Girl on the Net

As a general rule I never have enough confidence in my own music taste to recommend what I like to other people. Most of my partners have preferred me to uncritically subsume their own playlists rather than contribute suggestions of my own: they rarely ever let me pick the music. As a result, not only am I suffused with a vague sense of embarrassment when talking about music, I have rarely spent much time actively seeking out new bands. But recently I found a band who make my heart swell with joy, and their latest album gave me powerfully horny ideas. I hope they will forgive me for taking this to such an X-rated place, but I’m gonna talk about Solid Gold by Holy Moly & The Crackers: the fuckiest album I have heard in a very long time.

You know what ‘fuckiest’ means, right? Songs that make me want to fuck. Not the kind of pedestrian fuck you have with a Tinder date you’ll probably never see again, I mean a ‘fuuuuuuck’ – the kind that alters your path through the universe. Like the shag you have at the tipping point with somebody, when both of you realise you’re about to change states – from this to that. Friends to lovers. Prom dates to permanent fixtures. Partners to exes, even. Especially that.

Or better, shags which cause a state-change within your soul itself. The sex you have during which – for a nanosecond – you manage to forget how terrible you are and all the bad things you’ve ever done and actually let go. Fucks so intimate and intense that you manage to truly abandon yourself in the joy of someone else, temporarily forgetting to obsess over your own flaws and failings. When you feel genuinely beautiful and perfect and whole and clean and above all (above all) like you are OK. You’re fine. You! Are! Fine! You may not be a hero, but you aren’t a villain either. You have nothing to be ashamed of or apologise for. The precious, once-in-a-blue-moon shags you dive into as your authentic self. These ones deserve a special soundtrack.

Everyone’s fuckiest soundtrack (like everyone’s favourite sex) will be different, of course. But for what it’s worth, here’s one of mine.

Solid Gold

Holy Moly & The Crackers: Solid Gold. It’s on Spotify if you’d like to listen along at home. You can also buy it in all the usual places, and get tickets to go see them live if you’re in the UK.

I fucking adore this album. I want to make out to this album. I desperately and urgently need to bone someone to this album. In lieu of a boyfriend who I can fuck into a messy paste, I’m gonna write you some brief erotic vignettes featuring my favourite tracks and in the process drag you with me on a journey of self-discovery.

Bad Habit

Perfect for grabbing my arse to as we slow-grind against each other in the kitchen, not quite kissing yet but toying with the idea. When your swollen cock has started to press against the inside of your underwear so much that everything’s begun to feel a little bit too tight…

Once we get stuck in, this is the make-out song to end all make-out songs. In a literal sense: it will end your make-out because by the time you’re halfway through the song you’ll be physically thrumming with such deep and primal sexual energy that you’ll no longer be sated by mere lip-to-lip contact.

Angeline

I would absolutely blindfold a man, ziptie him to my bedframe, whisper “don’t even fucking think about moving a muscle” then ride the ever-loving fuck out of his cock to this song. This is the song I milk him to like I’m getting my fucking money’s worth.

Remember what I said at the start about what makes the ‘fuckiest’ songs? This is a song during which I am more likely to change states. Partway through the ride, when my cunt is good and tight and achey with the first tingles that will eventually lead to a grade-A, ‘make squeaks that disturb the neighbours’ orgasm… I look down at the guy’s face, twisted in the throes of blissful agony… and realise (to equal parts horror and delight) that I’ve accidentally fallen in love with the bastard.

Wide Sky

CN: drugs/blowback/smoking fetish. 

This is the song you add to the queue while I’m rolling us a joint. As I spark up, you hit ‘play’ then look at me and smile softly. I inhale, fumble, then get the ashtray ready on the coffee table so I can flick into it without having to move. You’re turning round to angle your body more acutely towards me, looking at me with eyes that could either mean I’ve been really good and am about to be rewarded, or I’ve been very fucking naughty indeed.

