All Posts – Page 358
On sex blogging, and why I’m not ashamed
The internet is a dark and dangerous place – it hides far more of your secrets than you think, and with infinite time even a monkey at a Mac could collate a dossier of your drunken, mis-typed shame.
So why put more of it out there? Why start sex blogging, and wash your torn, jizz-stained knickers for the world, his wife and your mother to stumble across when they’d rather be watching the iPlayer? Why write not just a few blogs about love, Valentine’s Day and HuffPo’s shockingly bad advice on dating but the more sordid things too? Piss-play, swinging, getting spanked by hot boys, etc. For many people the idea of posting sexy things makes their blood run cold, but I’m obviously happy to do it, and here’s why:
Everything you do can be watched, recorded, put online, commented on, mocked, and forgotten next week. Your nearest and dearest might not be able to follow you into a swingers’ club but there’s always a slim possibility they’ll be sitting in the back room, cock in hand, when you show up. Everything you do has an element of risk. Send me an email? I could copy it. Take a picture of your dick? Someone could steal your camera. Have a wank on a train? Those electronic door locks might just fail as a horrified fellow commuter walks in for a pee. You take calculated risks every day.
OK, so writing down my exact thoughts on masturbation, and the majority of my past sexual history might be an unnecessary risk. The problem is that the benefits – being able to be open and honest about things, share stories with people and have them share theirs with me in return – feel like they outweigh the risks. As with everything in life, it’s a judgment call. Risk getting diseases from a hot guy because you haven’t got any condoms? Fuck no. Risk letting my parents find out that I like to do dirty things? Hell yes. The absolute worst that could happen is that they find out a bit more about me than they want to, and what’s a freaky sex life between blood relatives? They’d be more upset if I had a drug problem, or a terminal illness.
Why are we so much more worried about people knowing the sexy secrets of our life? Why are we supposed to be ashamed? These questions are rhetorical – I know why we’re supposed to be ashamed. It’s because sex is gross, it’s freaky: it’s something that women in particular shouldn’t admit to a need for. It’s a tool for advertisers to make us purchase things and a currency with which we might want to buy affection but it can’t be something we enjoy just for the hell of it.
The thing is, I’m not ashamed – I tell people. Probably more people than any of my partners think. I tell people because I’m proud, and horny, and because shagging two guys at the same time is one of my life’s happiest moments. I tell people because every now and then I get high-fived. I tell people because sometimes the boys I’m fucking like me to whisper stories in their ear.
If we’re talking about shame, I’m more likely to cringe when I remember times I’ve lied, or deliberately hurt people, or growled at tourists who stand on the wrong side of the escalator. Over the past 29 years I’ve done many things that are cruel or stupid or misjudged – things that have upset complete strangers, made friends miserable, or hurt the people who care about me.
With all that sadness sitting guiltily on my shoulders, why would I ever be ashamed of the love?
I wrote this blog to explain the subtitle of my book – My not-so-shameful sex secrets – because really, given all the awful things we humans can do, sex is a hell of a long way down the ‘shameful’ list. Here’s how the book begins.
On CFNM (clothed female, naked male)
You’re hot when you’re naked. Not quite as hot as when you’re semi-naked, of course – we’ve discussed that before. But there’s something deeply satisfying about your nakedness against my clothes. Me, in jeans and a soft jersey, sneaking into bed and pressing the whole of myself up against your sleeping flesh.
I’ve had a few people ask me to write about CFNM (it stands for Clothed Female Naked Male – presumably there’s also a CMNF, but that might have to wait for another day). For some people it’s a very specific fetish, and they can’t get off without it. For me, it falls into the same category as most fetishes: I’m not obsessed with it, but I can more than understand why other people are.
It’s often a FemDomme thing, a submissive guy bares all but is denied the pleasure of seeing tits in return. I certainly know a few submissive men who like the idea of being stripped bare and used by a clothed, powerful woman who answers only to the name of ‘Mistress’. But I think it’s more than possible to get tingling hot feelings the other way round too. Whether I’m on top, on the bottom, or floating lazily somewhere in between, having a naked guy between my jeans-clad thighs is a very hot thing indeed. I’ll show you what I mean:
CFNM (Submissive girl, dominant guy)
If you’re naked and I’m not none of the usual things occur. You can’t squeeze my tits or bite my nipples as you call me a dirty girl and ask what I’m hoping you’ll do to me. There are fewer words. Naked and needing release, the only thing for you to do is push me down onto my knees, hold my hair and smile as I suck a fresh erection into your waiting dick.
If you’re naked and I’m not then as I wet the tip of your cock I’ll spread my legs wider, letting the seam of my jeans push tightly against my clit. I’ll hold my hands behind my back so that my tits stretch out my top. And I’ll feel the wetness soaking into the crotch of my knickers.
If you’re naked and I’m not I’ll feel dirtier than I would naked. Because I can’t shower off whatever you cover me in.
I’ll feel the wetness in my knickers, and feel ashamed. If you hold my head still and fuck my face, the spit will run down my chin, my neck, and onto the front of my shirt. And I’ll cross my fingers and will you to call me a messy girl again.
