One of the inherent difficulties with dating blog readers (and I should note here that I have not done much of it) is that by the time you’ve asked GOTN on a date, there is very very little I can do to make you not want to fuck GOTN. I can turn up, as I always do, looking like a bag of shit. I can get messy drunk and say things that are awkward or uncool. I can sweat like a horse at the Grand National because we’re no longer in the depths of winter but I enjoy a lovely jumper nonetheless. And yet still… you’ve read my blog. You liked my blog. You enjoyed the filth I post so much that you invited me out on a date. So I have a dilemma, which is that I can never really tell if you genuinely like me, or like GOTN.

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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.

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I don’t know why I feel it’s important to tell you this is a true story. Perhaps because I find things even hotter if they’re true. Perhaps because I like to dream that I, one day, might be rescued by a hot dude and then seduced so skilfully he has me laid flat and breathless with lust somewhere. Either way, this is a true story by Leda Marshall about an extremely hot après-ski experience, and it had me weak with horn. Enjoy!

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The joy of fantasy and erotica is that you can live out scenarios which you may not be able to do in real life – or might hope for in the future, but which haven’t happened to fall into your lap yet in quite the right way. Today’s guest blogger, Sameerah from Erotics and Whatnot, is here to tell you a story about impulsive sex and the single woman. When she meets a guy on the bus, she’s offered a flash of opportunity. And this time, she might just reach out to take it…

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I should probably not get into the habit of telling you stories that haven’t happened yet, but something about the thrill of this was almost – almost – hornier than having actual sex. It started with a conversation at a party, one that involved me whispering something in someone’s ear. Something that started with ‘this might sound weird’ and ended with the words ‘…please ruin me.’

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