I realise exactly what you’re about to do the second before you do it – you dip your head so your mouth is on my mouth and you suck ever-so-fucking gently. And because I know what’s coming I have already parted my lips and opened my lungs and my heart and oh God oh God I let the breath fall out of me and into you like a fucked-up reverse waterfall of longing. Then when I’m spent and empty and my chest is burning with CO2, you reverse it – carefully releasing your own breath so it seeps back into me, reviving me and making me high at the exact same fucking time. Then again. And again. And again. Until one or other of us breaks away and gasps, like… “fuck. Fuck. You’re fucking incredible. Stay for the rest of my life. Please.”

Like a River

As this song begins, you tuck one finger into the neckline of my top and tug on it gently. I lean forward for a kiss but you hover just in front of my lips rather than going straight in for the snog. Instead you pull my top down juuuuust enough on one side that it exposes one of my tits – nipple rock-hard and absolutely hurting to have your lips around it.

“Ahhh,” you say – just like that – as you flick it delicately with the pad of your thumb. Softly. And all the while the song is playing. As she sings, you take my nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinch it slightly. Pulling it gently (very gently: this isn’t kink, it’s pure fucking) towards you. And the delicious pleasure/pain of it makes me let out this tiny involuntary squeak in the back of my throat – ‘unn!’ – like that.

And all the while the song is playing. Singing “all I feel is pain but you want to call it love”. And you lean in to put your face right up against mine, so close that I could stick my tongue out and fucking taste you if I wanted… and you grin and tug a tiny bit harder on my nipple to bring me towards you for the snog.

Ever compliant, I obey.

Like a River (again, but now for blow jobs)

I’ve been listening to this album a lot as I draft and redraft this piece, always keeping an ear out for a really incredible blow job song. Few tracks ever scream ‘suck a dick!’ to me in the same way as, say, Massive Attack’s Teardrop. But perhaps that’s because I’ve never sucked a dick to any of them? One of the things I miss about having a boyfriend is the ability to try out stuff like this. When I was with my ex I could have just turned to him and asked: “hey do you fancy getting sucked off to this album, and you can skip back and forth so we can pick the best song for me to swallow your cock to?” and he’d have gone: “yep, sweet I’m up for that” and then we’d do it. Piece of cake. God, I miss sucking dick.

Luckily though, one evening as I drank wine and contemplated my devastating dick deficit, ‘Like a River’ came up in the shuffle and I realised OH YEAH OK that’s also a blow job song. I can picture it now. The way it’d build from slow and firm and sloppy… to quicker but still firm and now EXTREMELY sloppy… yeah. My bad. There’s DEFINITELY a blow job song on this album. It’s Like a River. Also maybe…

My Money

This song is a bit special and rare, so if you’re listening along at home, before you hit ‘play’ please understand that I knew this song was fucky not just within the first verse, line or even the first bar but literally the first fucking beat. I know. It seems impossible for that to be the case. But I absolutely can. And what’s more, you can too.

Hit play.

AMIFUCKENRITE THO? The first beat of this song is extremely fucky. I have never heard a song that begins this way and doesn’t make me want to go down on someone while they grip and scratch at the bedlinen with increasingly frantic desperation. So yeah this one’s a blow job song too.

What’s more, the rhythm is perfect for the kind of blow job which begins slow and then turns edgy, with brief bursts of double-speed as the intensity of the song grows, then dropping back to teasing when it ebbs back down again. Or maybe it’s one to get flogged to – squirming and humping and grinding against a Doxy on the bed while some dude casually walks around me, lashing at my bound and helpless body and occasionally laughing at how desperately I babble the word ‘please.’

Give Me A Hammer

I think the best position in which to fuck to this song is missionary. I need to look directly into a man’s eyes, with the entire rest of the world faded and blurred into nothing, while he slowly and – I cannot stress this enough – firmly … ploughs me to this song. As I listen to it, I can pinpoint exactly the moments when the person sliding it inside me gets all the way in. Buried to the hilt inside my body, yet somehow drilled even deeper into my actual soul.

There are myriad different ways to fuck, and every single one of them has its merits. But for me personally, there is one fuck that can never be fucking beaten. One style of shag that – if you perform it with passion and commitment and genuine emotional honesty – will have me falling head-over-heels, cunt-first in love with you. The Platonic ideal of fucks.

