When Are You Coming To Suck My Cock?

Do Not Fuck up My Makeup

You’ll be on the clock too, I won’t have much time.

That’s ok, I like the excitement, been a long time since I did anything in work during business hours.

And you can’t mess up my face so no deep throat I’m afraid

Maybe just a little

Nope. Them’s the terms, take em or leave em.

Take em

 

He works not far from my office and I put on my coat and skip the 5 minute walk to his workplace. He’s down stairs when I get there so I don’t have to ask for him – but I look out of place here anyway, I’m certain I was noticed.

He nods to the stairs and says that’s where we’re going. Up one flight, then another and then a third? Christ I’m out of breath when we get there. There are floor to ceiling windows with gaps that look out on to the street. They don’t bother me, we’ll be mostly hidden by big advertising boards. I look around, trying to catch my breath, wondering where to place him.

I am here to give him head. I can’t remember why he deserves a mid afternoon, delivered to his office, blow job but here I am nonetheless. I see the low table and the chair next to it and point. There, over there is perfect for you. And I smile  – I will be at a really great angle to suck his cock while he sits in the chair; no problems with sore knees or having to stop half way through.

Just a blow job, then back to work

He sits with his legs spread, and I hitch up my skirt, and sit on the little table in front of him. I’m between his open legs with my own legs open. I lean back on the table a bit, delighted with this fortuitous furniture placement. A lascivious smile crosses my face as he gets an eye full of my underwear. He has his hard cock out and is working it with his hand.

I lean forward and down and just before I lick the pre cum off the tip, I glance up at him and smile. And then I kiss it like I was putting my lips around the top of an ice pop. A quick sucking little kiss before I slide my hot mouth down over the rest of his fat cock.

He leans back and makes a low noise, just as I do; I fucking love this cock in my mouth. I work it with my hand and mouth for a while, then stop to kiss him. I stand up and pull my skirt up higher as I straddle him and let him taste himself off my lips. I sit back down on the little table and grin at him again before I go back down his shaft, I lean over and go as far down as I can. I lied about not giving him any deep throat, even though I know it’s going to make my eyes water and see my makeup run.

I lean back and pull my knickers to one side, and dip a finger in, he has the perfect view of this, and tell him how wet I am. Then I quickly lick it and go back to sucking him as he gasps, I can’t be sure if it’s the information, the view or return of my wet mouth to his dick.

But I’ve gone too far, sliding my finger into my cunt undid me and almost involuntarily I stand up to straddle him again. This time though I pull my knickers to the side and rub his glistening head off my swollen lips. Maybe I was trying to tease him, who knows but I didn’t last long I held onto his cock as I shoved the tip in, but I slid further and further down it until I let go with my hand and just sat on him.

This fucking chair, these ankle boots I’m wearing everything is at the perfect height to be able squat down on him perfectly. I can just grind with my arse or I can bounce a little or I can lift myself almost all the way off – I need to own this chair I think.

I start to lose myself and make a noise, he puts his hand over my mouth, I stop moving trying to calm myself, thinking I’m going to climb off him and go back to sucking his cock. But I don’t. 5 seconds it takes me to regain the run of myself and I start to grind back on him and I feel myself getting close.

I could fuck him like this all day, but he says he’s about to come so I quickly get off him and get him back in my mouth so I can catch his come. A few seconds of sucking the taste of myself off him and he shoots his load down my throat.

I am out of breath and heaving when I finally release him from my mouth and he leans in to get his fingers on my clit, circling it and getting me back to where I was. I tell him he doesn’t need to, as this afternoon was just about him, but he ignores me and pushes deeper.

Sitting on the table, with my legs spread, leaning back on my arms, he stands over me and works his fingers in and out of me until I come. It takes me a few minutes, and it looks like he was almost hard again from watching me.

 

My makeup is smudged and there’s sweat trickling down my back in rivulets; I point at the chair and tell him that I’m going to need that in my house.

Baby Breakup

This is a quote from Alain de Botton… well a recent tweet which is the same thing:

 

An Epidemic of loneliness created

by the misguided idea that the only

cure is a romantic relationship

 

I think I’ve written about this before, I’ve certainly mentioned my absolute and abject love for her. My best friend. I ache with it. I feel it as keenly as any romantic love and I know this through the worst way. We had a falling out a few years back (no answers on a postcard please, we don’t need to take guesses). So we broke up for a while in which time I had something pretty close to a breakdown, if breakdowns were milk let’s say I had UHT.

