I strive to be a good person. I want most people to walk away from interactions they have with me thinking ‘oh, she was nice.’ Whether through anxiety, paranoia or genuine desperation to be liked, I try quite hard to not piss good people off.
But I also probably want your boyfriend to finger me.
“SHORTS,” my brain screams, irritatingly. “LOOK. MEN WEARING SEXY SHORTS.” Try as I might to shut it up, it refuses to be silenced on the most important issue of the day. “LOOK,” it insists, even as I try to distract myself by remembering my times tables, “THERE ARE SEXY LEGS ALL OVER THE PLACE. SHORTS. LOOK AT THE SEXY SHORTS.” So I comply. I drink it in. And I melt with lust.
When I was young, I wore a dog collar. A literal, actual dog collar of the kind you could buy from any old pet shop. Black leather, studded: the kind you’d use if you wanted your dog to look slightly menacing. I desperately wanted my boyfriend to clip a leash through the metal loops and pull my face onto his cock while I sucked him. But he never did.
Sometimes it’s obvious that a particular scenario will be hot to me. If it fits the template of most of my other fantasies – me in submission, being beaten or used in order to get someone off: tick. If it involves a vast quantity of spunk, or a belt, or a group of eager men: tick. I frequently embrace problematic fantasies – where ‘problematic’ roughly equates to ‘something I’d never want to happen in real life.’ Other times I’ll use fantasy to try out new kinks – in order to work out if something is going to press my buttons, I need to think about it for a while. Close my eyes, picture the scenario in my head, and thoughtfully frig myself off while I try a new fantasy on for size.
This post includes frank discussion of sexual fantasies that include extreme BDSM, and rape fantasies.
Once a month blood trickles from my vagina. I do beg your pardon for this – I know I should hide my monthly shame from you, because this is a sex blog and menstruation is grotesque, so I should really only talk about it in whispers. But it’s worth mentioning because a new product has arrived on the market that could mean I never have to show evidence of menstruation ever again – even when I am shagging the guy I am closest to in the whole wide world! Joy! Celebration! Let’s all pretend that periods don’t happen because if we think about it too much we’ll never fuck again!