This week’s fabulously sexy guest blog is an extract from Kirstyn Smith’s novella, The Twelve Lays of Christmas. I absolutely adore the idea behind this playful book – from the blurb:
“Ivy is stuck in a rut. She hasn’t hooked up with anyone since her last terrible relationship ended more than a year ago. That is, until her bff Aoife comes up with a challenge. The Twelve Lays of Christmas: hook up with twelve different people before Christmas Day.”
YES. As someone who is keen to give myself challenges and side quests, I was immediately hooked by the pitch, and then completely enamoured of the extract she sent for me to share with you – it’s sexy, thoughtful, playful and all the things I fucking love about great sex writing. For context, this extract features the eighth person Ivy has hooked up with since the start of the challenge, and we join the story shortly after an encounter with someone who had a fetish for popping balloons. This next guy? Well… he’s into slime. Like, really into it. What I love about this story is not just how fucking joyful it is – reminding any Channel 4 documentary makers out there that you can explore unusual kinks in a non-shaming way – but also the fact that the author, Kirstyn Smith, tells me it’s based on a true story. Enjoy!
The Twelve Lays of Christmas
December 18
Ivy
No 8: Leo
I’m eating a bowl of Cornflakes the next morning, watching the sun drag itself into an orange-pink sky. Thinking about balloons and what kind of things turn people on and why. Then Leo messages me on FetLife and makes me question even more. Like, I’m sure my praise kink comes from riding the “gifted kid”-to-burned-out-adult-with-ADHD pipeline. But what makes someone want to cover themselves in slime and have a wank?
But since the whole point of this process was to get me to broaden my horizons again, meeting up with Leo is a bit of an in-for-a-penny, in-for-a-pound situation.
“Do I need to bring anything?” I message, wondering if Tesco might stock enough slime to cover two horny adults.
“Just beer. And an open mind,” he replies.
OK. I fire up a porn site and type “slime” into the search bar. There is a LOT of anime. But there are also some clips of impossibly hot women making out in baths filled with an odd, clingy kind of substance. Which is I guess what Leo’s looking for tonight. It’s hot in a strange sort of uncanny valley way. I spoon a couple more spoonfuls of Cornflakes into my mouth, but the cereal is getting a bit mushy with all the milk, and I’m getting kind of turned on by the porn, and my mind and body are getting confused, so I put the rest in the bin and go back to bed to do some more research.
Later, Leo is elbow-deep in a bucket.
“It’s still really watery,” he says. I watch as he stirs the mixture with his hand and arm. It’s been a couple of minutes and I’m a bit anxious. What if it doesn’t thicken up – do I have to go home? I don’t mind staying to have a cup of tea and maybe a quick wank, but I’m not sure how much Leo needs the slime to get turned on.
“Oh,” he says and his face lights up. “That’s it.”
He scoops bright green slime from the bucket and lets it drop decadently back down. I stick my fingertips in. It’s warm and viscous and intriguing.
Half an hour or so earlier, we were staring at a deflated paddling pool in his living room. Big enough to fit about four people relatively comfortably, it took some inflating. One of us worked his foot-powered bike pump while the other watched nervously, before taking over for a while. This added a weird frisson of anticipation that raised my hackles. The admin involved in setting up the situation only served to add to the tension. We methodically lay dust sheets on the floor and also leading to the bathroom, blew up the blue-and-white paddling pool, and adjourned to mix the slime in a bucket in the bath. We huddled together, near giggling and watching as it coagulated, occasionally prodding it to check the process. Not even naked, it felt oddly intimate.
Leo is cute, with a baby face that belies his twenty-eight years and these ridiculously blue eyes that penetrate in a way that makes me feel filthy. He has a literal cupboard full of slime mixture, he shows me. It comes in little packets from a company called Messy Supplies who claim to make their product for TV and film effects, but we all know what’s really going on.
We choose green to get into the Christmas spirit, but, as Leo points out when it starts to come together,
“This is full-on Grinch-coloured.”
I am about to make a joke about his dick “growing three sizes that day”, before telling myself to leave it. Some jokes aren’t worth it, and I don’t want to risk not getting fucked in a paddling pool full of coloured hydroycellulose.
So, we kneel in the paddling pool wearing just our underwear, shivering a little with both apprehension and chill.
“Do you want to go first?”
He dips a measuring jug into the bucket of slime and pours it over me. I’m initially surprised by the warmth, and I gasp as it pools briefly on my head before the weight of it flattens my hair and drips down my face. Leo looks utterly blissful. I glance down to see that he is so, so hard. The slime continues to trickle down my shoulders and onto my breasts. I rub it in and it coats my body, slippery and obscene.
It’s my turn with the measuring jug. I pour some down the front of his boxer briefs and take his cock in my hand. It’s made silky with slime, throbbing hard against my fist. We press our bodies together and kiss, grinding, and I feel a strange sort of decadence to what we’re doing.
When you break it down, fucking in a paddling pool full of slime is pretty similar to fucking in a dry bed – just with added elements, like when cinemas show films in 4D. I suck his cock, although he initially resists, worried I’ll have to taste the slime. I’m pretty sure it’s non-toxic, so I’m unbothered. In this moment, I just want to do whatever he wants, which I’m sure will one day be my utter undoing.
There’s a moment where I lie back in the slime and drip it over my body, reveling in its silvery feel, and I look up at him for a second. It’s like an arthouse film; everything feels like it’s in slow motion and he’s smiling – maybe laughing – with me as I’m really feeling myself. I play up to it and channel my over-the-top lad’s mag fantasy, running my hand over my body, pouting and moaning. Through his laughter, he manages to say,
“I have to fuck you right now.”
He tucks a sodden strand of hair behind my ear, and kisses me. I feel liquid dripping from my nose, my mouth, my chin – this is filth.
It is quick and rough and sleek. The slime makes our bodies feel unreal, like we are transient, as though this is all temporary and strange and something is changing somewhere in the fabric of reality. His dick is so hard, so eager, his muscles are as tense as a clenched fist. He brings himself to the edge again and again, backing off because he’s not ready yet, even after I come, unexpected and urgent.
“I want,” is all he can say, before tipping his head back and heaving in air like his life depends on it.
Then he grabs my hips and drives into me, pinning me to the ground, and he’s swearing and sweating and wild, shuddering and throbbing and lurching. He pulls out before he’s done and finishes on me, jizz mixing with the slime on my tits. It is grotesque and hot and weird.
The aftermath is messy and slippery, we slide our way to the bathroom and shower off. We wipe down the walls, clean the paddling pool and check his flat for slivers of bright green. I really don’t know why, but I feel different now. That night, I dream of an unknowable silkiness.
Enjoyed this fabulous guest blog? Buy the book! And find the author on her website SmutSmith, and here on TikTok too.
Ivy is stuck in a rut. She hasn’t hooked up with anyone since her last terrible relationship ended more than a year ago. That is, until her bff Aoife comes up with a challenge. The Twelve Lays of Christmas: hook up with twelve different people before Christmas Day. The reward? Ivy’s not sure, but she’s willing to give it a go.
Over the next twenty-four days, Ivy reacquaints herself with the apps, broadens her kink horizons, and has more orgasms than she’s ever had. But she can’t get one guy in particular out of her mind. Will he be the coal in her stocking, or will he turn out to be everything she’s ever wanted for Christmas?