I know I bang on about it all the time, but there really is no limit to the vibrant, messy, diverse range of human sexual tastes. But it’s all very well me telling you that, I’m sure what you’re really after is hard evidence.

Well, you’re in luck. Evidence doesn’t come any harder than the people who typed in the following sex blog search terms that led them here. These were all typed in on the same day:

Sex blog search terms

tickle fuck

Definitely not my cup of tea, and I expect you were incredibly disappointed to be led to the post in which I argue that tickling is one of my least favourite things.

get erection wading in jeans

I have never written about this, so not entirely sure why it’s in there, but my God I’d love to see it. If anyone has any pornography that meets this oh-so-specific fetish, please do pass it along to me. For research purposes.

images of a girl holding a pissing cock

Give me a second while I Google this myself, then spend a good few minutes staring transfixed at the screen. Guys pissing is super-hot, and I’m pretty sure I know where that search term sent you.

Unfortunately, I am not allowed to hold guys’ cocks while they piss quite as frequently as I would like. Apparently I have appalling aim.

over 50 still want spunk porn

Of course you do. Age is no barrier to spunk porn.

getting a blowjob while playing Xbox

I KNEW IT. I fucking KNEW I couldn’t be the only one who thinks that the idea of Xbox blowjobs is super hot (to avoid accusations of product placement I should point out that the particular console doesn’t matter: PS3, N64, an ancient Sega MegaDrive you’ve had hanging around since the 90s – all of these are acceptable).

Sadly, the super-hot post I wrote about giving an Xbox blowjob has not yet achieved the one thing I thought was guaranteed: loads of reddit love. So if you’re on reddit, and you like being blown/blowing someone while they manipulate the controller with their quick, sexy fingers, do me a favour and post it somewhere on their NSFW boards. If it goes viral, I’ll send you a Twix.

where can I find photos of women smelling there feet

I don’t know the answer to this question, but I’d recommend finding a woman you like, who likes you, and asking her if she wouldn’t mind awfully having a quick sniff and taking a snap for you. As far as fetishes go, this one doesn’t strike me as too tricky to fulfil.

girl holds my dick while I pee pics

Again with the dick holding. Perhaps my desire to do it is actually relatively normal, and most couples in which at least one of them has a penis engages in this every now and again. Another one for the ‘research‘ list.

girl using urinal

No pictures, I’m afraid, but I can tell you that although I am rubbish at using female urinals, I did manage to use a male urinal successfully once. It involved some weird angles and a bit of spray, but most of it went where it was supposed to. Definitely one to tell my grandchildren.

nothing could be finer than to lick her sweet v

I can see where you’re going with that, but am upset that you didn’t complete the rhyme. Come on, it was only five more letters! Five! Now I am left feeling unsated.

Vagina.

That’s better.

I neither know nor give a shit if it tastes different when you’ve eaten pineapple.

Spunk is good because it’s spunk. It’s raw and hot and yours. It’s something that you squirt from the end of your dick when you’re so fucking satisfied with me, with what I’ve done, with what I look like when you have me bent over and tied to a chair, that you can no longer keep it inside you. Spunk is, more than anything else, the measure of whether I’ve made you happy.

It’s not good because of the taste, it’s good because you cover me with it. It’s good because you pump it deep and hot inside me. It’s good because you make me eat it.

Can you improve the taste of your jizz?

A brief and depressing google around this area tells me that almost anything natural and fruity could change the taste of your spunk (WARNING: research based on Google does not constitute actual science) so if you’re happy to chow down on a pound of melon or a shitload of grapes each day, alongside the almost inevitable diarrhoea you suffer, you’ll probably also be able to provide a liquid that your ladyfriend would be happy to dribble on her ice cream.

But why? What’s the point? I’m a grown-up earning a wage – I can buy sugary syrups and whipped cream and fruity treats to my heart’s delight – the only way I’ll get a taste of your spunk is to suck on your cock nice and hard, in exactly the way that you like it.

Tasting nice is not what your jism is for. Your spunk doesn’t need to taste like strawberries, or pineapple, or sugar, spice and puppy dog tails – your spunk needs to taste like what comes out of the end of your dick when you come.

Spunk makes sex better

Sex is fun whether you come or not – the feeling of you nice and full and tight and hard inside me will give me the shivers and make me wet and give me something to clamp down on – to tense my cunt around and twitch over and feel happy about. But sex in and of itself isn’t half as good as sex that ends with spunk.

