This blog post was written in response to the question: are there any sex things that you don’t like? Here’s where my mind went first.

I am probably similar to a lot of British people who grew up in the late nineties, in that I first encountered rimming on Queer as Folk (the UK version, which is categorically better than the US version because of Stuart Alan Jones). In the first ever episode, Nathan (played by Charlie Hunnam when he was young and pre-beardy) gets naked and thoroughly fucked by the stunning Aidan Gillen. Amid the sweat and the panting and the deafening thud of my aching, hormonal cunt, I heard Stuart (Aidan Gillen) ask Nathan what he was into. Nathan pauses so Stuart prompts:

“Rimming?”

There’s a pause, as we realise that the young ‘un has absolutely no idea what that is. Still, he’s as horny as a teenager with a hot guy sweating all over him, so obviously he says yes. And the sight of Stuart’s tongue sliding wetly up and down Nathan’s back, eventually coming to rest in the crack of his buttocks is something I still occasionally kill kittens over.

But of course, alongside all my other thoughts – are there nerve endings there? Is it really pleasurable? If I asked him really nicely, would an Aidan Gillen lookalike ever do the same to me? – was the most important rimming-related question: what does it actually taste like?

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This post discusses sleep sex (and sleep ‘other things’). Everything that happens here is 100% consensual, with a guy I trust a lot, and with whom I have had numerous conversations about sleep shagging. It is not an endorsement to go ahead and do this with people who you haven’t had similar conversations with, obviously. 

Apparently on Saturday night I kept a guy awake for hours by repeatedly wrapping my arms round him and begging him to touch my tits.

Yeah, that’s weird, isn’t it?

I was also either 100% asleep for the entire thing, or I have suffered selective amnesia. When he explained to me, very patiently, on Sunday morning that he was a bit knackered ‘because of your weird midnight nipple demands’ you could have knocked me down with a feather. You could also have knocked him down with a feather, because – thinking I was awake – he kindly acquiesced, until eventually he fell asleep on me for a while before I woke him up for more.

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“Tell me a sexy story,” I asked him, and he thought for a full three seconds before saying:

“OK. Picture the scene: you’re wandering past a bar, and inside there’s a raucous group of guys out on the town for a stag do…”

Although the reality of the British Stag Do is often cunt-witheringly unsexy, there’s potential there that he recognises as something I may well enjoy. It’s not just the fact that there’s a large number of men, although naturally I am a fan of any situation in which I am the sole sexual outlet for a gang of eager guys. There’s something about the stag do specifically that flicks that switch.

It’s often taken as a given that straight blokes will be keen on cheerleading squads, women’s hockey teams, and all the rest of it. They want to see the cotton-panty-clad pillow fights and soapy shower scenes that definitely happen when women get together (and they do, I promise. Like, that is literally all me and my mates ever do when we get together. Pyjama-clad romping, excessive giggling and showing each other our fannies). Yet when I have, on occasion, mentioned my desire to be wined and dined and slapped and tickled by an entire university rugby team, men I am with have expressed some degree of surprise.

I am thinking about this a lot recently, because I have got very solidly into a brand new trashy reality-TV show called ‘SAS: Who Dares Wins’ and apparently my overtly sexual running commentary on the programme is somewhere between ‘dogged’ and ‘aggressive.’ Long story short: I want to fuck all the men who are in it, over and over, until their dicks are raw and they can barely muster a single drop of wrung-out spunk.

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Two words that will have me elevate your hotel from a four to a five-star review on Trip Advisor: wet room. But seeing as I like wet rooms because I sometimes enjoy watersports, you might not actually want me to stay in your hotel, to be honest. But we clean up thoroughly after ourselves, and I guess what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

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“If we could have a threesome with any of your ex-boyfriends, who would it be?”

Ah, this question. This question sounds like a trap, but it isn’t. It’s the start of an exploratory conversation, at the end of which he’ll tell me a story that will make my cunt slick – he just wants to tailor it correctly.

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