It’s fun to have stuff in common. And when it comes to sex, it’s hot to discover that your own kinks match or dovetail with those of the person you’re fucking. But alongside the ones I personally have – D/s, cum, impact play, dirty talk, weed/breath play, loads more – there’s a second category of kinks: those I don’t personally wear on my sleeve, but find wildly attractive on somebody else. Nothing in nature is a binary – it’s not a matter of ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to any given kink. In between there’s a whole gamut of ‘maybes’ and a few shining examples of ‘OhMyGodYesPlease’s too. It’s the latter I’m thinking of today. Kinks I don’t personally masturbate to when I’m alone, but which will probably get me thinking and wanking if I can centre my mind on your desire to do them. I got bored and horny the other day so I made a list of kinks which make my eyes and my cunt grow wide with delight if someone I’m fucking tells me they get off on them. Here’s my take on the sexiest kinks.

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It is very rare for me to have an acoustic wank these days. By which I mean ‘be able to orgasm without either getting fucked by an actual human, or using a sex toy’. Gone are the days when I could make myself come using one finger and a tiny rubbing motion on my clit – subtle so as not to disturb a roommate. And we’re decades away from me being able to come with one hand in the shower – kneeling in the bath rather than standing, so I didn’t fall over at any key moments. These days, unless I have a Doxy or a Zumio, ideally with a dildo to accompany it and give me something to clamp round, the chances of me coming before my hand cramps up are slim to fuck-all. Fingers alone are no longer enough. I need more stimulation. And recently I realised that when I say ‘stimulation’, that doesn’t always have to be a sex toy or a cock. It turns out words work too.

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Telling people I’m a sex blogger usually leads to one or two misconceptions: that I am constantly shagging, or that I am shagging in such wildly creative ways that no normal human could keep up with the carnival of kink. But that’s not really what I’m about. I’m not obsessed with the quantity of sex I’m having, nor the depths of any particular depravity. In fact, I reckon I could have relatively vanilla sex once a month and still be eager and intense enough about it – and the fantasies that lead up to or come out of it – to write a passable sex blog. I’m not a nymphomaniac or the kinkiest woman alive: I’m just a plain old sex nerd.

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I want you to spit in my mouth. And crucially, I also think it’s gross when you spit in my mouth. There aren’t many sexual acts about which I have this knife-edge ambivalence. Some things (extreme belting) are hot to me in fantasy but not reality. Others (making out) are incredible in practice but rarely have the power to be wankable when I’m alone. It’s not often I find something that is both desired and disgusting simultaneously but for what it’s worth, spit in my mouth is one of them.

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“Do you want to make some plans with me?” he asks, all casually playful, as if his name hadn’t just splashed into her inbox like a life ring tossed to a drowning woman. She grasps at it, as if he alone can save her (he cannot). He offers a selection of activities, and each shines bright with promise – a bike ride, a show, dinner, conversations about the book recommendations they’ve been swapping. Plus, of course, sex. She ponders which to pick, knowing the sex will be on offer no matter what they do beforehand, and even though she’s poor in spirit she’s now rich in possibilities. She replies swiftly – picks a fun activity, gives him her availability, then adds: “I am not sure about the sex. I’m feeling very… [big black box of horror that it’s probably best we don’t open] right now. In theory I like the idea though, can we play it by ear?”.

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