Goths of the world, unite! Then disband again! Because actually it’s a little bit awkward meeting so many people! And we’re all a bit too warm in these clothes and we’d really rather be hiding in the basement!

I am shit at summer. I suck at being on the beach, I am appalling at barbecues, and although I can certainly appreciate a sweaty guy in a too-tight summer t-shirt, in general I find my libido plummeting with every increase in temperature.

It. Is. Shit.

Some bits of summer are passably good. Shall we go to sit in a pub beer garden? YES. Shall we have an ice-cream? YES. Shall we fuck like it’s the end of the world and our orgasm might stave off Armageddon? NO OH GOD FUCK OFF.

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What is the ultimate, best kind of sex? Oh, sure, we all have our favourite positions and our ultimate fantasies: bucket-list fucks with hot celebrities or specific sex toys we’ve always wanted to try. I have plenty of these myself. But is there one thing, above all others, that I’d give my eye-teeth to do?

Yes.

I would like for two dudes to fuck me in a very specific way: the spitroast. And I don’t just mean me sucking on one gent while the other fucks me from behind. I mean a properly co-ordinated spitroast: all three of us moving in harmony, so that the force with which the first guy fucks my mouth pushes me more tightly back onto the other person’s dick.

And vice versa.

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The first time someone put their face in my crotch and grinned at the strong, heady, end-of-the-day scent of my cunt, it was a bit of a revelation. I’d always assumed that the best state for a cunt to be in was clean as a whistle – and by clean I mean utterly stripped of character, cleansed, perfumed, and presented so perfectly that you wouldn’t be able to tell one neat one from another.

Uniformity and cleanliness: as if novelty and natural scent can never be as sexy as something personal.

Obviously that’s not true, and what’s more it’s a bit upsetting that we’re so often told to eradicate any hint of scent from our personal bits, lest our lovers should get their faces close and get to do that sexy *sniff* *sigh* thing that shows just how erotic our cunt smell can be.

Today I’m going to talk about knicker-sniffing, and I should warn you that this blog’s going to go into a fair bit of detail about dirty pants, as well as contain minor plot-based spoilers for Orange Is The New Black. Which is, umm, quite the combination.

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I can’t remember when it was, but I hit a certain age and my parents and grandparents switched from ‘try not to get pregnant!’ to ‘quick, have babies NOW!’ My mind hasn’t quite followed their logic, but I am dimly aware that there are reasons to have sex alongside the fact that it’s really bloody fun, and this week’s guest blogger is going to tackle one of them. Namely: having sex in order to get pregnant.

His blog warmed the cockles of my otherwise ice-cold heart, and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did.

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I once knew a guy with the best orgasm face in the entire world. He really let himself go – screwing up his eyes, opening his mouth, and tensing seemingly every muscle he had. It was sexy, and utterly involuntary, as if his orgasm was being milked out of his dick even as he tried to hold it back. Hot as fuck.

My own? I have no idea – many’s the time I’ve tried to catch the look on my face at the moment of orgasm – usually when fucking in front of a mirror. Luckily, no guy’s ever caught me doing this. Unluckily, like Scroedinger’s cat, the very act of observing it will alter its state. Just as you can never take an un-posed selfie, so you can never look at your own face at the point of climax without either killing the orgasm or making subtle changes to your own expression.

I used to worry deeply about my orgasm face. Occasional comments from guys that I looked, you know, like I’d simultaneously been electrocuted and handed a winning lottery ticket, meant that I feared killing the sexiest moments with a face like the winner of a gurning championship. For some reason this occasionally translated into closing my eyes for a fairly large proportion of a shag. Like a toddler who believes they can’t see you if you can’t see them – I’d assume that my partner would follow the cues and close their eyes too.

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