For me, kink and sex are like ice cream and coffee

Ok, let me explain.

I need to go back to the first time I visited a BDSM club.

I was standing, with my jaw tense, in a tight black dress with open side panels and clumpy patent leather boots. Grasping a drink tightly, in slightly sweaty hands.

It was my first time in a BDSM club, and I had had my eyes opened WIDE already in the first ten minutes …watching people arrive in the most eye-popping outfits, from baby-clothes to gimp masks. I was excited, and full of anticipation.

Continue reading “For me, kink and sex are like ice cream and coffee”

Maybe it’s ok to not have sex at a sex party

I sat on a bar stool, my blonde, hair-sprayed hair falling into my eyes, feeling slightly swimmy from my fourth gin and tonic.

The lights were dim. Cabaret music swirled, and flashes of nipples, sequins, and chest hair were intermittently visible when I glanced up through my mascara-ed eyelashes.

Colourful tinsel

I wasn’t watching the cabaret. Instead, I was scribbling on a small slip of paper. Continue reading “Maybe it’s ok to not have sex at a sex party”

Ah, there it is. My kinky side.

January has been a good month with lots to appreciate… except for, there’s been very little sex and no kink! February started with me changing that story. Here’s how that happened.

January saw me going on several beautiful walks in the countryside with good friends; some really lovely dates and evenings in with my partner; a nice session with my other partner at his place.

The first few weeks of my new job feel like they went …OK? I think. I concentrated really hard on taking it slowly and consciously and not allowing myself to run off in all directions or cave to outside pressure to DO STUFF before planning it. I think that paid off, as I now feel pretty calm and in control of what’s quite a difficult programme of work. Continue reading “Ah, there it is. My kinky side.”

Am I the only one who gets horny when I’m sick?

I don’t mean…when I have glandular fever or monovirus or food poisoning or something, obviously.

Just, like, the way I am now, with a cold that has laid me on the couch for the last 24 hours, stuffed up and fatigued with a fuzzy head and – OK, I know- a lot of snot.

Slightly ill. Not proper sick.

It’s definitely not stopping me feeling horny. Which is weird- you’d think that your body would shut that down so you can concentrate on getting better. Continue reading “Am I the only one who gets horny when I’m sick?”

The Canidae Society: Chapter 1 (a weird porno story I’m making up)

“Got enough layers on?’ Ben asked, as I pulled on my gloves.

I smiled. “It’s freezing outside! And you know me, I barely run fast enough to work up a sweat.”

He pulled me close, running his hand over my hips and then slowly. Tracing the line of my round buttocks, in their tight, black, stretchy coating.

My running trousers are, truth be told, very tight.

He bent down and his lips brushed mine. I closed my eyes and leaned into his warm body.

“You could just stay here and exercise, in bed, with me…”

I pulled away, and tuck my door key into the zip pocket of my hoodie. “Hmmm. You know I like it when you go on top, and just lying there being fucked isn’t going to give me what I need. Well, not in terms of a cardio workout, anyway…”

He laughed, slapped my ass, and leaned back to recline on the sofa, turning up the TV as I closed the front door behind me. He’d already done his exercise for the day, as he cycles miles to work and back every day. Get this over and done with, I thought, and I can get back and snuggle in bed with Ben.

We’d been together three years, and still I looked forward to our messy, vigorous, experimental sex sessions.

The sex was miles better than it had been with anyone else before. Although I’d thought I knew it all in my late twenties, since I’d met him, I was learning new things about myself and my sexual tastes.

Like how much I loved being fucked in the ass, slowly feeling his hard, thick cock enter me from behind. While I rubbed my slippery clit, feeling myself get so wet…

And how much I liked being called certain names, whispered in my ear, while he firmly pinned both my arms behind my head…Slut. Whore.

I shook my head.

Come on, Melita. Get moving.

I plugged my earphones into my ears as I turn out of my front gate.

Pressed ‘play’ on some poppy, fun techno music, and wedged my earphones firmly in my ears. I’d tied my long, dark blonde hair up into a tight plait, to keep it out of my eyes while I ran.

Wow. It’s dark. Winter is well and truly hitting, I thought as I began to jog down my road, away from the house.

I suddenly wished I’d worn more reflective gear. I’d planned to run on the cycle path through the local park, which circumvented the city centre.

Now I realised I wasn’t really visible enough in the dark, dressed as I was.

And cyclists around here were insanely fast. People sometimes got hit, and injured, by crazed dudes wearing Lycra and speeding along, thinking they were in the Tour de France.

A cyclist approached me now, luminous-jacketed, head down. I took a snap decision, and swung a right hand turn, away from the busy cycle route and towards the Ashleywood Road.

It was mostly industrial landscape down there, by the river and the scrubby woods that people walked their dogs in. Apart from dog walkers, I would probably have it mostly to myself, I reasoned.

It was immediately very dark.

Away from the street lights, next to the silent factory car parks. I had to slow down for a second to let my eyes adjust.

I was getting into my stride now. I felt my leg muscles ease into the run, and the sway of my hips as I loosened up. Sped up. Running, not jogging.

Trees rose up in the dark around me, mostly stripped of their leaves.

It was a little spooky…. but I reasoned with myself. Nothing to be scared of.

My stride was even, and my music was providing me with a steady beat, so that I didn’t slow down as I sprinted up the steps. The steps led up to the bridge, over the silent Ashleywood River.

The moonlight bounced off the river as I took the last step and arrived at the top. Ahead of me was a dark patch of ground, shadowy, the bridge rising up out of the darkness. All criss-cross metal and concrete and graffiti.

Something else- not the moon- glinted in the dark. In the shadows.

The momentum of my run carried me forwards before I could pause.

The music pounded in my ears. It sounded weirdly incongruous against the silence, as I stopped, startled, and then froze.

Standing in the shadows was a figure.

It looked like… a tall man.

In a suit. With a …wolf mask on?!

I collected myself. Realised that I needed to just keep running. Whatever the hell this weird dude was doing in the shadows, getting away from him seemed like the best option.

In that split second, as I thought about moving past this man, I was acutely aware of the tightness of my black running trousers.

They didn’t seem like such a good idea now.

I felt very exposed, knowing that the man would be able to run his eyes- from behind that fucking creepy wolf mask– over every curve of my legs and buttocks, as I turned my back on him.

I steeled my resolve, and turned smartly on one foot.

Broke into a fast run.

Stepped one foot onto the arched, metal bridge. Caught sight of the moonlit water, rushing below me.

That was where I was, still, a split second later.

When I heard, from behind me, a loud howl.

What the f-

And, a second later, an answering howl came.

I ripped the headphones out of my ears and stood, fists clenched. Listening, breathing hard, frozen in fear.

The other howl was coming from in front of me. From the opposite side of the bridge.

Whoever, whatever was making that noise… I was trapped between them.

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I’ve been thinking about writing this story down for a while. It’s an elaborate fantasy I’ve been concocting for myself over weeks. This is part 1.