How appropriate that this guest blog is due to go live this week, when the UK has been having a sweltering heatwave. I’m editing this on Tuesday but praying that by the time it goes live on Friday we’ll have had a huge thunderstorm or two to clear the muggy air. Something about the weather makes me horny – from sweaty fucking to fantasies about getting whipped on the back of my thighs with ice pops, heat is horny. And now, courtesy of this week’s guest blogger Theodore Bentley, fucking in a thunderstorm becomes sexy too…
This fabulous post about watching her partner suck cock on New Year’s Eve is written and read by Joy As It Flies.
Their cock is a thing of beauty. Just the right length, the perfect thickness, wrapped in his fist and then, when he drops it, landing hard and heavy on the pale expanse of their belly. He lies on his front between their open legs, and as he lowers his head he closes his eyes. They’re rimmed in kohl, dark and wet and glittering with intent, and as he opens his mouth to lick their length his painted lashes flicker against his cheekbones.
This delicious erotic story about fucking in a tube station is written by Nooky, and originally appeared on her website. It is read here by Girl on the Net.
It’s the last tube home, or almost. They’ve drunk enough beer that they haven’t kept track, not quite. Their stop is far enough out, a backwater on a bit of the Central that feels almost bucolic, that no one else gets off except a little old lady in a mauve peacoat who walks slowly off towards the lift.
I’m excited to welcome Ariadne this week, who is here to talk to you about discovering her sexual self with an escort. Since the age of 18, Ariadne had a condition called vaginismus, where the vaginal muscles contract in reaction to any kind of penetration. It is estimated that it affects 2 in every 1000 people, although it is still not commonly discussed. Ariadne’s post is about how her time with an escort helped her to discover sex she truly loved. Although not on Twitter, she is keen to help spread awareness around Vaginismus and would like to direct anyone who’d like to know more to The Vaginismus Network.
Most of what I write is true. But ‘Truth’ itself is much more slippery. Truth with a capital T can never come from the mouth of a single person, and it never comes in the form of a story, because the act of telling a story involves shaping and curating truth: picking which bits stay in and which bits get cut. What makes a story, when it comes to non-fiction, isn’t Truth but perspective.