I’m not very chatty on Twitter any more, and it wasn’t until last night when I spoke to a friend on the phone that I realised… I don’t even call my friends that much these days. The last few weeks have been weird and frightening, and they’re only going to get weirder and more frightening until sometime in June when the fear will come to a head and I’ll either sink, swim, or cling desperately to any of the friends I haven’t so far pissed off by ignoring. This is how it works, when my mental health is bad: I hide.

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I’ve been thinking about dickheads a lot lately. I mean, specifically, the head of a dick. The most sensitive, lickable part. The bit that’s most fun to run your tongue over. The part that you can kiss with spit-moistened lips. I like paying special attention, during languid suck-jobs, to all the different ways I can use my tongue on the head: flat on the underside, swirls round the ridge, firm flicks over it from side-to-side or up-and-down. Right now, I’m obsessed with the head of a dick. The way the ridge of it feels solid against the topside of my tongue when I flatten it and lick. The way I can wet it with one smooth, wet motion – running my tongue around as I playfully pretend that I’m not going to put it all the way back in my throat. The noises I can suck out of someone when I finally dip the head into my waiting mouth, and the twitching agony in his body if I keep doing that – over and over – without ever swallowing the whole of him. Sorry. This is technically meant to be a review of the new Godemiche OffBeat masturbation sheaths, but already I’m distracted. Dick does that to me.

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We’re in bed, getting down to it, and usually my one-track mind is laser-focused on what it will feel like when he slides his dick inside me. At the moment when I realise that’s not going to happen – he’s slowly softening and the look on his face switches from horn to confusion or embarrassment – I remind myself how lucky I am that I don’t ever have to worry about erections myself. Twenty years ago, if a guy went soft on me, my main feeling would be heartbreak: he doesn’t fancy me enough. I’m ugly. Unsexy. Incapable of teasing a boner from him. Ten years ago, I’d be annoyed: did he have a wank before we met up? Has he had too much to drink? These days, frustration and sadness have (thankfully) made way for a different feeling: relief that the pressure isn’t on me.

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I like squeezing my cunt muscles while I’m fucking someone. There’s this glorious moment, just on the in-thrust when they’re plunging inside, where if I time it right I can get the muscles to clench just where the head of their dick is. It adds resistance, making them shove it harder. And tightness, so I can better feel how hard their cock is. If they have a particularly prominent head, I can feel the edge of it rubbing past the ridge on one of the internal walls of my vagina. And if they’re expressive (which they should be, oh God I really really want them to be), sometimes I can make them let out a little grunt. Of pleasure? Maybe. Of surprise? Perhaps. I also like to imagine it’s one of effort. They’ve been expecting a certain amount of resistance, but by squeezing my cunt I can ramp it up a little – giving them more to push against and encouraging that gorgeous unngh noise in the back of their throat as they realise they have to fuck harder. If this sounds hot to you (it is, oh God it really super is), here are a few times when it’s fun to squeeze your cunt.

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I could show you how to fuck me till I come, if you really want me to. You don’t need to perform or practice or keep an eye out for the sexy faces I make, reading them like I’m an ancient text you need to try and decipher. If you want to fuck me till I come, I can show you. (more…)