It’s delightful when someone pitches me a guest blog idea that has never been covered on the blog before, so when today’s anonymous contributor (who has written beautifully before about butt plugs and prostate orgasms) offered to write about intimate jewellery, I leapt at the chance. The subtle hotness of jewellery that is hidden somewhere no one else can see is incredible, especially when that jewellery has extra-special significance…

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This fabulous erotic fiction piece about romantic outdoor sex is written by Spencer Pritchard, and read aloud by Luke. 

Your train pulls up to the platform and those butterflies in your stomach, subdued by the inevitable delays, suddenly leap back in to life and begin their merry dance again. Will I be on the platform, waiting with a crass sign in hand, your pseudonym bold black tarnishing the virginity of the white card it’s printed on? Will I be sat outside in a hire car, listening to the radio and only notice you stood there after 5 long minutes? Will I have got tired of waiting for the late train to arrive and headed to the small lochside bungalow alone, leaving you to make your own way, each one of the thousands of butterflies slowly dying as the seconds pass on the long journey?

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There’s a documentary currently running on All4 called ‘My Massive ****’ – it’s about living with a huge dick and dealing with some of the down-sides of having one. I’m not here to rant about the concept (which is interesting), but I think there is a huge problem with the show itself, and it annoyed me enough that I’m bumping today’s planned post to Wednesday, so I can spend a little time yelling at Channel 4. Because although C4 does often have some great sex output, this particular programme is appalling from a consent perspective. It treats some pretty extreme consent violations like they’re one big joke, and fails to mention that in some cases violations of this kind may well be against the law. This problem could (and should) have been spotted and solved long before this show aired. Channel 4, please sort your shit out.

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I’ve written quite a lot about anxiety here on the blog, but I don’t think I’ve ever written anything as beautiful as this guest blog on performance anxiety. The way he captures the minutiae of life intruding on sexual pleasure, then zooms out to place those in the context of larger existential panics – it properly punched me in the heart. If you’re thinking of pitching me a guest blog but you’re nervous, please read this and see that you don’t always have to focus on one specific story, or give a super-comprehensive and detailed piece of advice: sometimes the best sex writing is about capturing a feeling, articulating it beautifully, and then sharing it to help other people feel a little less alone.

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It’s pitch black in my bedroom. Weirdly, so much darker than it usually is. Perhaps a streetlight is out, or maybe I’ve finally managed the perfect seal on my blackout curtains, so not a sliver of London night sneaks through. Either way, it’s dark. He’s lying naked next to me, big hands sliding smoothly down my body, soft lips on mine, cock growing hard in my hand. And although I’m going to try and tell you parts of this story in the sexy/atmospheric way in which I’ve begun this post, you’ll have to excuse me if the odd burst of glee breaks through, because on this special night I managed something truly remarkable for me: I gave a guy a hand job to orgasm!

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