Blowing All Year Round

I am a huge fan of fellatio. It ties in with my natural love of cock. I adore the feeling of taking my boyfriend’s erection in my hand, stroking it, letting my tongue swirl around his length…

Or if he’s not yet hard, planting little kisses on him, relishing in the feeling of him growing harder because of my lips. Getting him to the high point of arousal and then having him fuck me silly is quite possibly my favourite way to spend an evening (my second favourite way being stuck under the duvet with a bag of crisps, watching Hannibal).

So, yeah, big fan of sucking cock.

Not so keen on the concept of Steak and Blowjob Day.

Apparently invented to counteract the “female aspect” of Valentine’s Day, on this most hallowed day you give your partner a blowjob and a nice medium rare porterhouse (possibly as a refuel after all the sucking) as an act of love and a thank you for the gifts you got on V-Day. I’ve got a bit of a problem with that.

For one thing, my boyfriend’s a vegetarian.

Half of me rather loves the idea of Valentine’s Day, as an excuse for going on an adventure with your partner and showing them how much you love them. I like flowers, I like being taken out to dinner, and I like exchanging silly and in-jokey presents as much as I like being pinned against a wall and kissed until I can’t speak full sentences any more.

And the other half of me thinks it’s ridiculous because of two reasons –

One – Why would you need a specially assigned day to show your partner how much you love them?

Two – As said by the ever eloquent CJ. Forrest:

Valentines Day is (to my mind) pretty reciprocal anyway, and even if it isn’t, what on earth makes you think that making a restaurant reservation and picking a card/ordering something from Interflora is such a terrible burden that it needs special recompense? How jaded and cynical must your relationship be if you’ll only do these things in tit-for-tat fashion?

Which is why ‘Steak and a Blowjob’ day really pisses me off. It perpetuates the idea that these things are somehow undesirable, that the only circumstances in which someone will do them is because they’re being shamed/forced into it.

I think that’s kind of, sort of right on the nose. It is entirely CJ’s opinion of course, but there is a great big heap of truth served in these quotes.

First of all, Valentine’s Day is not “a girl’s special day”. In its essence, it’s a day where both partners show their love to each other. Not something that one partner begrudgingly does for the other on one day, with the other begrudgingly reciprocating on the other.

Second – blowjobs are not icky. Blowjobs are as amazing as cunnilingus. Even more amazing when you’re 69’ing and getting it as well as giving it (but that’s a story for another time, I think).

Similarly, love is not icky. Love is (and excuse me if you think this sounds a bit mushy) really fucking amazing. Love is not one special day out of the year where you extra mega hard love someone and then not really, but 365 days a year where you… well, love someone with all your heart.

Love, silly and in-jokey gifts and adventures with your partner are things to rejoice in all year long.

And so are blowjobs, and cunnilingus, and any form of oral sex because oral sex is pretty fucking amazing.

(Maybe not steak all year long though – bit expensive…)

Written for Marie Rebelle’s Fellatio Project, which I hope to contribute to a few more times.

The Fellatio Project

Sizing Issues

Sunday evening…

“Do you want to have a shower with me?” he asks, already undressing himself.

It doesn’t take me long to actually jump into the shower with him, seeing as I’ve been gagging to wash away the remnants of the past (and particularly shitty) week. Of course, having not really had the energy (or good health) to invest in a good sweaty romp in the past week, a light bulb (possibly penis-shaped) went off in my head.

Shower. Horny. Sex? Shower? Sex in the shower? SHAWERSECKSLOL!

There was a bit of fiddling, a bit of fondling, and a lot of kissing underneath the comforting rays of the hot shower. I watched his cock get hard and soft and hard again, as we soaped each other up with Snow Fairy and made our intentions towards each other very, very clear.

[approximation of the conversation that happened]

LLB – “Sex?”

ILB – “Yeah. Not here though.”

LLB – “Why not?”

ILB – “You’re smaller than I am. Thus, logistics.”

LLB – “Aha. Gotcha. Damnit.”

ILB – “Yeah. Still, sex? Bedroom?”

LLB – “YAS.”

So, the action shifts to the bedroom, where he helps me blow dry my hair. There’s a moment of nothing, in which he tries to initiate the proceedings, but I hold back because I’m deep in thought. After I spend a while scratching his back, I share my sexual ruminations.

