Watching guys use sex toys

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Where’s all the hot porn of guys using sex toys? Oh, that’s right, it’s often self-uploaded onto tube sites, or on gay-guy specific sites. How often is this stuff pitched to straight women? RARELY. Well, here’s my pitch.

I love the look of a guy when he’s got his junk in his hand. Boyfriends who take dirty snaps to send me from a distance when they’re gripped around it, and pulsing with the need to come: amazing. I still have one or two favourite photos (OK, so one is a video) of guys I know doing bad bad things to themselves, and gleefully recording the evidence so I can watch it later.

One guy sat spread-legged on the floor, camera phone propped in front to give a tight-cropped shot of his junk, and rapidly milked himself into his own left hand. Unngh.

I’ve talked before about Schroedinger’s Wank – that the hottest of all possible ‘guywanking’ scenarios is the one I can probably never see. Because what I want is to see him doing it exactly what he’d do for himself if I weren’t there – all pleasure, no performance. Sadly I’ll never be quite invisible or sneaky enough to be able to see this, but there is one thing that makes watching guy wanks hotter…

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Are fetish club dress codes always necessary?

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i like the thuddy sound of a flogger on denim

Image by the excellent Stuart F Taylor

“Dear GOTN, despite the fact that you’re a grumpy arse for most of the year, I’d like to invite you to my birthday party…

Ooh! A party! How fun!

“It will be held on Saturday at 8pm…”

Yay! I’m free on Saturday! I can go!

“At this address…

I’ll find it on Gmaps. Oooh, I’m so excited!

“The fancy dress theme will be…”

Shit it, I’m not going.
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Guest blog: the glory hole

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Every single time I go on a road trip, I inspect the service station, desperately hoping that I’ll encounter a glory hole – you know, a hole cut into the wall so someone in a cubicle or room next door can poke their dick through in the hope that the person on the other side will accept their invitation to grab it. Something about the furtive, anonymous nature of dick-through-hole cocksucking makes all of my insides clench with lust. I’ve never been lucky enough to find one, much less find one with a willing cock poking through, even in some of those awesome love hotels they have in Japan. Luckily for me glory holes exist elsewhere too, and this week’s guest blogger has been kind enough to write up his experience with one.

When this story dropped into my inbox I nearly spat out my coffee, then popped off for a frantic wank while I thought about all the hot gay sex that happens in it. Please take that as a warning that this blog is in no way safe for work, and is best read while you’re tucked up in bed with one hand down your pants and the door firmly closed.

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Rebranding feminism: the planning meeting

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Hi everyone: welcome to this, the meeting in which we aim to rebrand feminism, an exercise that countless people have insisted is vital. As a feminist, I’m often told that the word needs to be changed, or that feminism’s image must be improved, and because I’ve heard the phrase ‘rebranding feminism’ at least seven hundred times over the course of 2014, I thought 2015 should be the year we roll up our sleeves and get on with it.

Please take a seat, help yourself to coffee, and try not to fight over the chocolate biscuits.

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Historical erotica take 2, and the inevitability of personal fantasy

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when i get a 3d printer i am going to make cutout gingerbread sex people templates

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor.

Last week I wrote a bona-fide erotic story. One with two characters who definitely weren’t me, in a setting that wasn’t my lounge, partaking in a dirty fuck that I have never had myself. I very rarely write fictional stories. Of the nearly 400 posts on this blog, fewer than 1% of them are fictional.

But every now and then something in particular strikes me as gorgeously hot, and it’s something that isn’t possible to recreate in my life at that exact moment. Whether it’s sex with a stranger, a gang-bang of some kind, or the kind of sex that would require my own Tardis. This week (and last week and – thanks to my recent discovery of The Tudors – probably next week as well) the hot stuff comes wrapped in lace and frills. Tight stomachers, breeches, and hard leather riding boots. ‘My Lord’s and ‘Your Grace’s and posh people dismissing their hot servants with a casual wave of their hand.

Thing is, with any fantasy I have, it always seems to end up in the same place. Last week I wrote about a maid getting fucked by a duke – the cold barrier between two people of different ranks, and the easy and nonchalant way in which he shagged her, with the same proprietorial ease with which he’d order her to turn down his bed or scrub the fireplace.

And this one, despite the complete role reversal in terms of power, doesn’t fundamentally differ because… well… when I give my mind free reign to wander wherever it likes, it always pops back to a very similar place. Guy on top, girl getting used, urgent sweaty fucks performed for no reason other than a desperate desire.

Every now and then I get drawn into a discussion about whether you can shape your own sexual desires. Obviously you can’t change fundamentals, but some people assert that, by introducing yourself to new experiences or pushing yourself into new fantasies, you can mould your own fantasies into something different to what you’d normally go for. I strongly suspect you can’t. I certainly can’t. While I’ll embrace any number of filthy fucks, unusual fetishes, or brand new experiences, my core sexuality will never significantly change. From the first wank I ever had over the idea of pirates punishing a serving wench, to the last one I’ll have on my deathbed, I suspect the theme will remain:

Guy meets girl. Girl bends over. He uses her like that’s all she’s good for.

Now here’s the story.

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