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Cock shots Erotica Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: Wank in the Woods

The woods are quiet during lockdown. On dirt-grey weekday afternoons they’re rarely busy anyway, but since the world ground to a halt even the dogwalkers have abandoned the narrow paths that wind their way between the viridescent thickets, under a canopy dense enough to block out any ambient noise from the busy London suburb in which the woods sit.

Paradoxically, the silence makes it hard at first to be sure just where the sound is coming from. It’s both faint and somehow all around you, as if it’s echoing from one tree trunk to the next. If it wasn’t for the rhythm – metronomic and insistent – you’d dismiss it as wet leaves slapping against bark. That’s what it sounds like, but as you close your eyes and try to pin down where it’s coming from, you realise that it’s firmer, more substantial.

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Sex

Faking It

When I tell people that I have, in the past, faked orgasms, their immediate response typically comes in the form of two questions:

Why? And how??

Contained within those questions are a number of assumptions, about both the way in which penis-owners express and experience pleasure, and their motivations for being physically intimate with another person. Before I talk directly about my own reasons for faking it, it might be useful to unpack and explore a few of those assumptions.

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Sinful Sunday: Glade

One of the best discoveries we’ve made since moving to Croydon is just how easily we can access wide-open spaces and sprawling woodland. From Riddlesdown Common to Farthing Downs, Croham Hurst Woods to Banstead Wood, we can jump into the car on a Sunday afternoon – or indeed a Wednesday – and be out in what feels like the middle of nowhere in less than 25 minutes. Given that it takes almost exactly the same amount of time to get the train into Victoria, we seem to have found (quite by accident) the perfect midway point between the hustle and bustle of the city and the (relative) wilderness.

As longtime blog readers will know, I love finding excuses to strip off in the great outdoors (or, well, anywhere), and have gleefully taken advantage of opportunities to get naked in Epping Forest and Boxley Wood over the last few years – and even in the great, primeval Białowieża Forest in the east of Poland. Something about a treetop canopy, piles of moss and leaves beneath my feet, and the particular quiet that descends on you once you penetrate the first few rows of trees…well, I can rarely resist at least looking out for potential photo spots.

So when Liv and I went for a wander in an almost entirely empty Banstead Woods on a rainy weekday afternoon, in the middle of lockdown, it was pretty inevitable that one or both of us would end up getting our kit off. A small, sunlit glade and a fallen tree-trunk provided the perfect opportunity to strip off, step up…and stretch out…

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Sex

On my sexuality (part 4)

In 2013, the Pew Research Center published a study looking at the ‘coming out experience’ for different LGBT groups. According to their research, 77% of gay men and 71% of gay women are out to ‘all or most’ of the important people in their life. For bisexual women, that figure drops to 33%. For bisexual men, it’s 12%.

In 2014, I wrote a series of blog posts called ‘On My Sexuality’. Re-reading them now, what really stands out is how light they are on any actual analysis of who and how I love. I think they still hold up pretty well as pieces of writing – and as pieces of decidedly erotic writing in places – but the title is definitely misleading. Whether intentionally or not, I skirted round ‘sexuality’ as a serious topic, in favour of a set of scenarios that make one thing clear without really putting it into words: given the right opportunity, I would fuck – and indeed have fucked – other men.

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Erotica

The Lodger

Last week, the outrageously-talented Kate Lessons posted a new story on her blog, called ‘The Lodger‘. Like most of her work, it’s hot, transgressive, and deliberately disgusting in places, in a way that really works. It says a lot for Kate as an author that the style of the piece, and the protagonist’s voice, are both unmistakably hers, and it came as no surprise that I really enjoyed reading it.

What did take me by surprise was the urge I had, hours later, to go back and rewrite it. Or rather, to tell the same story from the perspective of the man her main character, Chloe, is lodging with. And blowing. And fucking. Something about the dynamic between them really got under my skin, and I wanted to explore that whole scenario using the platform she’d so skilfully built. I asked Kate whether that would be OK and she graciously said yes, so here we are!

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Sinful Sunday: Metronome

Before lockdown, I was running roughly three times a week, depending on weather, work, hockey, and my general enthusiasm levels. Each outing followed a similar pattern: start sluggishly, grimace and set my face against the wind and rain, find some sort of easy stride, wait till I hit two miles, then head home and breathe a (heavy) sigh of relief at the sight of our front gate. It’s fair to say I wasn’t loving life on the trail over autumn and winter.

However, since lockdown my entire approach to the routine of running has changed – or rather, it’s returned to roughly where it was in 2015 and 2016, when I was training for marathons in Berlin and Warsaw. Not in distance terms (not yet anyway…), nor in speed – I’m lucky if I do 5K in 23 minutes right now, whereas 3-4 years ago I was consistently sub-22 minutes – but perhaps more importantly I feel like I’ve found my rhythm again.

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Cock shots Sex

He Is Risen!

(I’m SO annoyed with myself for not being organised enough to post this yesterday, when the title would’ve been even more blasphemously appropriate…)

In the story I posted last week, I included this description of the moment right before my cock gets hard:

I can feel it building elsewhere in my body: mostly in my stomach and my thighs, but it also spreads up and out across my chest, and down the backs of my legs. It’s a form of anticipation that blends heart-thumping excitement with an odd, deep sense of calm. I think that’s because the progress of the erection itself feels inexorable; not quite pre-ordained, but certainly impossible to interrupt once it’s first set in motion, deep below the surface.

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Erotica Sex

Naked but…

I like you naked – you know that.

Naked around the house on a Sunday morning, when the bright sunshine flooding in through our kitchen window briefly masks how chilly it is outside, and I can glance up from my cup of tea to watch you gazing in quiet contemplation at the contents of a food cupboard, or moving between work surfaces as you prepare one of the various unnamed, randomly-timed meals that provide the punctuation to our weekends.

Naked when I get home from work after a long day, and instead of handing me a drink, you lead me through to the living room, push me onto the sofa, and lift your dress over your head in one smooth motion, revealing nothing underneath but pale skin and the green pendant necklace that you remove only when you’re about to ride my cock really hard and don’t want it to smack me in the face.

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Erotica

Smut Marathon 2020: Round 1 Feedback

I’m on the jury for the 2020 Smut Marathon, which is very exciting indeed, and means that after every round I have to award points to the nine entries I liked best. I’m going to try to provide relatively detailed feedback on my choices, and to offer some slightly broader thoughts on the round as a whole, in the hope it’ll help this year’s authors to improve their fortunes further down the track.

With that in mind, here are my thoughts on Round 1…

The thing that stood out to me most as I studied all 109 R1 entries was the real split between those writers who’d understood the point of this particular challenge, and those who hadn’t. At this stage, it is both unsurprising and completely understandable that the second of those buckets swallowed up so many of you: there’s a reason R1 isn’t an elimination round, after all, as everyone is still finding their feet in the contest – especially those of you who haven’t taken part in Smut Marathon before.

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Sinful Sunday: It’s a Swing Thing

There’s a long tradition of professional athletes getting naked for magazine shoots. Flick through pretty much any of them (ESPN’s annual ‘The Body Issue’ is perhaps the best place to start), and you’ll notice one recurring theme: genitals are almost entirely missing. Well, missing or ‘tastefully’ obscured by scenery, other body parts, or relevant sporting equipment.

There are perfectly understandable reasons for this. Very few mainstream publications show genitals full stop, and if you’re a global sporting star, potentially paid millions in salary and sponsorship contracts, you have a personal brand to maintain: that brand is rarely, if ever, enhanced by getting your cock or cunt out for the world to admire.

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