“I want to try something else.”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?” he says, listing some tantalizing possibilities. He eventually starts with rubbing my back, admiring my arse. And then he admires my arse in a different way, by gifting it with a couple of good spanks which have me squirming to the point where my head swims and I nearly slip from the bed.

There follows kissing my back, kissing my cheeks and a flicking tongue near my cleft, searching the wetness that’s pooling between my labia.

And Jesus fecking Christ, it is a lot of wetness.

He fingers me, rubbing my clit with one hand and other bits of me with the other. My arse wiggles and squirms, as do I, in delight and ecstasy. There’s a valiant attempt at doggy style, but, again, I’m but a small woman and have a bit of a limitation as to how I can stretch and bend.


“I want you on top of me.”

“Great! Facing you? Facing the other way?”

Facing him, I ride him, managing to wiggle my hips and arse in a way that I can’t even explain myself. It’s hot. It’s necessary. It ends with mutual orgasms, and possibly the best set of orgasms I’ve had in a long while.

So, no shower sex this time around. But I’m sure we’ll find a way. And in the meanwhile, after-shower sex is pretty damn awesome as well…

A short conversation about sounds

INT: Night: ILB/LLB bedroom, bed.

LLB : *splosh*

ILB: ?

LLB: Don’t mind me. I was just wondering something.

ILB: What were you wondering?

LLB: … does it actually make a sound when you ejaculate? I mean, I know your mouth makes a sound when you come, and I know the actual deed of jerking yourself off does…

ILB: Ehm… I don’t know, really.

LLB: It’s funny, that. You’d think there would be a splosh of some sort. I mean, there’s that squelchy noise when you’re wet and you’re frigging your clit, but… yeah.

[short silence]

ILB: I suppose it would be a bit like a hiss.

LLB: Yeah. Probably.



The Kissy Kissy

I knew he was up to something. I knew he wanted me, badly. He told me later that he’d been undersexed in the past few weeks, and I couldn’t fault him on it – so was I.

The playful, teasing, kissy kissy, want you, want me dance had been going on all day, with moments of work being interrupted by moments of “God, I wish I could jump your bones right now.”

We’d had sex a few days ago, which was nice, but a bit marred by the fact that the sofa bed we’re sleeping on is incredibly creaky. It’s almost like the bed’s going “Hello, I would like it to be known that there are two individuals getting it on on my back here.”

Which isn’t handy when you’re actually staying in someone else’s house, let alone his folks.

But when it came down to the dirty bits, this time, I had no problems with the creaky noises. I was focussed on one thing: getting him off. He was reclining supinely on the bed, his erection jutting out and ready for my hand.

It ended up being messy. It ended up with him teetering on the edge of a huge orgasm whilst simultaneously trying to get me towards an orgasm with his fingers. I think he rather liked just how wet the act of me jerking him off made me.

Just a hunch.

By the time he was inside me, I didn’t feel like I was properly on this planet anymore. I’d had an orgasm which knocked the wind out of me, and was still flying when he penetrated me.

And for a long time after we’d finished too.

I liked the look on his face. I liked the way he said “Because you’re in love with me” and then said “I’m in love with you too” with that silly and adorable look in his eyes.

Kissy kissy. Want you, want me.

The Almost Sex

It’s the middle of the night, after another one of those inopportune days. Between preparations for Christmas, accommodation-induced paranoia, feeling generally under the weather and just a whole lot of other shit, I’ve found it hard to sleep.

So has he.

He’s still awake when I ask if I can switch to his side of the bed. “Sure, sure.” he says, in that voice that always manages to soothe me, and wriggles around. There’s a moment where he’s on top of me, and he’s so warm and comforting that I just want him to stay there forever.

We kiss, softly.

We relish each other’s heat. His hand strokes me, idly. I want to ask him. I want to beg him to make love to me. Not because I need orgasms, but because I need more of that heat. I need to feel the connection, I need to feel okay again.

I don’t end up asking him.

But as we lie, spooning, like always, his hand still strokes me – leaving traces of warmth along my thighs and buttocks.

