“Let’s get some dick in you.”
There are two ways I can tell this story. If you’ve not read the sexy version then pop over and read that before you look at this one – I suspect it won’t have quite the same effect if you read them the other way around. I’ve been wanting to do this ‘two versions’ thing for a while, because it’s as honest an answer as I can find to a very frequently asked question: is what you write true?
It is. But storytelling, like sex, is often about the angle.
How should I define my first date? There were lots of experiences with boys long before I was ever formally asked to the cinema, or for dinner, or whatever it is people do when they’re not just desperately trying to rummage in each other’s pants.
The first time I kissed a guy (on the lips, no snogging or anything) I was at the swimming pool. Our friends had all got together for an afternoon of splashing around, and I was determined that I’d come home with a boyfriend. The proto-boyfriend, you understand – not a real one. The one you get when you ask your best mate to just go around all the boys who seem vaguely willing and ask them in turn: “Will you go out with my friend?”
He wears a watch, and it’s beautiful.
It frames his big hands so neatly, drawing attention to the curve of his wrists and the tension in his fingers as he grips his cock.
I don’t see it at first. It’s early, and grey, and Thursday. My brain’s only just kicking itself awake when I hear the telltale shuffle of him rubbing his cock in bed beside me.
The rustle of the covers. The tight breaths that go with a swift, functional morning wank.
My latest book is out today! Here are the links to buy it, and if you want to read a sample, then below is the whole of chapter 6, in text and at the bottom in audio (which I think technically counts as audio porn).
Extract below. I’m chuffed that this was the chapter picked for extract because I think it gives a pretty decent overview of the book – a bit of behind-the-scenes on blogging, a couple of fucking lovely blokes, a rant about openness and a dirty lubed-up hand job. Hope you like it.
Someone found my blog the other day by searching ‘first time anal.’ It’s quite common, this ‘first time’ thing, and it comes up a lot in search. ‘My first anal’ or ‘her first facefuck’, like someone’s researching an incredibly explicit series of picture books. Anyway, the search prompted me to think about first times, and it occurred to me that while there are a few first times in my book, I’ve not actually written about ‘my first anal fuck’ before. Mainly because… well… it wasn’t particularly sexy.
The first time I had anal sex was down to 50% curiosity (me) and 50% ‘you’re on your period so how about we…?’ (him). Please forgive him for this – we were both young and silly, and he was still getting over the slight horror that came from discovering that menstrual blood sometimes has chunks in. If I met a guy these days who assumed that buttsex was the only possible option while I was bleeding, I would kick him out on his arse, but back then it was not considered weird for him to ask, and I think he was bored of me practising blow jobs.
Besides, I was very keen on the idea. I was still in the kid-in-a-sweetshop phase of sex, wanting to try every new thing I’d heard of to see if it worked for me.
Just writing that seems a bit strange, because now anal is one of my favourite things. So what went wrong?