Here it is, lean closer, this is the secret: it’s not about how quickly or brutally a guy fucks me… it’s about how patiently he can fuck me, should he choose to take his time.

That’s the kind of sex I want to have to this song. Where the man I am with has me so captivated by the rhythm of his pace that the pace itself can be glacial and that only makes it hotter. A guy with the confidence to hear me whimpering, feel my cunt clenching around his dick and the pads of my fingers clawing at his back and gripping his arse so I can try to nudge him into a slightly faster motion… who, instead of acquiescing to the demands my body can’t help but make of him, does the opposite. Stops completely. All his muscles tense and his cock buried satisfyingly deep but maddeningly still inside my aching vagina.

Keeping his body entirely motionless, this man will look down into my pained, eager face before raising an eyebrow…

A ‘good’ fuck, in that moment, will kiss me and pick up the pace.

An ‘exceptional’ fuck will kiss me and maintain the exact same rhythm.

But the best fuck? The man I would walk weeping into hell for? He’ll kiss me and laugh softly like he pities my desperation, before slowing down even further.

Good God.

This is a song you can only properly, glacially fuck me to if you truly are The One. For that reason, I am going to hold off from adding it to my ‘fucksongs’ playlist. Because getting banged to this one is so precious and valuable that I couldn’t bear to ruin it in the way my toyboy (bless his adorable troll socks) ruined Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah.

This is not a song to waste on unserious men. This is the track I am saving for the night when the right man tells me he loves me.

Anyway. Ahem. Holy Moly & The Crackers. Solid Gold. Their older stuff is exceptional too (I love the Lilly EP and Take A Bite is fucking awesome), but that’s the kind of music that makes me want to dance around the living room and ride my bike down zippy cycle superhighways. This album’s a solid gold fuckfest.

Solid Gold & my authentic self

A lot of the joy I feel here comes from the fact that I discovered this band on my own. No one ever played them over and over at me, or told me ‘you MUST listen to this’ like it was homework. I was listening purely for my own pleasure when a song from one of their previous albums came up on Spotify, grabbed me by the wrist and swung me around the metaphorical dancefloor. I checked out the rest of that album and it made me feel bouncier. Happier. More like myself. Somewhere around the time I devoured the rest of their albums… I realised… I’m doing it! Discovering new music! A thing I have not done for years and years, because ‘new music’ held such strong associations for me: of being given homework, or getting told off by boyfriends for having shit taste.

But in writing this post, I realised it’s (almost) as much my fault as it is the fault of those boys. I’m the one who shut my mouth and smiled when they commandeered the playlists. I’m the one who turned up to their gigs, but didn’t think to drag them along to gigs of my own. The option to snatch the remote, book my own tickets, stop giving a flying fuck whether boys I fancied thought my music was cool – that choice was there all along.

The sexiest thing in the world is embracing your authentic self. Being confidently and unapologetically you, in whatever form feels most natural. Wearing the shorts that people told you were ‘inappropriate’ but which make you feel so slinky that you swing your arse a little extra with every step you take. Laughing your weirdest laugh, giving not one single fuck to the people who think you sound like you’ve got whooping cough. Screwing up your face into a weird expression because doing that helps sell the punchline to this particular story. Singing loudly and terribly. Dancing like no one’s watching, of course, and fucking like – for a nanosecond – you can forget how terrible you are and all the bad things you’ve done and actually let go. Feel genuinely beautiful and perfect and whole and clean and above all (above all) like you are OK. You’re fine.

Being fully and completely your authentic self. When you understand and are content with the knowledge that although you may not be a hero, you aren’t a villain either. You have nothing to be ashamed of or apologise for. The sexiest thing in the whole world is embracing yourself with confidence. And if you can’t manage confidence then contentment’s a fucking good start.

Saying ‘here I am, and I think I’m OK.’

Being you is hot. It’s the horniest thing you can be.

When I listen to this band that I discovered on my own, I remember what it feels like to be me.