable double bed. I slept for a bit, I masturbated, and in between those activities I snapped a few casual nudes. There was a full-width mirror alongside the bed, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to pose in front of it, camera in hand. I didn’t try to make the photos themselves too fancy. Instead I just shot what I saw in the mirror, tweeted a couple of the better images, and put my phone away.
It was only a couple of days later on the plane home, when I was thinking about all the different ways in which the trip had been relaxing – had been just what I needed really – that my mind drifted back to that 20-minute session. It occurred to me that at a time when pleasure is in short supply, and we all face the prospect of cold dark days and nights inside, doing something that actively makes me feel good about my body is really just another form of nourishing self-care.
In winter – all bundled up and sedentary – it’s all too easy to lose touch with what I like about my physical appearance, and with the things that make me feel sexy. Taking, sharing, posting, and even just looking at nudes is a way to combat that, just as drinking hot chocolate is a way to banish the bone-deep chill that follows you inside after a stampy, splashy walk in the rain.
Over the last 48 hours, I’ve stripped off and snapped some nudes on a couple more occasions. None of the photos I ended up with are particularly arty or special – they’re just shots where I think my body looks nice, which right now is enough to trigger a little jolt of happiness. I highly recommend that you try it!
I thought I’d share a few of those nothing-special photos here today. I expect there will be plenty more to come over the next few weeks and months!
This is my third and final piece for Smutathon 2020. As I finished writing it, we passed our £3,000 fundraising target, which feels like a fucking INCREDIBLE achievement, and one that owes everything to the wonderful people who joined in with this madcap venture, and of course to the 100+ generous folks who sponsored us. The money you donated to Endometriosis UK will make a huge difference, and we’re both happy and honoured that our campaign inspired you to help them out*.
This story is inspired by a tweet I saw a couple of months ago. At the time, I resolved to write four 500-word pieces of fiction, each inspired by one of the four images. Of course that went out of the window almost immediately, and instead you get one 3,500-word story, which features two of those positions. I hope you enjoy it.
*If you haven’t yet sponsored us, but want to do so, the fundraising link will remain open for (at least) another week. You can find it here!
As at all good weddings, by 10pm the dancefloor was packed. I fished a bottle of red off an abandoned dinner table and filled my glass as I surveyed the carnage. Of course my sister was in the middle of it; pint in one hand, phone in the other, she twirled, screamed, and stomped to the beat, surrounded by three bridesmaids and her adoring new husband.
This is my second post for Smutathon 2020. Fair warning: it’s VERY long. If you enjoy it, you can donate to Endometriosis UK here (we’ll be EXTREMELY grateful if you do!).
A few days ago, I shared a story someone had told me about fucking in a student union toilet. It was hot for multiple reasons: the language she used, which was filthy and evocative; the idea of two people sneaking away from a group for the kind of urgent fuck that neither one could put off; and of course for the public element, given tangible form by the person who entered the toilets halfway through.
It also got me thinking about some of my own experiences with sex in public; or perhaps to put it more accurately, in locations that carried with them an element of risk. It’s a topic I covered very briefly in one of my very first posts on this blog, all the way back in 2013. I listed 10 interesting places I’d had sex – and where I absolutely shouldn’t have done. What I didn’t do was provide much context or detail beyond that. Not just in terms of the what and the how, but the who, and most importantly the why.
As the Smutathon fundraising total sat at £1,066 yesterday evening, I made a rather niche offer on Twitter: if someone increased it to £1,087, I’d write a piece of flash fiction inspired by William II of England – otherwise known as William Rufus (or William the Red) – who ascended the throne in, yup, 1087. Happily someone called me on it, and at 10pm I sat down to bash out 500 words of filth, fully intending to have the whole thing posted by midnight.
2,556 words later, I think it’s ready. As well as William II, the story is also inspired by this excellent Eleanor Janega blog post on sodomy. You’ll soon see why.
Smutathon itself takes place this coming Saturday (26th September) from midday till midnight UK time. If you’d like to take part, check out the details here, and if you enjoy this story, please consider showing your appreciation by chucking a few quid at our 2020 Endometriosis UK fundraising appeal.
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I glanced up from my notepad to see the sun streaming through the high windows on the far side of the lecture theatre. Megan followed my eyes and grunted in disgust.
Of all the possible topics for a sex blogger to try and cover in an interesting and original way, ‘fucking from behind’ doesn’t exactly feel like the most promising option. Whether they love it or loathe it (and I think it’s fair to say most people fall into the first of those boxes), pretty much everyone has an opinion on doggy sex, or at the very least a working idea of what it involves. What possible value could there be in churning out 2,500 words on what is literally one of the most popular sex positions in the world?
Well apparently that’s just my cross to bear. And obviously Twitter is 100% to blame. A few days ago, I (very approvingly) shared this photo of a variation on what I’ll refer to in this post as ‘regular doggy’. As I said at the time, ‘collapsed doggy’ – where the person getting penetrated sinks down from hands and knees to a largely prone position, while the person doing the penetrating straddles their partner’s ass and moves forward till their arms are either side of their partner’s chest or shoulders – is not only the best way to have PIV sex from behind, it’s one of the best ways to fuck full stop. I followed up what I thought was a relatively uncontroversial opinion with an offhand comment about the ’17 different reasons’ why that was true.
People ask ‘either/or’ sex questions all the time. Would you rather watch or be watched? Do you prefer to give head or receive it? Are you dominant or submissive? Boiling down complex questions into simple, binary choices can be a useful way of forcing ourselves or other people to reveal (often surprising) truths about sexual preference and outlook.
It’s also frustrating as hell. Of course it is! It’s frustrating because all too often the cop-out – but also the only honest – answer to those questions is “yes.” I certainly feel that way about a whole bunch of ‘either/or’ posers.
Would you rather fuck someone in the ass or take it in yours? Yes.
The wheel is turning pretty slowly for me at the moment. August is the quietest time of year for my industry, so after a couple of (very) near misses on the interview front in late July, I mentally checked out of the job hunt for a few weeks.
Please fish out your tiniest violin and get ready to play a mournful tune, because I’m about to tell you just how tough it is to be a cis man who writes erotica.
Unlike almost every other genre and sub-genre of fiction, erotica is both written and read primarily by women. That is true of mass-market erotica, true of indie published erotica, true of sex-blogging and amateur erotica, and overwhelmingly true of slash and fanfic. While women who write literary fiction are apparently eight times more likely to get attention from publishers if they submit their work under a man’s name, in erotica they can write as themselves without fear of being pushed to the bottom of the pile.
One lunchtime last weekend, Liv and I got stripped off and jumped into bed. We kissed for a bit, then I went down on her till she came. As she was recovering from that, I slid my hard cock inside her and pulled her legs up onto my shoulders so I could fuck her fast and deep.
Conscious of the noise – it’s maybe the position in which Liv gets the loudest – and of just how hard I was slamming it into her, I pulled out after a few minutes and flipped her onto all fours. Of course that was only a temporary solution; fucking her from behind also gets hard and loud pretty quickly, especially with my hands on her hips and ass, pinning her in place.
So when she’d come again, she rolled back over and smiled as she wrapped her legs around me, pulling my cock in deep and watching my face as I got closer and closer and…