And I had this certified by a professional because I needed counselling. (To be fair I probably needed it before then but this was the catalyst)

 

So did she by the way, this is not unrequited. We broke each other.

 

But the point is not to shine a spotlight on the past but rather to understand the magnitude of emotion here. It’s visceral and tangible and life changing. And for a very long time I have struggled with the way this love is not championed or acknowledged or coveted. At least not on any comparative scale to how romantic love is. To the point where I can’t talk and will not be allowed grieve when she leaves Dublin.

Ok, I will be allowed talk about it, but I won’t be indulged or afforded the sympathy commensurate with what we would afford the loss of a lover.

 

She is leaving to start a family with her partner. And I am so delighted for her to embark on this new era – she has wanted it for as long as I know her without it being a driving factor in her life. She’s waited til it was the right time.

But new eras herald change, and this change will see our relationship as we know it – end.

 

Her life will be on the other side of the country and it will be far less about the banalities of the stuff we used to fill our days with. To say that things won’t be different is naïve and actually insulting. Which is of course what everyone is doing. Looking at me like I am crazy to be this upset, completely negating my pain.

 

I’m so in love with this woman and soon she will have a greater love, an exclusive one that will side line me just as it should. She will need to embrace her new life and grow her unit – just her, her partner and their child. And while I know this is right it doesn’t stop me from being sad about it. It’s a perfect storm of juxtaposed feelings.

 

But sad doesn’t even cover it. I’m heartbroken ever so slightly. Not like before, admittedly, but for a while she won’t be available to me, we won’t connect on the same level. She will be hundreds of kilometres away and will have an entirely new focus and direction. A direction I can’t share in as I’m not part of it for one. But also because I feel no driving desire myself to procreate and am unconvinced of the value of it. I won’t ever be able to relate to that particular desire. This in itself is a seismic shift in our experiences, we’ve never been so far on the other side of a fence from each other.

 

But that’s more about the metaphorical distance than the literal one. But it all adds to my feeling of separation and sense of disconnection. I feel left behind by her and by  …. well by virtue of the fact that I don’t see myself making that journey.

 

 

 

 

Now I know I’m not the only one who feels this, this is not novel or the preserve of me alone. In all relationships that the addition of another will threaten or upset the incumbent; siblings, colleagues, new partners, additional in laws. All of these upset us and make us feel our place in the pecking order is challenged. We don’t like to be usurped and we don’t like change. We want the feeling that we are still important and necessary and still  – loved. So some of my feelings are just that, but most of them are that I am losing her to something bigger.

 

And of course I know this and am aware of how god awfully churlish I sound. But I’m not trying to be more important than her child, or even her partner. I don’t want her to make any special effort to assuage my loss. I want to be able to acknowledge that her leaving is a big deal, that things will be fundamentally different and that in itself is valid enough for me to be very fucking sad.

I feel lost and without a partner. She was someone who I was allowed rely on, allowed turn to. I’m sure I still can but I feel like that isn’t appropriate any longer.

 

 

And I am likely to punch anyone who wants to tell me ‘It’s not that bad’.

 

 

I have relinquished the other half of our two person gang. And it is as big a deal as if I lost a romantic one and it makes me so much more keenly aware that I am by myself. Which is fine, and also not fucking fine at all.

 

Yes of course it’s ok to be single, but the honest unattractive truth is that I really don’t want to be. I want to rely on someone, I want to share things with someone who is contractually obliged to feign interest in at least some of the shit I like (I will of course return the sentiment, probably).

 

 

An Epidemic of loneliness created by the misguided idea that the only cure is a romantic relationship

 

It’s not the only cure, but when romantic relationships are the ones that people give precedence to then it’s very hard not to want that. It takes a better person than me to be able to shake off that yoke. And what’s more, platonic relationships can leave you lonely too.

Sometimes you can’t win.

You Me & Another

Here ‘s  a conversation I had about adding another person to the mix in a way I hadn’t been aware of. Stick with the whatsapp convo. It’s going somewhere sexy.

********************************************************************************************************************

That is a literal text conversation I had with someone. If I was at all arty and shit I’d be able to make that look like text boxes but I’m not all arty so getting it formatted like that was about as much as I could do. You get the gist, I want to do something so I asked him.