There’s been a lot of almost sex in the past few weeks. There’s been the feeling of his warm cum, painted across my naked back. There’s been teasing. There have been orgasms, had whilst touching and caressing each other.

Although, in a way, isn’t that also sex?

That hot, giddy, silly, ecstatic, loud, moaning, grunting, dizzying, HOLY SHIT kind of feeling … do you need penetration for that? Do you even need orgasms for that?

I don’t know. I don’t think so. All I know is that almost sex is quite nice too… and I’d like more of it. Almost.


Midnight Feast

“Happy birthday, Lady!”

It was a little after midnight when we finally made it upstairs – the early hours of my 23rd birthday. I sat on the bed and unwrapped my lovely presents, which included a scandalous amount of chocolate and a lot of glowing love.

I was already pretty pleased. And that was before I got to unwrap my last present…

Giggling, we stood in front of each other, with me peeling away his layers of clothing. Jumper made way for shirt, made way for warm and fuzzy chest. Trousers made way for boxers and made way for a shapely bum and a jutting, erect cock.

I practically ripped my own clothes off, diving in next to him on the bed. Well, after I’d had my fill of warm, naked cuddles.

He set about giving my body the once-over with his tongue and his lips. There was some joking, some faffing, but all of that (well, most of that) quickly went out the window as he set about exploring my pussy and its surroundings.

It felt great. It nearly always does, apart from the times when there’s something off – facial hair tickling or my clit deciding it’s suddenly too sensitive, or something like that. To be honest, there are only so many ways you can say “the sex was great” without actually making up words to describe just how great the sex was.

So yeah, the sex was fabulicious, his cock felt amazesome and in the end, we shared a couple of flimflanflandangistic orgasms.


25 years of World AIDS Day

World AIDS Day is 25 years old today. And for as long as I’ve been aware of its existence, December 1st is always a day that gives me pause to think. HIV/AIDS was still a new and terrifying danger when I was born, which was just two years after the first World AIDS Day.

The year before the first one, AZT (azidothymidine)had just been approved for treating HIV – all I’ve heard about AZT was that it was almost as much of a death sentence as the disease it was meant to treat back then.

25 years later and it seems we need this day more than ever. Although we now have the means and understanding to treat the disease so that people with HIV can now live as long as people without HIV, infections are on the rise – in quite a big way.

Not only that, but there are a shocking amount of people who still believe in the same old HIV myths we used to believe in.

That’s terrifying. It’s terrifying because it’s those same myths that I used to believe in – before I’d even had any education on the subject. The only thing I knew was that it was named AIDS and that it would kill you if you had it. It’s the mark of growing up in the early years of the disease: no-one had a clue, everyone was scared. Or so it seemed to me.

I learned, eventually, that myths are just that – stories that were passed around in the heat of panic and that people accepted as truth. I learned that through two people, who I met about a decade apart.

One was a girl who lived in a house down the road from the care home I resided in. She was one of the loveliest girls I’d ever met – and her HIV status was of no matter. She was lovely and kind and adorable… but 11-year-old me was still stand-offish. I really wish I hadn’t been, knowing what I know about HIV/AIDS now.

The other was a lad I met not long after I started this blog. He’d gotten his diagnosis earlier that year, and had started a blog because he wanted to help other people accept their own diagnosis.

I don’t know what happened to that girl from over a decade ago… I hope she’s alright. I hope she’s alive. I hope she knows just how much she’s done for me.

But that lad… he turned out alright, considering he’s now a well-known activist. His name’s Tom, and he’s the editor-in-chief of beyondpositive, a website that aims to be a resource for not just people with a positive status, but their friends, family and partners as well.

I think that if I hadn’t met Tom, I’d still be an incredible dunce on the matter. Following his blog, his writing and the good he’s done for so many people has educated me as well. So, Tom… if you read this, I hope you know how much good you’ve done for me too.

Right! So, apologies if this post seems a bit scattered. But to finish off, here are some links that might be of use on this day and beyond.

– If you need to find a local Sexual Health Clinic so you can get tested, the Terrence Higgins Trust Clinic Finder can help.

The National AIDS Trust website is a great resource. See if you can get involved in supporting them.

