Sex – the unwritten (and fairly fluid) contract.

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It occurred to me the other day that we enter into a sexual relationship with very little idea of what lies ahead of us. For the guys, their hope is for a thoroughly satisfying orgasm.  For ladies, the same would be nice, but add to that some respect, tenderness and hopefully a dash of fun too. Sex doesn’t have to be serious…

No, when we close the door (in most cases, but not all) we cross mental fingers and fervently hope that the evening won’t be a total disaster. Orgasms and fun would be nice. Erectile dysfunction, puking and unsanitary messes are not on the list, thank you.

That’s all expected – and sometimes it goes almost to plan. But what of the route to that final, satisfying sigh? What of the methods used to bring each other to that happy non-faked place?

If we’re assuming two complete strangers at this tryst, then only fumbling, trial and error will establish each other’s roles and preferences. But what if the guy is on the submissive side? What if the dark-haired, black-outfitted woman who agreed to come home with him isn’t the handcuff-packing dominatrix he visualised, but a meek librarian (no disrespect to librarians) who only wants a father figure to seduce and use her? Can you picture the scene where both await the touches of the other – but nothing happens? Such a let-down.

And even once the clothes do come off, who agrees on the oral fun? Who goes first? Foreheads could bruise if both parties drop to their knees at the same time.

Have you ever had one of those encounters where the guy just won’t go down on you, no matter how much pressure you apply to the top of his head? Or where he’s determined that missionary is best, even though you desperately need to be taken doggy-style?

I know that many of you will say that communication is the key here, but unless you are the assertive sort, it may be felt that to insist (i.e. hint strongly by tweaking your lover’s ears – or genitals!) on something will upset the other party. Gentle ushering, begging, making doe eyes and saying ‘please lick me…for at least eight to ten minutes and only then may you enter me using position B’ is one way, but it’s a tad clinical, wouldn’t you say?

Another useful method is to coo into his ear that you are loving what he is doing (still trying to get his socks off), but it would just be so HOT if he would just do one little thing (get on the same side of the sheets as you / insert favourite pleasure here).

It’s obvious that working everything out beforehand isn’t feasible (or sexy – unless you’re an accountant or a quantity surveyor) but we stumble into new clinches with very little idea of what we’re doing – or how the other person is wired up.

Anything could happen!

But, then, isn’t the thrill of the unknown all part of the fun? 😀

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Cybersex…not practical on the hole.

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Recently, I had my first cybersex experience.

I know, what’s taken me so long?  Why have I only plunged my sticky little digits into it now?

Well, to be truthful, it never really appealed. It seemed a bit like watching pornography, but without the images…or the sound. And there was the trust issue too. How on earth do you know that the other person is really doing what they say they are doing?  As far as I know, they and their twenty drunken friends could be sitting in the pub with a smartphone winding me up as I typed out my gasps and moans.

As for the pay off…it’s still a lot like masturbating to a magazine article. I’d rather lie back in my bed, spread my legs wide and conjure up a fantasy involving sixteen firemen…

But late one Wednesday evening, something extraordinary happened.  I was chatting on Facebook with a lady friend – someone with whom I’d exchanged sexual experiences via email when the urge just came upon me (pun intended). I was still feeling horny from my latest MFF short story and as per my ‘get it done, girl’ rules, I do not allow myself to jill off until I have closed down my laptop and retired to bed. Otherwise, sheesh, I’d have carpal tunnel syndrome and some very chapped lips.

But on this night, my friend and I were chatting privately and the subject got a little steamy…starting with the weather in our respective parts of the world and what we were wearing.

I was still in my light weight bathrobe which hides almost nothing; she was in her jammies. The chat went from there. I told her how horny I was feeling and why and she encouraged me to go right ahead and have some fun. I was so wet that I could barely resist. But once those two favourite fingers touched my slippery flesh, I was lost. Legs parted, my robe fell open and I pinched my nipples mercilessly until I squealed. My fingers circled my nub, slipped inside several times until every digit was shining with wetness.