 

Anyway. I’d never really thought about erotic massage before, either doing it or what it actually entailed. It’s billed as something that can put the spark back into your sex life but if you already have loads of spark I think it could serve more purposes; adding a third person without the social awkwardness of doing it with a friend or trying to find someone randomly. Not to mention learning new things. As said in the texts above – I want to know how to do a proper prostate massage, ideally I’d like to be able to make him come just from that. And I think I might need help in getting there. So this idea really turned me on. I also like the idea of watching him with another girl (if I’m honest, I’d love the idea of watching him with another man too) but this would definitely suffice.

 

Am I intimidated? Yeah, I am a tiny bit. All the masseuses seem totally fucking gorgeous, and I’m just me. But that’s my insecurity, that will always be there. If I think about who I’m doing this with I won’t feel that as I know our sexual connection will outweigh it. I know he will get off on me getting off more than any of it. Well maybe not more than having his ass played with!

And knowing I am getting to give him pleasure will thrill me.

I may live to regret suggesting this to him, he might not rest until we do it.

 

If you’re thinking of doing this, for whatever reasons then I would suggest you give it a bit of thought and do a bit of research. You want to be sure that you’re getting your needs met and that it is with someone who has experience with couples. As much as I love the enthusiasm from my fav partner in crime, I wasn’t too convinced by the links he sent me. Find a reputable outfit and check for references. I can’t really give any advice on this as I haven’t done it yet. But these are the things that I would consider.

 

 

This was inspired by Karma Tantric, a sensual massage agency in London, offering body to body massage, erotic massage and prostate massage for men, women and couples.

 

 

Who’s The Cunt Here?

Who’s the Cunt here? No one, that was a kinda rhetorical question.

It’s funny how two people can see something completely differently isn’t it? I mean, we all know this but it’s only when we have an acute experience of it again that we give it any thought; how can that person have taken my actions to mean what they think they mean… it wasn’t what I meant at all.

How can it all get so misconstrued and both parties come out thinking they were hard done by and the blameless victim?

Very easily actually.

 

I don’t think anyone’s the bad guy here. I certainly don’t think it’s me but I suppose I can see how my actions might have been misconstrued. We can never write these things objectively but I really am going to try to explain it from both our sides.

 

To make it easier (I mean harder for you) I’m not going to gender each side of the story so you can’t tell which one is me. So judge away……

Side One:

I like this person, but I’m busy. We’ve had a great time and we both know we like each other. Definitely like hanging out. The sex is spectacular and I enjoy X’s company, I’m pretty sure that X feels the same. I do feel a tiny but of guilt about us sleeping together though, as I know my feelings aren’t as strong, I feel less attached, I’m not convinced that this has any potential. But I’m happy with something casual.

I’ve left it to X to get in touch when we meet, if I’m available then I respond.

X has no filter – I think I like that, seems to be really comfortable telling me anything. We are very different but not in a jarring way. Not so far.

We haven’t seen each other in a while, I wouldn’t mind getting together again. I send off some cryptic messages but eventually we do meet up once or twice.

I’ve had a few messages from X since we last met up but I haven’t responded, they didn’t say anything specific and I was busy with work. I don’t want to get into the habit of banal message exchanges. Not with someone I’m not sure about.

It’s been a while, I haven’t heard from X. Granted I haven’t sent any messages – maybe I should have responded to the last few? I thought X might have stayed in touch..

I wouldn’t mind seeing X  – I think I’ll send a message, see if we can hook up. It’s been ages, but I’m sure it’s ok. It was the last time.

 

Side Two:

Damn I like this person. We’re kinda different but the sex is spectacular and we can talk about anything. I think I could tell Y anything and not be judged, that it wouldn’t faze Y. I think I am more into this though and I’ve said so. I think I’d like this to go somewhere, or at very least I want to see more of Y. See if there is the potential that I feel?

Or am I blinded by the mind-blowing sex? Do we really have that much in common?

Y hasn’t shown any interest in meeting up again – I think I should let this go.

We don’t see each other for ages and then Y texts out of the blue. I’m surprised but meet up anyway – I feel I’ve nothing to lose, I can deal with casual if that’s all it is.

We meet up again, twice, always with me instigating all contact. But after this time I have two, maybe 3 messages ignored. I decide that Y has no real interest in me, not even casually and it seems to be always on Ys terms so I stop messaging. I can take a hint.

And if I’m wrong, sure no harm, Y will just send me a message, let me know if there’s still any interest.

 

Weeks later, 6 or 7, and I get a message out of the blue.

What would you do?

 

Would you leave it 6 weeks to contact someone, would you respond if someone contacted you after that much time?