Other way round (Dominant girl, submissive guy)
I like to curl up behind you in the morning, when you’re still asleep and I’m awake and dressed, and fit my body neatly behind yours, my thighs touching the back of yours, my tits squashing against you through my t-shirt. It’s CFNM, but with a different tone to that above.
I like, as you stir ever so slightly, to slip one of my arms under your head and around your neck so that I can pinch your nipples and stroke your chest, the reverse of what you do for me when we go to sleep.
I enjoy the moment as you wake up, roll over and see me there – wide awake and eager for you.
When you’re naked and I’m not I have more of the power. I like being able to look at you exposed and cold, and take my time to run my palms over all of you. I like taking your flaccid cock in my hand and squeezing gently until you’re semi-hard.
But best of all I like to keep my knickers on – sliding them just far enough to one side that I can sit slickly down onto your dick while you place your hands behind your head and wait for me to come.
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Someone else’s story: an angry hate fuck
I’m pretty bad at dominance. I enjoy being domme occasionally, and there’s certainly an incredibly satisfying something about making a guy angrily horny and desperate to come, then saying ‘nope’, and walking away while he lies whimpering in a sexy heap. Usually I prefer to be the one doing the whimpering – it’s more fun to tremble in excited anticipation of what might be done to you than to tremble in terror that your “who’s a naughty boy then?” will be met with a snort of derisive laughter. So I was delighted when someone sent me this guest post, in which she provides what I can only very rarely attempt: some super-hot sexy writing with the girl very much on top. From our anonymous Africa correspondent, here’s some female dominance, a hate fuck, and a massive dollop of rage…
Quick blog: win an iPad cover!
As you might have noticed, I’m not the most visual person. I am better with words than pictures, and if you tell me that a particular website design is ‘slick’ or ‘pretty’ I am less likely to agree than to shoot you a look of confusion and then point out a typo somewhere.
However, my publisher has designers who have made some beautiful things to help me promote my book. If you would one of these things – you can win an iPad cover, beautifully customised (on the left) – just subscribe to my blog via the box in the top right-hand corner, and they’ll give it to one of my subscribers picked at random.
If you don’t have an iPad, subscribe anyway – you’ll get an email alert when I add new blogs, and you’ll also get notified when my book comes out.
While I’m in the self-promotion wagon, if you are brave/unashamed of reading sex blogs, you can also like me on facebook.
On what all women want
If I were to distil what I’m trying to say in this blog, in my book, in articles and guest posts I write elsewhere, it’s this:
“Don’t make assumptions about sexuality.”
Don’t assume everyone’s the same. Don’t assume women are all looking for excuses to get out of sex, or that straight men are on a relentless quest to penetrate any female hole. Understand that people are complex, difficult creatures, and if we all acted the same not only would sex and relationships be seven billion times easier, but the world would be an unconscionably boring place.
And yet, when I write an article about female sexuality – that it’s complex, that some of us lust after dark and sordid things, that some women pursue sex with a drive that’s not easily explained by the ‘I’ve got a headache’ narrative – one of the most common responses is this:
“You obviously haven’t met my wife.”
Sigh.
My wife hates sex
I haven’t met your wife, and it’s likely that I won’t. It might be the case that your wife/girlfriend/mate/girl you met down the pub detests sex. It might equally be the case that she wants a very different kind of sex to the one you’ve got on offer.
But I’m not talking about your wife, because I’m not talking about all women. I never am.
I get this criticism a lot, and to be fair I understand why – the things I write here can sometimes sound a bit prescriptive. And I’m confident enough in my own experience to put forward arguments like “women don’t all want X” or “men aren’t always like Y.”
However, there’s a subtle difference here. Just because men and women aren’t all X and Y, that doesn’t mean I’m saying they’re all definitely Z. They might be A or B or even – if they’re particularly filthy – J. In order to agree with me you don’t have to think that all women want exactly the same – that would be illogical, terrifying, and clearly contrary to the experience of any person who has ever met women. All you have to understand is that people, bless their incomprehensible selves, are all different.
Although it might upset you, some women like sex more than your wife. Some women like sex less than your wife. Some women, if they were married to you, would be a bit pissed off with you moaning on Twitter about how infrequently they want to fuck.
Unique and beautiful snowflakes
Women aren’t all the same. We never have been. Some women will be pretty similar to me in terms of outlook, sexual taste, etc. Others won’t.
I know you know this, of course. Chances are if you’re seeing this just after it’s published you’re a regular reader, subscriber, or someone who follows me on Twitter. You probably understand well the vast spectrum of human sexuality, and that people – no matter what their gender, sexuality, etc – have vastly different and fascinating needs and desires.
I’m not writing this for the people who understand. I’m writing this so that I have a link ready for the next person who doesn’t. So the next time someone says ‘hurr hurr, you haven’t met my wife’ I can send them here, and try to explain.
Just because I like sex doesn’t mean everyone has to. Doesn’t mean everyone does. I might sometimes be clumsy with my words, I might conjure up images that don’t fit with your worldview, but – like every single other blogger out there – I am utterly unqualified to speak for everyone.