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Nocturnal: bareback in the dark
This gorgeous ode to bareback is written and read by Robyn of RobynEatsEverything.
The birdsong outside woke me up before the feel of his hard dick pressing against my back. I was briefly confused; why was there a bird calling outside in the dead of night? I lifted my head briefly to check and yes, it was still dark. The only source of light was seeping from underneath the bathroom door, the light we’d forgotten to turn off hours earlier, before we both fell into bed and each other.
The facile debate about separating art from artist
“Can you separate the art from the artist?” is a ludicrous question, and it’s one I’ve wanted to tackle for a really long time. The answer is both ‘yes’ and ‘no’ depending on the art, the artist and you, the person who consumes it. There are always examples in the media of artists who have fallen from grace (or, less euphemistically, done something so morally repulsive that the idea of listening to their songs/watching their shows/reading their books now feels obscene), and often when a new person turns out to be a wrong ‘un, some thinkpiece or other claims we must learn to ‘separate the art from the artist’, which makes my brain twitch so I throw down a few notes. I’ve never written properly about this, because apparently I’ve never quite found the right fire to burn the whole question to the ground, but I think I’ve got the torch now, so I’m gonna pick it up and hope you join me in the flames. Let’s talk about ‘separating art from artist’, and specifically let’s talk JK Rowling.
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It’s genocide
Some days it doesn’t feel right to publish silly posts about sex, or self-pitying navelgazing about whatever sadness is swirling round in my head. Today is one of those days. In fact, at the moment, every day feels like one of those days. Every single day we wake up to more appalling images from Gaza, of children being deliberately starved. What is happening in Gaza is a genocide. I can’t comprehend how it is possible to see what’s going on and conclude it is anything but. The aid trucks queuing outside the border, refused entry, and the people inside clamouring for food and being met with bullets instead. We are watching a genocide play out on our screens, and our governments are locking people up for stating this obvious fact.
What it feels like to have tits
Almost every guy I have ever dated has told me that if they had tits themselves, they’d spend all day just staring at and playing with them. I am not getting ready to snark, or shame anyone for saying this, in fact I completely understand. Tits are fucking awesome. The thing that makes me horniest about my own body is the excellent rack stuck to the front of it. Although I don’t spend all day groping them or staring (I’m a busy girl), I do spend a fairly sizeable chunk of my time being aware of them – enjoying how they look and feel – so I thought I’d have a go at answering the unspoken question hovering beneath all those comments from all those past boyfriends. Here’s what it feels like to have tits.
Note: I’m a cis woman who has mostly dated cis dudes. I’ve tried not to be too gendered in this because tits are not exclusive to one gender, but my perspective is naturally coloured by my experiences.
Guest blog: Tied and given multiple orgasms
The delight of being restrained isn’t always in the restraint itself, but in what happens while you’re tied up. Such is the case in this stunning scene written by the wonderful Missy of Focused & Filthy. She’s written some fantastic pieces here before, including introducing us to the genius concepts of the cum hat trick and ‘husband sitting‘. So I’m over the moon to welcome her back with this intense, powerful account of being tied up and given multiple orgasms…