Note: this piece tackles some stuff about femininity, womanhood, and ‘worth’. I do not believe that any of the things I say about ‘good girl points’ are true and I don’t encourage you to believe or internalise them. But as with all weird notions, sometimes you have to state it to slate it, so I’m allowing myself to be a bit more open about the dark beliefs that power a lot of my decisions, especially in light of some Twitter discussion I’ve seen about why you shouldn’t just keep trying to be ‘good’ and ‘liked’ all the time. Rest assured I’m working on these things.

The other day, at about 11pm, a guy offered to walk me to the train station. We’d been having a lovely evening together – eating dinner that he’d cooked for me because he knows it’s one of my favourites, watching a weird film that we’d chosen together because he cares about my opinion, then enjoying a teasing blow job because when we started getting horny I specifically requested that he let me be ‘playful’ for a bit. It was fabulous. I felt very content. Very… what’s the word? Very heard. Valued. Appreciated. But when it came time for me to head home, he offered to walk me to the station, and this objectively kind gesture made me deeply uncomfortable.

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I’ve been focusing a little more on audio porn in 2022 than I did in 2021, with the help of an incredible team of writers, readers and Patreons. So to entertain you during this weird little bit between Christmas and New Year, I thought I’d do a round-up of some of the fabulous audio porn that has been published here in 2022.

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This story contains elements of dormophilia (i.e. wanting people to touch me up while I sleep), all very consensual. Don’t do this sort of thing unless you have discussed in advance with your partner and you’re sure that they would enjoy it.

The night before Christmas, he tiptoes into the bedroom to make sure he doesn’t wake me, but he doesn’t need to be that careful: I pretend to be asleep anyway. Lying on my stomach, head turned away from the door he’s just entered through, I keep my breathing soft and calm and make out that I’m sleeping. If he knows I’m awake he might try to talk to me, and at that point sleep will be impossible. Besides, if he thinks I’m out for the count, it’ll be way hotter if he tries to do The Thing I Like. I’m wearing my silk knickers, just in case. I really want him to do it.

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When we start to kiss, I’m on my tiptoes. Stretching up to meet his lips, soft and floaty and slightly off-balance. We exist in this tiny, horny bubble in his kitchen, surrounded by jangly tunes and the smell of something spiced for dinner. I’m on tiptoes when we start to kiss.

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Picture the scene: it’s late December in the year 1998. You’re a thirteen year old girl. You wear glasses and have extremely greasy hair, you wear your school uniform exactly as dictated by the rules, and you’re good at Maths and Science. Ergo: you fucking suck. Everyone hates you and no boy will ever snog you, no matter how much Impulse body spray you cover yourself in. Against this backdrop, you are in love with your very best friend – a boy who has the voice of a genuine angel. It’s the school Christmas Talent Show, and this boy – the one you think about to make your crotch give you those New Special Feelings – takes the stage. He stands at the microphone and clears his throat. The first few chords of a song you recognise start blaring through the assembly-hall speakers, and your soul soars in anticipation. Then he opens his perfect perfect mouth, this sexy boy, and with a breath that carries straight into the depths of your miserable, bullied soul, he sings the following words…

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