Dribbles of it, spurts of it, nice thick white ropes of it covering my tits or filling my cunt or (my personal favourite) spurting hot and hard into the crack of my arse.

Don’t worry about how you taste – everyone tastes different – pineapple or not – all guys tast different. Some are bitter, some are salty, some shoot sourness down to the back of my throat that makes me gag and worry I might puke. You all taste different – it’s part of your charm.

Have a little taste now – go on. If you’ve never tried it before you’re probably quite an incurious person, but indulge me. Have a taste. You might not like it – many people don’t – but at the very least you now know. You see yourself in the mirror every day, you’re your own constant companion – the person who knows you best. You know what you look like, sound like and smell like, so why not also see what you taste like?

Go on, try it. Salty, sweet, bitter, whatever. That’s the taste of you. And that’s what makes it so special.

Whether the rumours are true or not, I don’t want your spunk to taste like pineapple. If I wanted a pineapple I’d eat one, but I don’t, so if your spunk tastes like pineapple I’ll feel disappointed. Cheated. Because I wanted that special flavour of you – of your approval, your happiness, your sexual gratification. I wanted hot, grunting, squirting thrusts of proper, salty spunk. And you’ve given me a fucking sorbet.

 

I haven’t done a ‘what is not wrong with you‘ post for a while, but this particular gripe has been brewing for a couple of weeks, so I thought it high time that I spat it out.

Men: I don’t give a shit about your hair. There, I said it.

There’s a creeping trend for men to start caring about their hair, and I don’t like it. Yes, it’s nice to look nice and if having a special haircut gives you a boner when you look in the mirror then by all means drop fifty quid at a posh salon. But if you’re just doing it to impress the ladies, my general advice would be not to bother.

Not because all women don’t care (some do) but because I figure that the time, effort and worry invested in something as inconsequential as the collection of keratin strands you collect on top of your head could be much better spent in other ways.

You could learn to play the piano, take up a sport, read books and newspapers – anything. And even girls who like a guy with neatly-trimmed locks will probably admit that they’d rather he were talented, funny, or interesting.

And don’t get me started on the amount of money men are now expected to fork out on hair products – gels and mousses and special shampoo – that could far better be spent on a tube fare to my house to come and fuck me like it’s Friday.

Is it OK to be bald?

I have only ever met two types of women: those who find bald guys incredibly sexy, and those who don’t give a flying fuck.

I happen to fall into the former category – bald guys are sexy as hell. There’s obviously the tactile thing, for a start – touching someone’s head is deeply sensual. Although running your fingers through someone’s curling locks can be nice, nothing quite rivals the feeling of stroking your fingers nice and hard over someone’s scalp, letting them trail down to the back of their neck as they close their eyes to revel in the comfort and lust.

Where was I?

Oh yes. Hair.

Is it OK to be ginger?

I have tried to contain my rage on this point for a long time, but the truth must out: not only is there ‘nothing wrong’ with being ginger, there is something despicably fucked-up about jokingly pretending that people with ginger hair are somehow freakish monsters.

I’ve been told there’s a historical reason for this – something to do with the English hating the Scots (oh, xenophobia, with what comedy genius will you tickle our ribs next?). But I don’t care – I don’t give a shit what pathetic reasons there might be for this half-hearted jocular bullying.

Recent conversation that I actually had with a real, human person:

Me: I would pay serious money to suck that man off.

Him: Really? But he’s so ginger.

It’s a joke – I know it’s a joke. But it’s a fucking awful one.

I knew a girl at college with the most stunning red hair – bright red, curly, down to her waist. She had pale, pale skin with soft hands, a tiny waist and nice small perky tits that you could imagine cupping in your hands while you fucked her. I digress.

The point is that she was ginger, and as so was subject to the most ridiculous jokes – boys would pretend they couldn’t ask her out because, despite her heart-melting beauty, she was ginger. In fact that reason they couldn’t ask her out was that she was searingly intelligent as well as being beautiful. But ginger is a nice default nonsensical insult for imbeciles to use when they have no genuine criticism.