And during all this, I was relating what I was up to across the world-wide web…one handed. Now, I know that there is a certain element of trust required here, but she told me that she was so turned on by what I had just typed that she had slipped off her jammies and was following suit. She even asked how I was touching myself and did the same.

Masturbation for me normally consists of privacy, a warm bed and my eyes tightly closed as I conjure up a scenario that inevitably ends up as the plot for my next short story. But to touch myself, eyes wide open, whilst typing? It just didn’t seem practical with two (then three) fingers buried inside my intimate parts.  But it turns out that my orgasm was probably delayed by several minutes as a result of the constant tiny interruptions – and was probably twice as nice.

And so, after about fifteen minutes, I had a sticky keyboard, legs in different time zones and a burning need to come. I tried to delay my approaching pleasure, but my fingers paid me no heed, circling and pressing and slipping across my lips until I could stand the denial no longer.  Something kicked off deep within my body and IT WAS HERE!!!

I did the unforgiveable. I went off-line for about three (maybe four minutes) as I finished off with several bucks, my fingers well up to the third knuckle by now and a deep almost cramp-inducing shudder that left me panting and wheezing. ‘Wow’ was the only word I was capable of forming at that point.

The laptop went ‘plink’ as a new message arrived and I realised that I’d been unforgivably rude towards my distant friend. But she laughed, well aware of why I’d disappeared, referring to it as ‘mopping up time’. She continued, with my encouragement, to have fun at her end, using her fingers as I guided her. She found a new way to touch herself in the process and…suddenly went off-line. 😀

I have to admit that it was a novel and heartwarming experience, sharing something like that with a distant friend. We’ve done it once more, but since the second time didn’t have the same forbidden naughtiness as the first, we both felt that there probably won’t be any more.

But I do feel a lot closer to her as a result, because of that shared and unique experience.

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PS Isopropyl alcohol works wonders on sticky keys – it’s available from Radio Shack as wipes or a spray.

SSS from TBL1

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This week’s Six (and a bit) Sentence Sunday is an extract from ‘The Bucket List (Part One)’ – now available from and

Lucy is standing before a dozen women at an adult toys party.  She’s just had a new type of discreet vibrator inserted into her and a mischievous woman called Sandy now has the remote control in her hand.  After teasing poor Lucy for a few moments, she decides to try out a particular mode on the remote;

Sandy pressed her thumb to one of the buttons and strong, rippling pulses throbbed up through my pussy, making me gasp.

It felt as if something was sliding up inside me, buzzing as it went.

With each rising pulse, I found myself lifting up onto my toes, almost as if my body was instinctively trying to avoid the intrusion.

The next button she pressed added to the sensation, except that this time, the rising pulse was followed by a descending one;  I imagined the tiny vibrator sliding up inside me, then slipping back down again.

It felt like… the next best thing to being fucked without having to spread my legs.

“Ooo… leave it there for a moment, Sandy,” Amber cooed as her hand caressed my upper thigh. “I think she likes that.”

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If a woman woke up as a man…


If a woman was to wake up one Saturday morning as an adult male, with a timer nearby counting backwards 23:59:44; 23:59:43… (to assure her that it wasn’t permanent) what do you think she would do with her remaining hours?

Think quickly because her time is running out.


Here’s a couple of thoughts to start you off;

1)  She’d get out of bed immediately and jump up and down to see if a flapping willy felt as ridiculous as it looked.

2) She’d rush to the bathroom and enjoy – just for once – not having to sit down to pee.

3) She’d jog around the house to try to understand how men can even walk with all that tackle getting in the way of their legs.

4) She’d NOT have to spend thirty minutes making herself look nice before going to the store.  Quick shave, brush of the hair and she’d be done!

and finally…

5) She’d get a drill and fix that darn shelf once and for all.

Please feel free to add any others! 😀

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