Category Archives: Guest contributions

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Someone else’s story – on crushes

Girlonthenet: Being an emotionless wreck, you’d be forgiven for thinking that my heart is never touched. You’d be wrong – only slightly wrong, but wrong nonetheless.

This week the lovely Jon, of ‘Things I have done to impress women‘ fame, sent me a guest post that made me both laugh and also pity him – and all men – who have a tendency to put cute women on pedestals and subsequently become terrified of talking to them.

It’s pretty, it’s poetic, it’s funny, and it’s warm. In short – it is everything that I am usually not, which is why I adore it. Over to him:

Crushing it

The thing is, you never know when it’s going to hit you. Sometimes, you’ll just be thirsty. It’s a cold, crisp October morning, and you just want a hot drink. So you’ll go into the nearest corporate coffee emporium and order the silliest sounding hot drink. While pondering whether you want one of those little caramel biscuit things, you realise that the barista is asking you a question. You’re just in the middle of saying “large” when you look up and meet her eyes. Christ. They have a piercing quality that burns through your skull. You manage to say something that sounds like “laaaarr-g-g-le”. She smiles slightly, and brushes her dark hair from her eyes.

“Do you mean grande?” she asks, and you notice that there’s a slight tang of European accent there. You go into a conversational tailspin, trying to ask about the differences between grande and large, while worrying that all this size paranoia is somehow conveying that you have a small penis.

“And how will you be paying?” Shit. Do you give her a handful of change, or your debit card that’s been sellotaped together like a torn up love letter. She laughs at your card, while you make a feeble joke about hobo credit cards. She laughs, properly. You bask in the sunshine, and then, her headlamps turn onto her next victim, and suddenly you’re cast from the garden.

You do the dead man’s walk to the delivery table, cursing your inability to order a new credit card and not make jokes about the size of your cock. After a few minutes of mentally abusing yourself, and thinking about how absolutely ridiculous it would be for a girl like that to fancy you (I bet you think lap dancers are really into you too, right?), you realise they’re calling your order. You grab the coffee and walk out of the shop.

As you sit on the park bench sipping the molten hot java, you realise that there’s something written on the side in pen. Next to the ‘Grande’ tick box, she’d written “…But it’s what you do with it that counts! ;)”

For a guy, especially a lonely guy, sometimes it doesn’t take much to ignite the crush protocol. A kind word, a wink, a nice gesture across the office photocopier, and it’s fucking on like Donkey Kong.

Some crushes burn slowly, like incense, gradually filling your mind until you’re incapable of smelling anything but their honeyed fragrance, and you can’t look at a fucking lamp without thinking about what it would look like being knocked onto the floor when you sit them up on the desk and rip their knickers off.

Others hit you so hard and fast, you can’t even duplicate a report without thinking about laying her down on the glass plate and making 100 paper copies of your thrusting. You might even contemplate stapling all the pages together to make a flipbook, so you can replay your fucking in stop-motion.

You can’t talk to her on the phone without putting your hand down your pants and thinking about her on top of you, her hair falling in her face as she smiles and smiles while she rocks up and down on your steel hard cock, while she traces a finger down your perspiring chest. You rub your thighs and laugh as your cock has all it’s birthdays at the same time.

Sometimes, you can’t even buy a coffee without wanting to leap over the counter and offer her extra cream for once.

In some ways, whether it’s with someone you’ve hardly met or a friend that you shouldn’t really fancy, the crush is the perfect relationship. They’ll never disappoint you, they’ll never leave you – hell, they’ll always be the same age they were when you met them, frozen in the amber of your memory. They’ll always be wearing that outfit that made you shoot boners out of your eyes. It’ll always be that night when they drunkenly looked into your eyes for just a second too long. The sex will always be mind blowing, the kisses tender and the touches desperate and fumbling. It’s really the most perfect relationship you’ll ever have. And the only way you can ever fuck it up, is by trying to make it real. So as long as you can live in the bubble of imagination indefinitely, as long as you can deal with the constant gnawing feeling of incompleteness, the tangible taste of the unknown forever on your lips, you’ll always have a grande old time.

But it’ll cost you a fucking fortune in Cinnamon Dolce Lattes.

See? See?! Awesome. If you love it as much as I do you should read more of what he writes. And tell me about your own crushes in the comments, so I can pity and love you too.

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On foreplay

I’m a freakish weirdo when it comes to foreplay, I think. I’ve spoken before about how I don’t really like getting head. A good fingering is nice every now and again, but I’m a bit impatient. Just as I’m the first in the pub at 5 pm on Friday, itching to start the weekend, when the chance for a shag comes around I’m the one speeding things up in anticipation of what I see as the ‘main’ event, pulling down my knickers and mumbling “just put it in me – now – please.”

But recently I spoke to the rather lovely @EasilyTempted on Twitter, who talked so lovingly about foreplay (or rather – those myriad aspects of sex that don’t involve putting a dick into a vagina) that it might have tempted me to spend a bit more time doing it.

