“This is perhaps the closest I’ve got to one of my own ideas: that of a sex duvet made from soft and strokeable fabric that vocally rumbles as it is touched and that curls around me as I sink into it. My sex robot will be changeable at a whim: perhaps one day a bed made of breasts; another day, a series of vibrating and moving penises that talk dirty to me. Maybe sometimes both. Because that’s the joy of adaptable, personalisable sex robots that aren’t human, that aren’t gendered – they can just be what feels good at a particular time.” – Kate Devlin, Turned On: Science, Sex and Robots

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Sometimes my sexy blogs end with an orgasm. Other times they don’t. Sometimes they are neatly rounded off with a Scrubs-voiceover-style conclusion, wrapping up the whole experience with a neat and quotable line about love or empathy or deep-throating or what have you. But other times I leave them hanging, like on a recent post about getting fucked by a machine which ended just as I started speculating on whether my partner’s dick could fit inside me while I rode it. Someone in the comments said they’d like to know what happened next, and seeing as this is a question I get asked a lot about the sexy blog posts, I thought I’d have a crack at answering it.

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Picture the scene: you’re lying in bed on a Sunday morning, having a coffee and a croissant with your beau or beaus. The doorbell rings, and in walks Louis Theroux. “Can I get you anything?” he asks, as you grin to cover the weird atmosphere and desperately wish you’d had the opportunity to brush your hair or put some fresh knickers on. “Tea? More coffee?” Slightly-too-long pause. “And tell me…” he continues, in his lovably awkward way “Tell me – are you happy?”

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A quick selection of bitesize erotic stories to get you going. All of these are true. If this has whet your appetite and you’d like more sexy stories head to the erotica or audio porn sections…

Him: Do you know what was good?

Me: What?

Him: Last night, when I sat on the floor under the desk and you sat on the chair in front of it naked from the waist down. When you put your feet up on the edge of the desk and then let me eat your cunt for aaaaaages.

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The biggest lie we’re told about love is that the start of it is actually The End. The trial and strife and struggle of your day-to-day smooths out into plain sailing when you’ve someone beside you. You’ve walked into the sunset, and you live there now. It’s warm and calm, like the end of a summer’s day. Both of you have made it and you’re safe. The other relationship myths I’ve been told pale in comparison to this one: that love is easy, once you’re in it.

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