Cosy

I went to the shop with the intention of buying some black lace. I came out with an oh so soft brushed cotton sleep suit. It’s my new favourite thing! And so much better for January evenings spent hibernating on the sofa. It might not be what I had in mind, but I think there might be something sexy about being cosy…

Sinful Sunday

Wake me?

A hotel room. A fresh white bed begging to be ruined. Are you going to stay there enjoying the view or are you going to wake me? 

It’s the 300th Sinful Sunday this weekend and what an amazing meme it is. I’ve made so many new friends and had so many fun adventures because of it. Thank you Molly! 

Sinful Sunday

Champagne

Year end. Another orbit of the sun completed. My blog is a hobby. And what a happy hobby it is! So many wonderful people I’ve met as a result. Happy things that have happened this year because of this blog:

  • Encouraging various beautiful people to run around naked in the woods. Yes, I actually have a ‘woodland’ tag on my blog!
  • The reflections section of my writing  gives me space to chew over things that are important to me and helps me to structure my thoughts in a way I didn’t before.
  • Trying things I’d never even have thought about. Like getting naked in the Royal Festival Hall.

Thank you to everyone who has so enthusiastically participated in this blog, in front of or behind the camera, to those who take the time to encourage me with your comments, and everyone who reads it. Special big love to Molly and Marie Rebelle who run my two favourite memes and do so much to surpport and encourage everyone, and to F Dot Leonora for getting me involved in the 365 project – it’s been fun (most of the time!).

Happy New Year everyone, I hope 2017 is kind to you. Now, let’s drink champagne…

Sinful Sunday

One more time…

I’m on a train. The plan was to spend the three hours to North Wales working out my finances and how to pay for £7000’s worth of work to the outside of my house that’s needed next year. Then Exhibit A tweeted this and suddenly I had a much more interesting diversion. 

Happily, a notebook that carries everything from plans for travel adventures to what I spent on carpets and paint also has a list of everyone I’ve ever fucked (more on that later). I flicked to the page and running my eyes up and down the list I realised there was no way I could pick just one. So here’s four.

D: I wouldn’t give him the title of first love. First love has a sweet comforting ring to it and people’s tone frequently shifts when they speak about first loves. But he was the first man I fucked. April 1st 1994, and while I wouldn’t call it love I was definitely a fool for him. Three years older than me and, to my mind, unspeakably cool, I’d been crushing on him for a year or more by the time we fucked. I can’t remember much about the sex that night (I was just relieved to have got it over and done with, being the last in my close circle of friends to reach that milestone) but I can remember details from the months and years after as we hooked up while at home for uni holidays. He was unreliable and a total slut (which 19-year-old me could neither understand nor cope with), but he was arty and intense and bloody exciting. He’d push me into other people’s garden walking home from the pub, we fucked in graveyards and secretly in other people’s bedrooms at parties, he pushed me onto the kitchen floor at my parents’ house and bit my tits until the dog came to interrupt! We’d talk about photography and music for hours. He also casually and without fuss removed a tampon the second time we had sex; to this day I still say the occasional silent thank you to him for being the man who normalised period sex from the get go. I can’t remember the last time we fucked, but it would have been at some point during 1996. Twenty years on, oh my God, I totally totally would. 

N: This one is tricky. I don’t know if I would actually fuck him again or whether hindsight just makes me wish we’d had more adventures when we were together. N has been my one big big love to date, the guy I lived with during my early/mid twenties. There was so much good about us and so much not so good. For all the love and intensity, common ground and fun, he definitely didn’t bring out the best in me. To this day, a hangover of what I became in that relationship makes me shy away from ‘big love’. We met through a mutual friend when we were 23 and the attraction and chemistry was instant. He was the first man to make me come with his tongue and I still remember how bloody surprised and elated I was. The sex was always amazing – the kind where occasionally the emotion can overwhelm you and leave you choking on tears, not because anything’s wrong but because everything is right. Even when our relationship was on its last legs and during the very last time in a hotel room in Paris, sex still rocked. One of my current frustrations is I am only now exploring things that I wish I had in my twenties and early thirties. I get cross with myself that I wasted so much time. When I think back to moments N and I had I wish I hadn’t got shy, giggled and wriggled out of the (badly tied!) restraints in that hotel in Chester. I wish that instead of always fucking to the sex scenes in mainstream movies we’d watched some decent porn together. I wish I could tell younger me to not worry so much, that these are not odd things to do and to just get on with it!