If you contacted someone after not seeing them for a short period would you expect a warm response? If someone got in touch after weeks of no contact would you be insulted or happy to hear from them?

Let’s say you don’t get a warm response – do you have the right to be insulted?

Let’s say you get contacted after being ignored – do you have the right to be insulted?

 

It depends on your point of view I suppose. It depends on your expectations. I think there was a lack of communication here and it led to both parties being disappointed by what they felt it was ok to expect from the other.

Expecting too much

Expecting too little

Expecting anything at all.

 

Dating continues to be very hard. And Jesus Christ, if someone could give me a fucking hand book, I’d really appreciate it.

 

(If anyone is interested, I will happily reveal which dickhead I was in the above scenario)

Prodigal Lovers

Aww man, I’ve said it before and I am saying it, nay, shouting it again here now: I need BOUNDARIESparameters.

I don’t mind what they are as long as I know them. I’m not asking for a rule book for dealing with you but just some clarity.

 

If I stopped answering someone’s texts, ignored them, then I’d truly hope that they got the message and left me alone. If I wanted to see them again but was too busy – then I’d say just that ‘Hey, up to my tits at the mo, I might not be available or quick to respond but don’t write me off’. And I’d definitely check in more than once every 6-8 weeks. That is of course if I had any genuine interest. If I didn’t … if I wasn’t really that into the person, then I’d be looking to check in when I was bored, when I had no other options. We’ve all done it. I’m not casting any aspersions here. I’m just calling it out, naming it. Because when you want to be seeing someone, then you do actually make the effort to see them.

Where was there any indication that I was supposed to keep going? A girl only has so much pride or energy… and with no encouragement, or explanation or indeed indication what else was I supposed to think?

Everyone is busy, everyone has shit going on, to state it like you’re busier than anyone else is akin to saying that what you happen to be busy with is more important than what I am busy with and that is an affront.

A few people in my life are like that; don’t answer texts or ring you back when you call – cos you know, THEY ARE SO BUSY. And I refute that. No one is too busy to respond in 48hrs. But we all know people like this, we all have them in our lives. We swear we’re not going to keep instigating contact or keep them in the loop with plans but then we do, because we love them and we accept that this is what they are like. It doesn’t stop it being ferociously annoying and a wee bit hurtful.

 

 

I digress. The point I am labouring here is that ‘busy’ is not a valid argument and yet it seems to be used as if it was the final word. You’re either interested or you’re not and even for something casual 6 weeks is pretty long with zero interaction and having ignored the last few attempts at contact. Saying you’re busy is the new lazy, it’s insulting on two levels; you’re too busy to give me your time because you’re not that interested and it also says that your time is more important than mine because of how BUSY you are. We all have the same amount of hours in the day and it’s how you prioritise them – this is not a revelation of a statement.

Ok, so I am not a priority, that’s fine I don’t think I should be. But if you want me to prioritise you for any of my time then maybe get in touch, don’t act like I am the last thing you turn to. I can promise you that I am low maintenance but even I need a tiny bit more than that to stay interested. Throw me a fecking bone for flip sake, gimme something that says I shouldn’t count you out. Or better let me know that you haven’t counted me out even if it is only very occasionally that you want to meet up. Give me that information so that I can make that choice myself.

 

But prodigal welcomes for discourteous lovers are no longer what I deal in.

 

 

 

I don’t care if you’re a brain surgeon, a social worker, a midwife, a parent or CEO of Globo Mega Corp – whatever your occupation, your time is not worth more than anyone else’s. And even if you think you’re Beyoncé, feck it, even if you ARE Beyoncé and you know it, don’t act like your time is more precious. It’s not becoming.

I’m Not Done With Your Throat Yet

I can’t get these words out of my head, they creep up on me and punch me in the stomach. The good way. That knowing pull that drags down to my lips and makes an ache for my cunt. Their utter perfection; like a gif on a loop it just plays in my head of its own accord and sometimes my moan is almost audible.

They might be the best words he’s said to me. If I tell him I’ll ruin it, he won’t be able to say it like that again.

 

 

As he let himself go, gave into that place where he takes full control,  and started to own it .. he says calmly and for himself: And I’m not done with your throat yet

 

It’s the delivery. He means it. And he means it for him. He can finally see his total control of me exercised in front of him and this comment is like … almost involuntary, it’s elicited by the sight of me completely at his mercy.

