Category Archives: Filthy ones
IMDb erotica – guess the film from the IMDb guide
What exactly is IMDb erotica? Well. Last night, a gentleman and I were trying to choose which film to watch. We were tired, so wanted something with the right level of vague tittilation but zero intellectual merit.
On our search, we found possibly one of the most beautiful things in the world: IMDB erotica.
By which I mean “the content notes for films on IMDB.” They’re poetic, delicious, hilarious run-downs of all the sexy bits in the film, as written by a breathless youth who is probably halfway through a wank. Observe:
Watches and wanking
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.
Sexy tattoos, and the power of ‘fuck it’
I am definitely biased in favour of people with sexy tattoos. Take any guy who is funny or pretty or interesting enough to vaguely grab my attention, slap a tattoo on him, and watch as I turn from mildly intrigued to drooling at the mouth. (more…)
Risky sex: don’t try this at home
Today I’m obsessed with risky sex. The kind that gets your heart hammering in time to the thud of your crotch, as you fuck with a nebulous yet oh-so-urgent deadline. Get it over with before the others find you.
Risky sex. Like the snatched gropes you have in crowded places, or the slightly-more-than-that which teenagers do on the bus.
Sex you have not because you’re too horny to get a room, but because the thrill of being discovered makes it all feel more illicit.
Jizz: there can never ever be enough
I will never not be fascinated by jizz. It’s probably the topic I’ve covered most often here – from the best places to jizz to the weird questions I’ve asked about it.
Perhaps it’s because I can’t produce it myself, or because I sense a similar fascination in guys – that agony of choice when you decide where to do it, and how, and when.
But let’s talk about the only frustration I have with spunk: that there is never – can never be – enough.