In conclusion

Fuck your fucking hair. Fuck whatever sits atop your head. It’s nice to stroke or play with sometimes but if I’m assessing whether I might like you to stick your cock into me, whatever you happen to be sporting – a crop of strawberry blond curls, an Elvis quiff, a floppy One-Direction-style chop, a shining bald pate or a hat that makes you look like an arsehole – none of these things will make a significant difference.

It’s not what’s on your head that counts, but what’s in it.

As I write this I am bleeding quite heavily from the ass.

Bear with me – it’s challenging enough writing when your hands are shaking with shock, without having to turn anal fissures into something resembling a sex post. But I love a challenge.

As I’ve said before, I love buttsex. It hurts and is dirty and brilliant.

Boys with a desperate urge to fuck me somewhere painful hit my ‘oh holy fuck yes spot’ like nothing else.

Just the sound of a guy spitting on his cock, followed by the feeling of the head pushing nice and tight up against my ass gives me a powerful kick-in-the-gut of lust.

“Roll over and put your face in the pillow. I don’t want the neighbours to hear you crying.”

And the main reason I like it is because I don’t really like it. I like that he wants to do it. I’d be happy never having an orgasm again if I knew I could be used by all the men I love, in all the ways they’d love to use me.

“Bite down on this, because I’m going to fuck you somewhere it really hurts.”

Turning it down

And I can’t say no. I can’t. I can pull away if it really hurts, and I can say “please use more lube” and I can say “I can’t, I can’t, please” but I’m always a tiny bit sad if I have to make the sexy things stop.

If he carries on I’m in pain and if he pulls away I’m disappointed. The only solution in these situations is to cover his dick with lube, smear it all over, fill my ass with it and hope I don’t scream loud enough to scare the cat.

Preventing injury

If you have similar issues, there are lots of things you can do to prevent buttsex injuries.

But there’s nothing you can do to stop the very real problem – being a complete moron.

Because yesterday, as I buried my face in the pillow and raged silent screams into this one boy’s bedlinen, all I wanted was for him to keep fucking me. To force his dick harder into me. To spit on it more, grip my hips in his beautiful big hands, and pull me back onto his thick cock with quick, hard strokes.

I wanted him to keep doing it, and doing it, and doing it. To call me a filthy girl and tell me I’d take it even though it hurt, and tell me I was good, and it’d be over soon.

And as he panted and grunted and shoved himself harder into me, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the pain in the pit of my stomach, the pain that I’ll feel until he comes. I won’t be complete until I’ve heard him moaning and panting for the last few thrusts, while his cock is twitching and pumping spunk deep down inside me. That pain hurts far more than my ass hurts while he’s fucking it.

Who’s to blame?

Oh, society, why do you make me do these sexy things?

I’m joking – it is very loudly and clearly my fault. Just as the smoking is my fault, and the excessive drinking, and that one time at the age of nineteen when I discovered what coffee was, drank 18 cups in one day, then blacked out in a car park.

As in the rest of my life, the injuries I sustain at the hands of whatever ridiculous pervery is floating my boat this week are all self-inflicted. And I know this. And I know that sometimes it’s bad for me. But at the time I’d no more tell someone to stop than I’d turn down a cheque for a million quid.

But somewhere in the pit of my still-quite-queasy stomach, I have a feeling that I should stop. Not just on the one or two occasions where I’ve caused myself actual damage, but permanently. Perhaps, just as I should pack in the cigarettes I so idiotically enjoy, I should also stop fucking in a way that hurts me. Maybe I should learn when to say no. Maybe I should turn in early, sober and alone, with a good book that won’t make me wank before bedtime.

But it doesn’t really work like that, does it? There’s only so much sobriety and calm and reason one person can take. I like to think that the filthy fucking is a trade-off for the things that I haven’t done – properly experimented with class-A drugs, or been in a real-life fight. When I’m actually injured and bruised and broken I am miserable at myself for having no self-control. But I think I’d be far more miserable if I didn’t do any of this stuff at all.

So the answer can’t be to stop it all completely – I’d be sad and alone and miss out on the most fun I ever have without spending any money. I’d miss pushing the boundaries and scaring myself and the brilliant minute just after I’ve done something truly horrible when I turn to a boy and he grins and says “fuck, that was filthy. Let’s do it again.”

Disclaimer: This entry is being published a while after it was written, to preserve the anonymity of the boy in question, and prevent him from being so horrified that he never fucks me in the ass ever again. So thank you for you concern, I am completely fine now and no longer bleeding from the ass.