J: I was dating J for around eight months two years ago. He was lovely and kind and thoughtful and intelligent. And he had a tiny cock. I mean so tiny you couldn’t really see it in his hair if he wasn’t erect. To use his words, he wanted to ‘warn’ me about this (happily with no sense of shame or embarrassment) and he made it clear that sex with him wouldn’t really involve cock. That partnership taught me a lot about assumptions and understanding what can give me pleasure and taught me about a whole different aspect of body positivity. He was one of the most confident lovers I’ve had and with him I had the most intense mind blowing orgasms of my life. I’ve always known my arms were one of the most sensitive parts of my body but he somehow made them feel liquid. I still think about the magic he could weave with his tongue and fingers and if I find anyone who can tell stories as filthy and hot half as well has he did I’d be very very happy. We came to an abrupt and premature end because of unreasonable and controlling behaviour from his primary partner which I wasn’t prepared to accommodate, but I still miss some of our moments. 

K: K is a friend. A good good friend. I’ve had more open and honest conversations about fantasies and kinks with him than any other friend or partner. We once shook on a plan to go to a sex party together if, by an agreed date, we hadn’t found a partner to go with. On a few occasions we’ve rolled drunkenly into bed after a crazy nights out, but never really been sober enough to get our shit together in any coordinated way! He has a special place in my heart though, not least for breaking a significant drought a few years back and for, at the grand old age of 40, giving me another first. It was over a predictably drunken dinner at mine he encouraged me to write the list I’ve been reading on this train journey. He expressed envy at a threesome I added to the list. “I’m 40, I should have had a threesome by now,” he said. “What’s on your ‘I’m 40, I should have done that’ list?” he asked. “Anal,” I answered, not missing a beat. “Well we can’t sort my threesome out tonight, but we can tick yours off,” he replied. So we did. Brilliantly spontaneous and perfectly relaxed. He lives in another country now and is gloriously and deeply in love. As sure as you can be of anything, I’m pretty certain there won’t be any drunken fucking again. But it doesn’t mean I don’t wonder what a lazy sober afternoon in bed would have been like. 

So those are the four I’d revisit. But if I really really had to choose just one, it would be D. But it’s all in my imagination now so why limit myself to one? 

O Christmas Tree

O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree!
Much pleasure thou can’st give me;
How often has the Christmas tree
Afforded me the greatest glee!
O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree!
Much pleasure thou can’st give me.

O Christmas Tree

It’s not much of a secret that I love everything about Christmas. I especially love the tree. When I was young my Mum wouldn’t let us have the tree up before Christmas Eve so my birthday on the 23rd wouldn’t be overshadowed by Christmas. I was always jealous of friends whose houses were decorated early in the month and, much to my mother’s consternation, in adulthood I rebel and put my tree up as early in December as possible.

I have many happy memories connected to my tree. Decorating it with a friend before sinking too deeply into the gloriously sickly combination of Quality Street, prosecco and Love Actually. Writing into the small hours of the morning because I love the intimacy of writing by fairy light. In the early days of December when the tree is still a novelty, getting up early when I don’t need to, just so I can enjoy the lights before daylight breaks. Me drifting off into a fantasy that someone was photographing us as, in front of the tree, you pushed my head down and I felt your cock harden in my mouth. The tree framing the scene as I admire my legs over your shoulders and framing your face, which to me seems to become more handsome as time passes. And I like to just lie there alone, bathed in light and enjoying the quiet reflection the tree seems to encourage.

Read and look at other entries for Exhibit A’s Christmas meme here

Sinful Sunday