I’m a big fan of meta sex advice: the tips that don’t tell you exactly what to do in bed, but instead guide you on how to better communicate with your partner. Recently one of my favourite sex writers, Joan Price, gave a perfect example of this kind of meta sex advice, and it just so happened to dovetail into a story I couldn’t work out how to frame from my own life, so it felt like a great opportunity to remind you all to follow her and read her amazing work.

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There are so many incredible things I could highlight about this week’s guest blog. It’s got some stunningly achey descriptions of kissing, and kissing is very much my jam at the moment. Some truly exquisite descriptions of fingering too, which I don’t think gets nearly enough attention in erotica (my own included). And I’d be silly if I didn’t mention – for search as well as for fans of the act itself – that this is a deliciously explicit fisting story, detailed and real and beautiful. But for me the best thing about this week’s erotic fiction is the intimacy of it. From the first time the characters lock eyes to the very final gasp of the story, they’re locked together in a deeply intimate fuck. I love it. Please welcome today’s anonymous guest blogger…

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My bedsheets smell like last night’s fucking. Well, fucking which lasted the whole of yesterday if I’m honest. Then once again this morning at roughly 5 am. We barebacked: my favourite kind of fuck. Rock-solid, exquisitely-shaped, diamond-hard cock sliding inside me, bare. Leaking precum. I could feel every single atom of his dick against every ridge of the inside of my aching cunt. His flesh meeting mine, stretching me out. Sensing, as he slid into my body, just how desperately and urgently wet I was. We bareback fucked to a soundtrack of tunes that he selected and I utterly loved while I clung to that man like my life depended on it and begged him to never stop doing what he was doing. He looked into my eyes and whispered: “you’re fucking incredible” and kissed me with a kind of gentle awe. This is a real thing which happened to me yesterday. This man fucked me like he meant it. And oh God, put me out of my misery now please: if this man turns out not to mean it, I will shatter.

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Regular readers will remember the incredible Clara Dunn (@author_dunn on Twitter) – she’s shared a couple of stunning pieces before. One about a deliciously tense and beautiful casual fuck in a laundromat, plus a gorgeous non-fiction piece about why you shouldn’t have sex to the album ‘Harry’s House’. Her erotica style is so languid and measured in its pacing that I haven’t cut this too much for length – it’s a long read though, one to luxuriate in. A story about a student (who is over 18) sneaking over to her lecturer’s house for the next chapter in their lust-drenched affair. Give yourself some time to enjoy this one, team…

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A friend of mine recently asked, as I was telling her how lovely a particular guy was, how I went about trying to avoid ‘catching feelings’ for the men that I spend time with. There are two answers to this question: the cunty one and the nice one. Both are true.

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