Ever wondered what it’s like to star in a sex blog? Or been curious to meet one of the men who’s inspired so much of the filth on these pages? Now’s your chance – this week I published an interview with one of my amazing dudes: the Bracelet Game guy.
Do you have a blog where you post erotic stories? Would you like to turn your erotica into audio porn? Here’s how to get involved with the audio porn project.
This call for submissions is slightly different to previous rounds – please read the guidelines below and follow the instructions carefully if you’d like to submit.
I want to say something that feels simultaneously extremely obvious yet also a little like heresy: you don’t know me. I don’t know you either, but that feels far easier to say without squirming. My job relies on complete strangers reading and enjoying my work, and although there are many ways for a blogger to do that, the way I do it is by offering you honesty and intimacy. You get to see a little way inside my life, and my head, and if you like that sort of thing you’ll stay. Share my stuff. Maybe follow me on Twitter or support me on Patreon. Maybe message me your sex secrets or send me long emails because you fancied a chat. But the tricky thing here is that no matter how you engage, you don’t know me. And I don’t know you.
If you’ve ever tried to hunt down my Real Life Identity, you probably know one thing for sure: my name is not Sarah. Sarah is the name I used in my books, and it’s the one I use when talking to journalists about sex blogging, if they aren’t comfortable calling me ‘Girl’ or ‘GOTN’. It’s the helpful comfort blanket I wrap around myself to maintain my anonymity: a tasty morsel of reality with which to distract people who might look further. But there comes a point when ‘helpful’ nudges into ‘deceptive’ territory. Notably, when I’m shagging someone.
I didn’t publish a blog post yesterday, and that’s not because I have no blog posts or stories to tell. It’s because every draft I have looks like it could be terrible, and my brain refuses to kick out anything that seems even vaguely ‘OK.’ In a normal week, I write two new posts, record one new piece of audio and edit a piece of guest audio, write commissioned content for other sites (I’ve recently written up this incredible NSFW shower scene for FrolicMe, which was a genuine highlight of my January), and generally churn out word after word after word to keep everything ticking over. But at the moment I feel like I’ve forgotten how to write. And that’s a little bit scary.