I learned a new word, team, so now I’m going to inflict it on all of you: interoception. It refers to the sense by which you perceive what is currently going on in your body. How do you feel physically? Are you hungry? Does the tickling, dry sensation in your throat mean you’re thirsty? Are you horny, perhaps? Is your left elbow itching? Interoception is perception of your internal physical needs and wants. Even though I’ve only just learned the word, I have actually written about interoception before: this piece on drinking water was deliberately crafted to manipulate your interoception into convincing you that you’d love to drink a nice, cool glass of fresh water. One of my favourite ever posts, about the ache that settles at the entrance to my cunt when I’m desperate to get fucked, is also about this kind of perception. Quite a lot of the stuff I write here is designed to trigger horny feelings, so to heighten those feelings I often lean in to words or phrases (and sometimes specific instructions I want you to follow) to make you tune in to the way your body is feeling, and pay a little extra attention to those parts of it that are yearning to come. I think it’s this kind of perception that helped me learn how to orgasm during PIV sex.

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The second I walk in the door, he’s all over me. Soft lips and firm hands. Rummaging under my clothes and kissing me passionately, before I’ve even had the chance to take off my boots or unclip the panniers from my bike. It’s hurried, urgent, eager. Exactly as I’d seen it in my idle daydreams. I’ve been thinking on this for the last two days, ever since the possibility of it was first floated. A tentative ‘if you’re in the mood for sexy ideas…’ followed by a fantasy of such powerful dominance and laser-targeted kink accuracy it had me squirming in wet knickers at my desk. You bet I’m in the mood. How are you fixed for Sunday? 

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You’ve met this guy before. Possibly the most casual man I’ve ever fucked. Chill. Direct. Horny. Extremely forgiving of the fact that I disappeared for eighteen months into monogamy. The kind of dude who’s happy to pop back when required to deliver great dick without drama. Breaking the seal, if you will. We’re catching up over email and I tell him I’m single now. That I may be emotionally battered but I’ve gained a wicked new story. I don’t outright say that I’d love to get fucked, but he picks up the hint regardless: “Would you like to tell me the wicked story over a pint, then have a ride on my dick?” Fuck yes.

CN: light kink, slapping.

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This gorgeous story about hot hotel sex with a stranger is written and read by Robyn of RobynEatsEverything. 

Remember when I went to that sex club: the one where I sat nude in a hot tub, as bait; the one where I let a group of strangers use my body for their own pleasure; the one where I came hard, sitting on the edge, as a guy sucked on my clit? That actually wasn’t the end of the story…

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I have rarely felt so seen by a guest blog as I do by this one on fucking your ex. Not that I’m going to fuck any of my exes, you understand. Nuh-uh. I probably shouldn’t. Love is an addiction and fucking your ex is like having just a bit of your favourite, favourite thing: like picking up just one cigarette when you’ve quit for three years, then buying a whole pack then another and another… Christ, I felt this blog post resonate in my skin. Please welcome the absolutely brilliant LM, whose last guest post was a searingly gorgeous BDSM love story (and she’s also written about sex supplements and feeling small and cute – check those out too!). Today she is here to talk about fucking your ex. Why you probably shouldn’t… and why she did anyway.

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