I haven’t felt this brand of rage in a while, so I thought I’d have a go at capturing it while it still flows fresh through my veins. Basically, at the heart of it, I am angry with a man because he wanted to be helpful. He wanted to be helpful so much that he ignored me saying ‘no, please do not be helpful.’ Inevitably, no matter how angry I am at him, I am even more angry with myself. Here’s the thing…

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I have very little truck with entertainment that simply makes me think – I want to read, watch and listen to stuff that makes me fucking feel. And few genres on this planet are more effective at making people feel stuff than porn. Direct, intense, powerful: compelling people to touch themselves, revelling in the sensation of their crotch thudding hot and warm with blood. I adore porn, and in fact I will happily recommend you some fabulous sites if you’d like to buy a sub to get your rocks off (click the ads! And if you can’t see any porn ads, hit refresh until you do!). I don’t actually watch porn while I’m wanking, though, and every now and then I have a conversation with someone in which they look at me like I’m weird when I tell them I can (and usually do) get off without porn. I’m a sex blogger who has access to a lifetime’s worth of free porn! Why aren’t I watching it all the time?! It’s like they feel sorry for me, having to make do with just the thoughts in my head instead of the magic on screen. All the while, I’m feeling sorry for them, because they don’t have access to the kind of content that plays in my own private cinema.

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This bored and ignored scenario is the next in the wank tales series, which I tried to write up to balance out some of the more aggressive and brutal ones. There’s still a lot of desperation/urgency in this one, but way more consent. In the spectrum of what I tend to find hot, this is at the cutest end. 

I’m reading a book. It doesn’t need to be an erotic book, and in fact it’s probably better if it isn’t. Just a book that I’m really absorbed by: perhaps a re-read of one of my favourite page-turners or something brand new by an author I adore. I’m lying across the bed on my stomach with my nose buried in a Kindle. He comes in and lies next to me on the bed.

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Stoya calls them ‘comets’: those people who orbit your life at a distance, occasionally blazing into it for brief yet bright moments of sexy joy, before whooshing off back to their own. I don’t think it’s always easy to be a great comet – it requires a tricky balance of charm and composure. You need the ability to connect well in a short space of time combined with a casual detachment that allows you to say a cheery goodbye without worrying you’ll be forgotten the second you’re out of sight. I think it’s tough to be a good comet, but let me tell you about a brilliant one of mine.

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Remember my free use secretary from about a month ago? How she got fucked in the middle of a job interview while doing a sterling job of pretending it was completely normal to get railed over your prospective boss’s desk while discussing salary expectations? Remember how we’ve talked about my kink for misogyny and the fact that it manifests in fantasies but should never be practiced in real life outside of a safe (and consensual) playspace? OK sweet. Well, she’s back. This is the next in the wank tales series. There are multiple free use secretary scenarios (catch the third, like wank-fantasy-Pokémon, if you support me on Patreon). This one’s called ‘the phone call’, and it features dubious consent (possibly coerced, maybe outright non-consent, I’ve tried to write in some consent cues but it’s borderline), plus other things that might be triggering to some people like choking, voyeurism and aggressively entitled posh bankers called Tarquin.

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