 

I will do anything for him in this moment, his fingers deftly working my cunt. Building me up, going deep then coming out again, fucking me and teasing me. I know I will come from this, I know I will come well. He’s done it before and I trust he gets off on it. Which makes me writhe against him.

 

 

But these words, ‘I’m not done with your throat yet‘ whispered close into my ear as I heave with the weight of breathing, spoken because he wanted to say them, not for my heightened pleasure; but that is why they do just that. My breathing is in gasps, and I sigh into a moan of need.

 

 

 

I’m not done with your throat yet 

 

 

A hint of menace, equally promising and threatening, reminding me of what he did to it earlier. How he fucked it. Held his cock down it until I gagged and my eyes watered. Then did it again. How he held my head back over the edge of the bed, angling himself so he could get a rhythm, sliding his cock in and out of my mouth. Using my mouth as he wanted, reaching the back of my throat then grasping my hair in his hands and holding me in place; his whole length choking me and cutting off my air. Then releasing me. Pulling my head up and kissing me as I struggle for breath before returning me to my task.

 

 

 

I’m not done with your throat yet

Oh god I hope you’re not.

The Cure and The Cause

Drink isn’t my thing, neither are drugs. I’m not anti either of them, they both serve their purpose but as vices, as downfalls  – neither of them are what I choose to perish on.

 

I’ve never had heroin. I’ve never been addicted to anything – at least not in any life altering or destroying way. But I feel like I know what that’s like. What it’s like to lose yourself in something that is sweet oblivion to whatever ails you. To have something to turn to when you want to destroy everything that weighs on your mind. To know that you can have this one thing that you can do that will stop you feeling pain for a brief respite – no matter how bad you feel afterwards, or how damaging it is to you while you continue to do it.

 

Sex is the vice I turn to more than anything, the one that gets me in trouble and causes the most grief. And of course is where I can lose myself; lose the worst parts of me, the bits I hate, the darkest pieces that eat away at me. I can shake them for a small while.

 

As with any good drug it makes the good times better and the bad times tolerable and it always solves boredom. It’s what I want, what I crave – blocking out anything that I need to obliterate. When I feel good, I want it as a celebration to heighten my joy. When I feel shit, I want it to make me feel better and distract me from whatever is causing me pain. Exactly like the very best of drugs, the ultimate vice.

 

Yeah, I know what heroin is like in the figurative sense. I know what it’s like to have that vice. Not just any sex, not just sex with a randomer it has to be magnificent sex, mindblowing, spectacular sex. And that tends to be with someone I’m probably not supposed to be sleeping with – not always but a good portion of the time. For whatever reason that it’s not above board; they aren’t single, I like the person more than they like me, they’ve strung me along or I’ve strung them along. And for some reason the sex was addictive.

I will call up someone I’m not supposed to see or get back in touch with someone I’m meant to leave be. Or I’ll start something new with someone – if I can’t get satisfaction from any previous beaus. One way or the other when I’m on a downward spiral the thing I will turn to, to make it better and worse is always sex.

I’m just not so interested in drink or drugs, they never wipe things away so entirely for me, they rarely have the power to make me forget, to give me a brief period of not just solace but of relief from being me. Therein lies no escape.

I don’t feel lesser when I’m having sex, I don’t feel like a failure. And when I feel like everything is wrong (even if it’s someone I shouldn’t be with) for a small time I will feel like something is right.

Even when it probably isn’t and the comedown might be hell.

 

It is the cure and the cause.

Is Your Penis Too Small for Me?

….. I can pretty much guarantee that your penis is not too small for me. (I mean, I feel like I have to point out that it might be, but odds are that it isn’t)

Size does matter. To say it doesn’t is to negate reality and people’s feelings of insecurity in a way that’s far too glib to be helpful or even accurate. It’s like saying money doesn’t matter or looks or formal education.

They shouldn’t. But we all know that they do.

Not them alone of course but as attributes they sure don’t hurt to have. You’re not gonna be worse off for being a millionaire super model with a first class honours degree.

But still, it’s what you do with your looks or your money or your PhD that count. Them alone aren’t enough to get you where you want to be. More crucially, you can be devastatingly attractive if you’re not deemed conventionally pretty. You can be happy if you’re not rich, only a small population of the world actually is. You can succeed without a masters or a PhD. These are things you can readily get by without, it’s what you make of the rest of yourself that counts.