Here’s what she said:

EasilyTempted – on foreplay

This week my husband and I had a beautiful and lengthy 69. I came on his face, more than once, and he came in my mouth. And then I fucked about on Twitter, while he cooked me scrambled eggs. Possibly a perfect evening.

But.

‘Officially’ we didn’t have even have sex. It got me thinking about the word ‘foreplay’ and how misleading and flawed it is as a concept. Foreplay traditionally describes something which is the precursor to sex. But what is sex?

Personally I think of sex in terms of sexual satisfaction with a partner (or partners ~ I’ve read this blog). In this model I would see it as something that involves an orgasm. But what if you can be sexually satisfied without an orgasm? (I have heard such people exist). And do both people have to have an orgasm or just one?

I have no answers.

Given access to each other, my husband and I probably have sex around five times a week and we have been fucking for 12 years. This adds up to a fair amount of sex. But actual penetration – classic penis in vagina stuff – plenty of what we do involves or concludes that way and a great deal doesn’t.

I don’t orgasm from penetration alone, so perhaps that is why fucking is an element of my sex life but not the focus. My husband is also not interested in isolated penetration – if we have limited time he will almost certainly choose abstinence over a simple fuck. So in that sense foreplay is everything to us, which is why I don’t like the implications that it is ‘just’ the starter.

We are both oral-centric. Kissing, licking, sucking – we live in a grown up sexy lollipop shop.

If he kisses and bites me all over for so long that when he puts his fingers on my clitoris I come immediately, is that foreplay?

If I fuck him with my strap-on, is that foreplay?

If he straps me down, spanks me, and fucks my arse with a dildo, is that foreplay?

These are all things we have done this week, and yet we only had penetrative sex once. Include the 69 and that is only one in four.

Blowjobs seem to be in the middle of the Venn Sex Diagram for a lot of people. You have penetration on one side and foreplay on the other but for a lot of people a blowjob means both – this is all down to Bill Clinton, everyone had that discussion.

But somehow, the feminist in me rails against the idea that if just the man has an orgasm it’s sex but if just the woman has an orgasm it is foreplay. Because this would mean the male orgasm trumps the female.

What I don’t like about the expression is that it gives virgins, new lovers, or even bad lovers the idea that anything before the penetration is merely a waiting room for the main event.

There is a lot more to sex than in and out.

If you don’t already follow @EasilyTempted, you definitely should. She also has an incredibly sexy Tumblr where she collects pictures of people doing the good stuff.

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Someone else’s story: sexual anticipation

You know how sometimes something’s so good you can’t keep it to yourself? When you’ve done something utterly disgusting and you just have to tell someone?

I’ve annoyed/amused my best friend no end by occasionally texting him to let him know whether I got laid and how I got on. And once, in a rather misjudged boast, I told him that the morning after I stayed at his house, I’d sat cunt-first on one of the bedposts in his spare bedroom while a boy I was with tried to fuck me in the arse.

Don’t give me that look – I wiped the bedpost down afterwards.

Well, the point I’m tortuously getting to is that sometimes girls send me these stories. About what they’ve done, about what they want to do and (in the case of the lady in this post) what they’ll be doing soon.

I enjoy these stories almost as much as I enjoy the cock pictures. At my request, and posted with her permission, I hope you enjoy the following story too…

Guest: anticipation

I have pictured this for so long. How decorous we will be in public then, as soon as we are in the hotel room, you push me up against the wall. You kiss me fiercely, one hand clutching my breast, the other slides up my thigh, under my skirt, two fingers push inside my pants, inside me and finger fuck me to oblivion.

Or maybe you’ll put a finger on my lips, tell me to be quiet, to kneel, you’ll make me wait as you slowly undo your belt – I will be gasping for you, my mouth dropping open, expectant.

Or maybe we’ll fall on the bed, ripping clothes as we struggle to join.

I want to feel your hips buck under me, your cock pulse inside me. All I know for sure is that first time we will still be clothed, our joint impatience predicts it. Then afterwards we peel each other down to the skin and really start to explore.

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On polyamory

I sleep with a few different guys, but I’d never use the word ‘polyamorous’. This is mainly because my selfish brain struggles with the idea of engaging in an actual relationship with multiple boys rather than just shagging them, twatting about and then going for beer and pizza.

Ever in search of the truth about these matters, and a bit of filthy gossip, I asked someone who actually is polyamorous to come along and disagree with me.

Below is my pathetic rambling, and her embarrassingly good response. As ever, feel free to disagree vociferously with either of us, or tell us deliciously sordid things about your own sex life in the comments.

Here’s why I’m not polyamorous

As far as I understand it, poly means you love more than one person – you exist within a group that can have often very complex emotional attachments between multiple people. And that, my friends, sounds bloody hard.