– If you need someone to talk to, desperately, contact The Samaritans. They won’t discriminate – they’ll just listen to whatever’s on your mind. And take it from me, that alone can do you a world of good.

– Safe sex! Buy condoms from the Freedoms Shop – an NHS sexual health promotion initiative.

– Donate to beyondpositive. As it says on the donation page: it takes a lot of time and money to keep it going. As Editor-in-Chief, Tom does most of the work (as a full-time job), but it is entirely unpaid. So your donation would make a difference.


It was the sort of sex that Alison Tyler would write about. Sudden, intense and much-needed. But mostly sudden. One minute, we were mucking about and laughing. The next, he turned me on my side and straddled me.

For about ten seconds, I was stunned by the sudden change in mood. I think I actually said “Wait, wha?”

“Because I was thinking about sex with you, and now I want to have sex with you!”

“But I’m still wearing knickers!”

Two seconds later, I wasn’t. The room was dark, his body was warm and the rhythm – however fast, however slow – felt comforting. And then uplifting. And then it felt like wanting more.

Not just a little more. A lot more. I felt the electricity, the connection, I felt it warming us up inside. It felt good. It felt like peace.

And after he pulled out, I wanted him back in. Badly.

Lying on our sides, facing each other, we kissed. After fumbling, trying to get each other off with our hands, I grabbed his cock and started rubbing it against my clit. And then, I started rubbing myself against his cock. It had an effect on him that manifested itself in a seemingly never-ending stream of words and breathy whispers and “Oh baby… oh baby”.

I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the pleasure it was giving him and how free I felt while doing it. Faster and faster I went, until he came. He then informed me that we will be doing that again in the future.

Who am I to say no to that, ey?

It was rather amazing. He was incredibly stimulated, I was incredibly stimulated and at the end, we were both incredibly elated. Epic winning.

There were more shared orgasms afterwards. Lying in the dark, watching him bring himself off to a climax in which the cum flew halfway up his chest…

It felt like peace too.

Listen To Your Body

Sometimes, in sex (and life, of course), the body and the brain do not see eye to eye. Sometimes, the brain will want things of the body that, however willing, it isn’t able to do right then and there. And the body will rebel against the brain.

I felt exactly that last night.

It wasn’t bad sex. Not at all. It was good, decent, god-we-needed-this sex. But it was marred by my body wanting nothing more than a good night’s sleep. I’d been ill for most of the week, with Wednesday night being a particular low point as I struggled to do just about anything other than keel over in immense pain.

So, my body wasn’t exactly fit to be fiddled.

But my brain tried to convince me of the opposite. It just went sex sex sex more sex shagging shagging fucking COITUS.

And who am I to deny my brain?

I should have thought better of it, to be honest. Should have listened to my body instead. And from the impression I got, as we were lying on the bed afterwards during the come-down, he wasn’t feeling on top of his game either.

“We should practise more.” he said. I agreed. And then added “But with a slow build-up, right?”

He nodded, before telling me that he wanted me to masturbate along with him because he wanted me to have my orgasms as well.

Needless to say… I slept very well last night.


I’d been tidying the room for most of the morning. I mean, properly tidying it. It required several massive trash bags and a scented candle to… well, make the room not smell like dust and old washing.

After two hours of cleaning, dusting and occasionally busting moves to the Lady Gaga playlist I’d put on to spur me on, I took a little break…

And then promptly fell asleep.

Only it didn’t register that I’d gone under. The dream I had was very… real.

For starters, it was set exactly where I was lying; in the bed, with the noises of the school nearby and the traffic down the road floating in. The outside view had changed though. There was a scaffolding near the window, with builders going about their business.

Their business being sex.

I didn’t quite understand what was going on, but kept watching. The people outside turned out not to be builders – I think I remember something about a rooftop orgy taking place just out of sight. But in my sight were two people: a girl, who was bending over and exposing her entire arse to my gaze. And a man, fingering her wet pussy lustily.

I watched for a while, simultaneously aroused and confused about why I was watching this scene unfold. I mean, it was basically outside our bedroom window – not exactly a covert place to have an orgy, really.

Yeah, I’d forgotten that it was a dream.

When I woke up, I was still aroused. Which took away from the confusion – just turns out I’m having a major horn today.

Go figure.