And it’s the same for a cock. Sure a big one can feel great but it’s really of no use unless it’s wielded well, unless its handler has learned how to wrangle it or to do any of the other myriad things that make up for a great sexual encounter. It isn’t a show maker or stopper. But it’s so hard to talk about. It’s so hard to address. We are so afraid of upsetting the penis that we don’t talk about it. As if addressing it was some kind of insult in and of itself. Well it’s not.

I have a large pointy nose, a fact not an insult. I have unevenly sized breasts, fact not insult. I have cellulite covering all my arse, hips and most of my thighs; I don’t love hearing this, admitting to this or having it pointed out, but again these are just facts. Maybe how you address it with me might be an insult, if that was your intention, it would be pretty easy to do. The point is though, simply talking about your penis size is not automatically insulting. It doesn’t make it less useful an appendage if I call it small or indeed average.

Every guy has a different one, some are bigger, it’s just a fact but all are capable of giving pleasure. Is there such a thing as too big? Probably. Is there such a thing as too small, again probably. But what is ok for one person is not what’s ok for everyone. And I can love your dick just fine even if it isn’t huge. I can love it for a million attributes before size is one of them. Most notably its propensity to get hard when it’s near me (insert heart eye emojis here). I am usually in love with the dick on the person that I am in love with. I have been lucky to love and have been loved by several penises in my life time, and it has been a pleasure to love them in return. And while I loved them as they were I’d still have taken an extra couple of inches if a Penis Fairy Godmother was dolling out extra penis inches. I’m sure some of those penises could say several things about my vagina – and they might have wanted to change a few things about it too. Does any of that mean that I didn’t worship those beautiful dicks when I had them? Nope. I cherished them.

 

You can love yourself just fine and still take a change if it was offered to you. Yes, I’d like a big dick over an average one, there’s no point lying. But that big dick would want to be hard as an iron bar, attentive as a new puppy and attached to someone who can make me squirt* over and above just being large.

 

*I really have to stop referencing this. It was only one guy who did it and I can’t seem to replicate it. Christ I hope I manage it again some day.

 

 

I’d just like to state that this is not a coverall, get out clause for anyone being horrbile to you about your body. If someone is openly telling you that they would fancy you more if you lost weight or beefed up. Or telling you that they think your penis is too small or your vagina needs less folds – this is not what I’m talking about. That is something altogether different. I flat out love my tits, they are small but pert size Bs but if I was offered Ds I would take them without even breathing. And if I was with a partner who thought the same i.e. that he’d be happy to squeeze them for the rest of his life but he wouldn’t say no to the Ds either then fine – as long as every time I took my bra off he wasn’t saying: God I love these, I just wish there was more of them. We all get that, right? Good.

Hand Jobs

There isn’t much about sex that I don’t like. It’s one of the only things sold to you when you’re young as this amazing thing adults get to do – that when you get to actually do it, it lives up to the hype. Or for me it did.

(not immediately, my first time was shit)

 

Not only did it live up to the hype, it surpassed it. I may be alone in this or at least not in the majority but sex gets better the more I do it. There is always something to learn or try or discover. It’s a gift that keeps on giving. Possibly because I’m so fascinated with it.

 

But there’s one thing that I’m sure I’m not any better at; hand jobs. I can take a guess that as I got past being a teenager eagerness of both parties to move to the more glamorous thing (blow job, sex, anal) has brought it to a stage that I cannot remember the last time I finished a guy with my hands alone. (it definitely doesn’t count if my mouth was involved)

 

I’ve been thinking about this since I read this piece about hand jobs – crucially it’s written by a guy and that is what resonated.

Let’s go back a step. See, I love being fingered, absolutely adore someone with deft fingers bringing me to climax with just their hands. And I know I’m not alone in feeling this, girls (I know) seem to love this or at least bemoan the fact that they don’t get to experience it so much as an adult. Super credible research on this came from the responses I got when I wrote about being fingered here and here i.e. people left comments and girls chimed in with the chorus of how it seems to be a forgotten art.

 

I love it. I think because it reminds me of being young and that was all you did, and how arousing and frustrating and exciting it was. And now with someone who might know what they’re doing, someone who might be able to finish the job successfully, it’s an even better experience. And yet, it’s not something that I will do for a guy.

 

Surely if I like it this much, and if so many girls like it so much it follows that there has to be a percentage of guys that do to? A point that was confirmed by Exhibit A in his piece – hand jobs feel great, even more so when they’re not perfect as that in and of itself is a tease that you can’t get with your own hand.

I hear all this and I still struggle.

