Every now and then my blogging muse deserts me, and I turn to Twitter for suggestions on what I should write about. Most people, given the season, suggested a 2012 round-up – my best moments of 2012, or something similar. But here’s the problem: I’ve already told you about my sexy times. Whether it’s sucking a guy off while he plays Xbox, berating idiot marketing companies about their patronising terms for female genitalia or furiously masturbating in train toilets, you’ve already seen some of my favourite things.
So I thought I’d get an alternative perspective. I asked the boy. You know the boy – the one I wrote about on Valentines Day. The one I’m currently making a valiant yet unsuccessful attempt to be monogamous with.
I’ve spent the best part of 2012 either drinking all his booze or sucking him off on the sofa, so I thought I’d see what – apart from the aforementioned sofa suck-jobs – were his stand-out moments of the year. In case you’ve ever wondered what it’s like going out with a neurotic, stressed, horny sex blogger, the below should help to thoroughly put you off.
“Ankles bedpost. Definitely.”
Having practised with a few knots, and variants on tying me spreadeagled across the bed, the boy feels like one of his top achievements of 2012 was discovering what I can only describe as ‘the deepest of all the fucks.’
To recreate the sexy times for yourselves, get a horny girl, lie her flat on her back on a bed and tie her ankles together. Lift her legs up and fold them back over her so her tied ankles are just above her head and her cunt is nicely on display. Attach ankle ties to bedposts, pulling rope through so you’ve got something to grip onto with your hands. Hold rope, insert dick, enjoy. (2019 update – this position is now illustrated beautifully above!)
I agree with him on this, and am ashamed that I haven’t yet told you about it in explicit detail. This moment gets a 9/10, dropping just one mark because despite it being one of the best things this year, we haven’t done it nearly often enough.
“Sexy times with the twisty kink tie thingys”
Knots are not only fiddly and difficult, but they can also seriously kill a mood if, like me, you’re not very good at doing them. Enter twisty kink tie thingys, or whatever they’re officially called.
They’re like rope, but quicker, which explains why we’ve used them far more often.
I am disappointed that so many things on his list are equipment-related, not something I’ve ever particularly focused on when I’m describing my sweaty humping, but I’ll press on regardless. If you don’t have a jelly sheath a hollowed out melon will probably do. Probably.
One of the things on my sexual bucket list had always been to wank a guy off with a sheath. When I give guys hand jobs I’m always aware that no matter how nimble my fingers or tight my grip, it’ll never be quite as good as when he does it himself. Although I can probably make you come with my hands, by the time you actually ejaculate you’ll be desperate to bat my incompetent fists away and just crack on with it yourself.
Enter the sheath: the game-changer. I bought one of these with the express intention of being able to efficiently wank the boy off while he watched porn in the living room. And it worked well. Better than well: it was awesome. A bit of lube, a firm grip, a decent porn on the telly and I had him twitching jizz-shots into it before you could say ‘oh holy Jesus that’s the best 15 quid I’ve ever spent.’
Unfortunately things went rapidly downhill from there. I accidentally left it at his house and – despite my express desire that he leave it the fuck alone so I could maintain my winning edge – he played with it himself one night. Not content to simply disobey my explicit instructions, he enjoyed it so much he fucked right through the end, splitting the sheath and costing himself 15 quid for a replacement.
5/10 – it’d have got a 10, but clearly it’s not sturdy enough to put up with any degree of enthusiasm.
Not-so-sexy times: “That argument over who buys the condoms”
‘Wait, this isn’t very sexy!’, I hear you cry. Well, no, it’s not, but for good reason. It’s because, despite occasionally being a horny internet minx, I am actually a real person as well. I know, I know – I’m as disappointed as you are.
Consequently, one of the things the boy remembers most about the last year is a raging fight over who should buy condoms. I thought it should probably be me, given that the reason we had to buy them is because I didn’t want to take time off work to go to the doctors for more pills. He felt that he should buy them because sometimes he likes to have a posh wank and didn’t want to be doing it on my dime.
In the end we compromised: he put in a bulk order, and I nicked some from a friend who worked at a sex clinic.
Score – 1/10. Well, it was a fucking row, wasn’t it?
“I don’t know how to end arguments”
This is in at number one, because apparently it sums up most of what hanging out with me entails.
I was angry (as is standard – I like to maintain a base level of rage at all times, it helps to power me through the day) at the boy. He’d done something that had really pissed me off (not a minor thing like fucking through the end of a wanking sheath, but a major thing like being late for an event or trying to correct my grammar), so I threw a gigantic strop, hurling my toys out of the pram and telling him to fuck off back to fucksville, or something I’m sure was equally witty.
Counterarguments were proffered then rejected, tears were shed and bitterness vented for a good five minutes or so. Then, inevitably, we ran out of things to say. There are only so many variations on the word ‘tosser’, after all.
So we sat and stared at each other for a while, feeling like this – while only our first proper argument – was destined to be our last. No one had capitulated and nothing significant had changed. So where do we go from here? I had visions of him just getting up and wandering out of my life, both of us staring confusedly into space and wondering just why the living fuck we’d chucked away a fun relationship simply because of conversational awkwardness. So I broke the silence:
“I don’t actually know how to stop this fight now that we’ve started it. Shall we just have sex?”
I’m delighted to say that he didn’t wander off. Instead he pulled down my trousers, used twisty kink ties to secure my ankles firmly to the bedpost, rolled on a condom and then fucked me like a sex toy.
So, there you have it: the top sexy times of 2012 as told by my favourite boy. To be honest there are a few things that I’m disappointed didn’t make the cut. He seems to have bypassed the gratuitously disgusting moments in favour of those that either involved gadgets or made me look like a raging harpy. Still, I certainly can’t fault his honesty and perceptiveness, and I suppose if I want to burn the filthier things into his mind, there’s always 2013.
So to round things off, a challenge: if you’ve a partner or a regular fuck, ask them what you did in 2012 that most sticks out in their mind. If you blog it and drop me a link I’ll add it to the end of this post, or you can just leave a comment. You might learn something new about yourself, or simply get a feel-good kick from hearing someone else list some things you did that were hot. So ask: what were my stand-out moments of 2012? Then post it. Even if you learn nothing you’ll still be a winner, because as we ring in 2013, there’ll be just that bit more filth on the internet for us to wank to.
Happy New Year, perverts.
Sexy times update:
Well done to InnocentLoverboy, first blogger to rise to my challenge and write a hilarious blog. Find out how, in 2012, he and his partner shagged “like particularly energetic people who are shagging.” It’s funny: click.
Ooh, and a rather romantic and heartwarming one from Emily Daniel, about being shaved by her husband and then (my favourite part) vigorously fucked. Do the clicking thing, immediately.
And this excellent sexy times round-up post by Venus in Slurs which includes a description of a very sexy grunt-growl that makes me slick my knickers.