Is there such a thing as the perfect butt plug? Finding the right one for you is a hell of a fun quest to embark upon, and I always love hearing about people’s sex-nerdy adventures down the sex toy rabbit hole, hunting for exactly the item that’s perfect for them. Today’s guest blogger is back after an incredible opening post about what prostate orgasms feel like, to share some tips and advice on how to choose the perfect butt plug for you. Hopefully it’ll get you thinking not only about what you want from the perfect sex toy, but also pondering (as I now am)… what exactly is the collective noun for butt plugs?

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The first time I kissed a boy was in Geography class at school. We’d been swimming together with friends the weekend before, and he and I had flirted in the way that 13-year-olds do: by splashing each other and then rapidly swimming away, whispering to friends that we fancied each other and hoping those friends would understand their role as ‘messenger.’ I assume this is how most first kisses happen: friends are pivotal in their creation.

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This beautiful true story about hooking up with a hottie is written by Victoria Blisse, and originally appeared on her website. It is read here by Girl on the Net.

When packing for my weekend away, I joked with my hubby about being prepared as I packed a dozen condoms and a full bottle of lube. I didn’t expect sexy times but with ten humans in one house for a celebration, well, the Queen of Smut wanted to be sure any sexy fun times would be catered for.

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Regular readers will know that I’m a sucker for first times: I literally have a blog tag dedicated to all the fabulous stories of people discovering a new sexual thing. It’s thrilling. And this week’s guest blogger – Archibald Q Kaboom in comments – after my recent piece on taking my toyboy to a strip club, was inspired to share a first of his own: his first time in a strip club. He writes with such beautiful clarity and awestruck lust about it that I hope it might prompt some of you to take the plunge on a ‘first’ you’ve been hankering after.

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“There is absolutely no way he’ll text me back,” I tell my friends, the day after an extremely hot date. I can’t really explain why I’m so convinced of this, but I am. In fact, so certain am I that he’ll wake up tomorrow and realise he’s made a mistake that I ask him – while we’re on the date – if I can take a picture to show people how hot the man I shagged was. In case, you know, I never see him again. This is very impolite of me, but he’s game so we take pictures. When I show one of my friends a shot of him – kissing me on the cheek, while I grin inanely to camera – my mate laughs and tell me: “you look like you’ve won a contest.”

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