 

Which is a shame because I love having a cock in my hand. I love squeezing it between my fingers, Kneading it, feeling it get hard. Running my hand up and down it, back and forth over the head, slowly, deliberately. If I can be left to do this while leaning over him, kissing him….

Adding a bit of spit to it, to ease the strokes.

I’m aroused just thinking of it.

 

And yet I rarely if ever do it. And I’ve been trying to ascertain what the barrier is, and I’m still not sure. It’s most likely a collection of things. I think I’m doing it wrong, or that I’m hurting him; this is especially true if the guy has been circumcised, as I am wholly convinced that without a protective foreskin that I am torturing him. I have no idea where I got this from.

I think he’s probably not enjoying it, that he’d prefer if I put it in my mouth or that I stopped altogether and just got on with the fucking. Back to me thinking I’m doing it wrong, all fucking wrong, so wrong I should just go and burn my hands and be done with them.

Maybe not the last bit.

 

And I’m robbing myself of the chance to get better, or worse, I’m robbing myself of the chance to make a guy come where I can see it and direct it. To watch it shoot out on top of me, or to have it ooze down in between my fingers. I honestly cannot remember the last time I had that pleasure. And it is a pleasure.

 

Maybe I’m wrong, maybe guys don’t want handjobs, maybe you’re all delighted that you’re over 18 and have graduated to the other things, the more important bases and you have no desire to be pleasured with my hands? I don’t know, and I won’t unless I ask or try or suggest.

I want to, but even thinking it in my head is daunting! If I think of any of my recent beaus, I think I would still be tentative in suggesting it.

 

I need to work on this. For sure.

Wanna Have Sex With Me? – Here’s how

(Ok, not literally how to have sex with me but figuratively)

The difference between being so sound and being a dickhead is the difference between getting laid and not.

There are so many areas in which to be sound when it comes to dating and sex, so many tiny, easy ways – which in turn give way to so many ways to be a dickhead.

If you’re dating and having sex there’s no way round it, you have to be using condoms or some other prophylactic. Let’s go with the example of condoms as they are the most prevalent. What can I say that will make you forget that they don’t feel quite as good as skin on skin? Well nothing of course, there is nothing I or anyone else can say that will make you forget that there is a nicer option. But like all necessary evils they’re there to serve a pretty big purpose and complaining about them won’t make them any more unnecessary.

This should be a given.

This should not be a battle.

 

No one is going to argue that they are sexy. No one is going to argue that they add a sexy dimension to any activities (although I’m sure there must be condom fetishes?) because they don’t. Not only do they stop things when they are getting steamy, they are a passion killer if you think about why you’re using them; possibility of contracting a disease or worse, getting pregnant. Neither of which are thoughts that are likely to add to anyone’s arousal. (Unless of course you are actually trying to get pregnant or indeed catch a disease?)

 

We all get this. We all know that it’s so much sexier if you don’t have to think about this. If you can take it out of one place and put it in another without having to stop to roll a condom on or take it off. We all know that condoms taste disgusting and trying to go from vagina to mouth with one on isn’t terribly pleasant.

I’m not here to argue that sex with condoms is a more pleasant experience. No one is.

 

And yet, we still have guys rolling out the same old argument when they don’t want to use them. As if everything I just said above was never said to us before and we were oblivious to their discomfort. As if condoms were this thing we enjoyed inflicting on them while blissfully unaware of their unpopularity. Admittedly condoms aren’t going to stop us being wet in the same way they might murder an erection but they aren’t great for us either.

 

So, when you want to use any of the above as an excuse not to use them, no matter how eloquently, what you’re actually saying is: I don’t care about your sexual health and pregnancy isn’t my problem. Because that’s what I hear.

If you are an adult (let’s say 21) and having sex for a few years then there is no excuse not to be able to use them either. I’m sure it takes practise but why not put the practise in? What’s that? Oh you’ve been in a relationship for a while and you’ve gotten used to sex without them? Ok, everyone gets out of practise, we’ll help you get hard every time you lose it. This is not a valid excuse that’s going to fly either.

 

There are loads of things we don’t want to do. The washing up, paying rent, paying taxes, but being an adult means we realise they have to be done for good reasons; we need clean dishes, we need somewhere to live and as a society we need schools and hospitals. So we get on with it. We have to be nice to colleagues we don’t like, we have to be nice to family members we don’t like, there are literally millions of things people have to do that we don’t want to but we get on with it, we accept that if we want the nice thing we have to do the hard bit to get to it.

