I wrote this sexy email exchange in October 2014 – ten whole years ago. My reasons for writing it are lost in the mists of time, but I half-remember that it was a product of a conversation with a fellow erotic writer, with whom I’d spoken about the idea of short, horny radio plays (this was a bit before the start of the audio porn boom), and the fact that at the time I was really into sending things like this to my partner while he was working to see if I could hype him up enough to fuck my face the second he came home. I dug it out a couple of years ago when doing a recording session with my good pal and sexy-voiced angel Luke (aka Beardynoise), thinking it might be fun to read a piece together. 

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This is a story about a woman having a wank. I know I’ve already told you one story about a woman having a wank, but this one’s very different. Imagine, please, a woman lying on top of the duvet on her bed, sometime around midday, curtains closed so she doesn’t shock the neighbours, rifling through her memory banks for a sexy idea that’ll help her get to a quick orgasm before she has to sit back down at her desk. She settles on something that fits the mood, so brings her fingertips to her mouth – spitting on them gently so as to start warming up her clit.

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This is a story about a woman having a wank. It’s important that I tell you this clearly right at the start. I would like you to imagine, please, a woman lying in bed with sex toys easily to hand, eyes closed and a sleep mask on for relaxation. Picture the corner of her mouth twitching slightly as she realises she’s conjured a sexy idea, then imagine the way she brings her fingertips to her mouth and spits softly, so she can start gently warming up her clit.

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Apropos of absolutely nothing, I’m going to tell you a story about this one time (ages ago) when I fucked the furniture. Specifically a bed. And technically, properly, I guess if you want to get right down to the nitty-gritty detail of the thing, it wasn’t just ‘me fucking a bed’, it was ‘us’. Because while I shagged the bed with my excellent and adventurous vagina, the man I loved was having a valiant go at simultaneously fucking me up the arse. Let’s do this.

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You can feel your lover’s pulse with one finger. You know this, of course, but I bet you don’t think about it often. I thought about it the other day and the force of it hit me like a punch in the chest. You can feel the thud of their blood running through their body, keeping them alive. The heartbeat that powers the person who makes you quiver with need. The one you want to bury your nose, your face, your fucking life in… you can feel your lover’s pulse with a single finger. Isn’t that awesome?

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