OK, on the up-side, you get to have not just sex but also all the nice relationship-y stuff with more than one person. But on the down-side, you have to invest into each of those people the same amount of time that monogamous people invest in their one-on-one commitments.

It’s difficult enough finding one person to love, let alone two, or three, or sixty-seven. And it’s hard enough keeping one person happy without having to worry that the time you’re spending with number 1 is time you should really be spending with number 2, helping number 3 redraft his CV, or shopping for a present for number 4 because it’s his birthday next week and you want to do something special.

I’m not polyamorous. I’m a slag

Despite people explaining my general sluttery to me by saying “oh, OK, so you’re poly”, it took me a while to figure out that I’m actually not. I am very fond of all of my regular boys, and I’m very grateful to the odd few who are willing to furnish me with one-night stands or occasional play. But I don’t love them all – I don’t have relationships with them all.

To call what I do ‘poly’ is probably deeply offensive to polyamorous people, who take the ‘amorous’ bit seriously and treat their partners like they’re special. Give me a stable full of boys: willing boys, kind boys, beautiful, funny, hot boys of all different shapes, sizes and inclinations. But don’t make me remember their fucking birthdays.

Poly’s usually a two-way street

If I were in a poly relationship I’d become rapidly unstuck – the agreement is such that if I can shag other people, and hang out with other boys, then so can my boys. I have to care for them and make them feel special, and give them attention, and love them like they’re precious. I then have to let these special, precious, hot-fucking things bugger off every now and then and bestow their hotness on people who aren’t me. I categorically hate this.

I think what I’m saying is that poly requires you to a) have emotions and then b) rigidly control them. Which is not only not easy but, I’d argue, an incredibly difficult thing to ask of fallible human beings.

Guest post from LB: Why I am poly

The single most common response when I tell people that I’m poly is “where do you find the time?”

It’s a reasonable assumption when the word for that relationship style literally means “many loves”. To most monogamous people, being poly means that you’re having  serious loving relationships like they do, but lots of them, all at once.

But the truth is – and you might want to sit down for this – I don’t love everyone I’m fucking equally. I don’t love some of them at all. If I had to love everyone equally and spend as much time and emotional energy on all of them, just to get in their pants, I’d be too exhausted to do anything once I was there.

I can’t claim poly is simpler than monogamy; I’m not the Official Poly Ambassador to the Court of St Monogamous, for one thing. But it isn’t necessarily more complex – and complexity isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Poly doesn’t make relationships complex; people do

Poly doesn’t have a monopoly on relationship complexity, or on drama. Everyone knows complex, high-drama monogamous relationships.

Some of the common features of poly relationships actively reduce drama and complexity. There’s generally more, and more honest, communication, and people are encouraged to take greater responsibility for their own needs. When you don’t suspect your girlfriend is interested in someone else, you know she is and you agreed it was OK, the basis for a lot of drama vanishes.

Yes, arranging your diary so you can see all the people you’d like to as often as you’d like is hard – but that’s true for everyone who’s busy. With poly, you just have to remember to pack your toothbrush, some lube and enough clean underwear.

Poly means ‘many options’

Not all relationships are the same, and ‘relationship’ can mean any number of things. But when you’re monogamous your options are (usually) limited.

Monogamous people might have a sexually and emotionally intense fling which  combusts after a month; then a long-term committed romantic relationship; then a matey series of no-strings-attached hook-ups. Poly people can have all of those relationships at the same time – and more unusual relationships too.

Once your relationships aren’t predetermined by societal norms, suddenly everything’s up for negotiation. So, tweak until you get it right: how often will you see each other? Will you fuck, or just do kinky shit? Are you emotionally exclusive or sexually exclusive, or both? What does ‘sexually exclusive’ even mean to the two of you?

If you’re monogamous and your partner hates eating greasy pizza naked while playing first person shooters; is totally disinterested in S/M or anal; or never wants to move in together, you can either suck it up or try to find a new partner that meets all your needs.

You don’t have to make that choice when you’re poly. Because you don’t have to rely on one relationship to meet all your needs, you have a better chance of getting all these needs met – and you don’t have to give up on a perfectly good relationship because it’s not ‘perfect’.

We need to talk about our relationship

This might be where poly really gets its reputation for complexity. Talking about relationships stops being just a good idea and starts being a bloody necessity when you’re involved with more than one person.

Guesswork in relationships is about as successful as it is when you’re trying to get someone off. Talking honestly about what you want, what your partner(s) want(s), and where that crosses over makes it far less likely that anyone will end up hurt or not getting what they need.

I’ll happily sacrifice a little time, some self-examination and some talking to get a range of romantic/sexual/kinky, serious/casual/one-off relationships that meet all my needs. Surely that’s better than a simple life spent missing out on half the things you want?

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Someone else’s story: gay teenagers

I’ve removed this post at the request of the author, as he became nervous about being identified.

Was awesome while it lasted. You can still see other guest contributions, though.