 

And complaining about it is so terminally unsexy. It really is.

 

 

At the start of the year I had just two single friends, ones who are out on the dating scene and facing the trials and tribulations of that. Now there is only one, and me and her swap stories and pics – if you’ve sent me one, it’s guaranteed I’ve shown it to her. (Actually I’ve probably shown it to all my friends)

Recently she got chatting to someone at the same time I did. We were comparing notes – and this time neither of us had happened upon the other’s suitor (a common problem for us, we’re similar in tastes and are outgoing in the same spheres, we’re good friends after all, and we are frequently matched with the same guys). As the note-comparing went on we decided that we weren’t too sure about her beau, there were warning signs. While I had gotten a rather impressive dick pic from the guy I was chatting to. This is relevant as both she and I had two stratospherically different conversations, with the respective boys, about condoms.

 

 

I’m not sure how hers started but it was mid rant when she began relaying it to me. This guy, who she’d never met, was trying to woo her but was making his case for them not using condoms – straight off the bat, this was his opening position. Trotting out all the old favourites as if they were his grand discovery and that his way of explaining would make her see the light.

My friend is poly amorous and is seeing a few people and even when this was explained he swatted that away with the argument that while he was cool with that he would be expecting her to use condoms with other people but not with him. I am almost incredulous at this guy’s audacity and it screams ‘I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYONE’S SEXUAL HEALTH’ and also I don’t care about anyone’s needs but mine.

We are collectively more than a little disgusted with this character.

 

It smacks so hard of toys out of the pram; I can’t have it my way so I will have it no way at all. He argued that he wouldn’t have sex with anyone as he’d rather do it without condoms and wait til the partner was trusted. Oh really? He’d rather pass up on so many possible experiences? He’d happily eschew any number of potentially great encounters? Just because he wants it his way? Again this is unfathomably unattractive.

Interestingly he claimed that sex with condoms bored him as it made things too linear. Mother of divine Jesus have you ever heard the like? He can have points for that.

(We have our suspicions that his violent aversion to them is rooted in an inability to use them successfully, not that he needed another nail in his attractiveness coffin)

 

Well she gave him enough rope to hang himself and he duly did.

 

 

Now in stark contrast to that, and happening at almost the exact same time, I was having my own condom convo. As previously mentioned (and I promise it’s relevant) I’d been sent a few rather impressive dick pics. There was no getting around it, it was pretty fecking huge, and particularly girthy (I know, that’s not a word). As also mentioned in previous posts, I’ve had my fair share of impressive dicks and with that comes some extra condom knowledge. While all the people in the world can fill condoms with water and drop them on their heads or put them on their feet, and put it on YouTube– that just displays how much they can stretch. This doesn’t convey how comfortable they are. And having had a conversation (with the same girlfriend actually) she reminded me that larger guys really should be using larger condoms. So I messaged him and asked did he use some particular brand of large condom as I only had regular ones. He was swift to respond and said that he always used ordinary ones and they were no problem.
Straight away engaging in a conversation where he’s demonstrating no issues with condoms is a hundred points scored for him. I tell him that I think, from the pics he’s sent that maybe he might be more comfortable with larger ones. He immediately is amused with this and sets off to have a conversation in Boots that’s probably going to be quite enjoyable.

Again. No argument, no hesitation, no fear – handed an idea and he ran with it. Just so god damned attractive. I can’t even explain how much it turned me on.

 

A couple of hours later I heard from him, he had indeed had an amusing encounter in the pharmacy and was now excited to try them. And then he said the thing that put me over the edge; ‘I think I’ll have a posh wank to try these out before I see you tomorrow’. SWOON!!!!

He took the suggestion, did something about it and now was going to make sure there were going to be no teething problems with them when we did meet up? This my dear people is text book how I would want things to go.

 

He sent me some pics as he did it and this sent me to go get myself off also. A cock that can stay hard in the face of condoms; so much of a turn on. It displays the opposite attitude to that of our prophylactic averse chum, that this guy did care about sexual health and contraception and that it was a matter for both of us.

So. Fucking. Sexy.

 

 

And the result? Well my suitor got to have sex with me and hers got blocked. Instead of having a great time with a super cool girl he got nothing – and will probably continue to get nothing if he maintains this stance.

 

 

 

 

Oh and the verdict on the condoms? He said they were far more comfortable – game changingly so.

 

Here I am just making the world better, one dick at a time!