The Catharsis and the Catalyst

I spent most of last week in a continued state of fretting. Which is not as lovely as a continued state of frotting, but anyway. My worries were about 95% related to the story I was trying to get finished. It was a story I’d started writing about a month ago, in reply to a call for submissions which I eventually didn’t submit it for because I got carried away with having more words than was allowed.

So when a suitable call did come along, I decided to finish this story. Which all went fine and dandy up until the point where I actually had to write the sex.

And when you’re an erotica writer who falters at the sex bit, that’s probably not a good thing.

The faltering ticked over to Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. It went on for Glob knows how long, because I’m a bint and I couldn’t bring myself to just sit down and WRITE THE GODDAMN THING.

Eventually, I decided it had gone on for too long. I sat down, with research material (*sexy books) at hand and got down to the crunch of it.

I knew I was on to a good scene when I felt arousal stir in the pit of my belly. It took me by surprise, because I generally don’t write to arouse myself. But this scene… I think it was something beyond just normal arousal. It struck a chord in my heart and loins because I actually felt the relief that came for the characters. The utter joy of finally being together.

It might sound sappy, but it was true.

And it was also true that, in a moment of curiosity, I let my hand slip down the waistband of my trousers and touched myself to see just how much it was affecting me.

I was dripping wet.

I lay back on the bed, fully clothed, but with my trousers and pants pulled down and frigged myself. After a pretty shitty week, it was rather effective as catharsis. It was quick, it was immensely satisfying and I was back to pottering out the scene not too long afterwards.

One thing it wasn’t was the end of my sexual catharsis. It was the catalyst for a night of slow lovemaking and gentle touches that made me feel like a million pounds worth of human.

And I finished the story the day after, so double bonus.


Eroticon Mark III – My Quick and Dirty Meet and Greet

Good grief, how time flies. In just five weeks, Eroticon 2014 is a thing that is happening. Clearly, it’s time for the annual delegates/speakers Meet And Greet post, which follows NOW.

What’s your name?
Jillian “Jilly” Boyd. Hi there.

What are you most looking forward to about Eroticon 2014?
Seeing my awesome gang again (because it’s been too bloody long) , hobnobbing with my lovely author friends, learning new things and being out of London for the weekend.
What are you most nervous of about Eroticon 2014?

I’d like to pretend that I’m a seasoned vet by now (as it’s my third time), and have no nerves considering any of it, but I’m just really fucking nervous about the logistics – getting there on time, checking in, and that. Oh, and I’m nervous about getting a cold in the run up to the weekend, as that’s exactly what happened last year!

What do you hope to get from Eroticon 2014?

On a professional level, I hope to come away with lots of new writing inspiration and a little bit of a boost for my work. On a personal level, I just want a lot of hugs from friends.

What is your bad erotica writer’s pen name?

Orangezina Zoneout, which sounds like the most awesome type of cough medicine side effect.


Have a little peruse through the other introductions on the Write Sex Right website. And maybe I’ll see you there?

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…

Strange(rs) on A Train

I was on my way home from a workshop in Central London. It’d been a fun, but incredibly long night, which saw me get lost (inside the building where the workshop was held, no less), and very narrowly avoiding cutting a bit of my finger off with a lino cutter.

But it was fun nonetheless.

As I slumped down in my seat on the train, I thought I’d take advantage of the near-empty carriage and get out my choice of train reading for the day – Fast Girls, edited by the wonderful Rachel Kramer Bussel.

I was quite looking forward to a quiet train ride, in which I could read Saskia Walker’s story in the anthology without being interrupted by, say, two gruff and beardy men with indistinguishable accents choosing to sit right next to me instead of anywhere else in a reasonably empty carriage.

So, guess what happened next?

“Mind if we keep ya company?” the older man said, scaring the absolute bejeezus out of me with his sudden being there. I nearly choked on the pastry I was eating and tried to brush off the crumbs in reaction.

The old man moved, but only to the next seat along, presumably so he could have a bit of mint lads banter with the younger man, who was sitting across from me. I felt a bit taken aback, not in the least because I was, up till that point, enjoying a story which had so far featured masturbation and fucking in the shower – I was rather looking forward to reading what happened next.

I put the book back in my bag, not wanting to alert them any further to what I was reading (although the cover of the book kind of gave it away) , and not really having anything else to read (apart from Mikaya Heart’s orgasm book ) I just slumped and tried to listen to what the Beards were talking about.

It was an interesting conversation to say the least.  I couldn’t make out half of what they were saying because both their accents were so strong, but with the little information I had, I played a game.

That game being called “Imagine what a random stranger on the train’s life looks like”. You’ve all played it.

I imagined them being buddies from the Army, the older beardy being the mentor for the younger beardy. I listened to them chatting about… stuff, once in a while catching words like “it’s Mugabe’s fault”, “…bomb strapped to my heart”, and what has to be my number one favourite sentence of the week –

Young Beardy: “An’ he pulled out a hunting knife [makes gesture to indicate size of said knife]. He went ‘Where d’you think yer going, son? Butlins?”

I came home cold, horny, achy and, most of all, wondering who the actual fuck would utter a sentence like that.

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.



5 Easy Mistakes To Make While Flirting With Someone

5 Flirting Mistakes Header

Hiya. I’m Jillian Boyd, and I’m actually bloody terrible at flirting. Some of you might disagree, but trust me, I am. And I am sharing my knowledge with you today, dear reader, because I like you and I don’t want you to be terrible at flirting.

This won’t make you a world class Casanova, mind. This advice is in no way gospel. But if you see anything that resonates, feel free to interpret and use in your own way. Anyway, here are some mistakes that you’d be best to not make while flirting, in my opinion. (Milage may vary, as such.)

Setting the scene first – picture yourself at a party. Maybe a mate has thrown a housewarming do, maybe it’s a party at a club/bar. You’re doing the things you usually do at these sort of things, whether it’s socialising or sitting somewhere quiet with a drink. Suddenly, you spot someone you actually quite like the look of.

Mistake The First – Letting the initial eye contact go into weird staring mode

And success! They’ve spotted you too. There’s a smile from them, a smile from you. But then the other person turns away, and you’re still looking at them, maybe a bit too intensely. Or maybe you turn away, and this other person is still looking at you – staring, even – and you don’t notice until you turn back in their direction to see them still looking at you.

Avoid by keeping the initial eye contact brief. Look, smile, and then continue with what you were doing. Chances are that you’ll spot your flirtee several more times over the course of the night, which allows you to make more brief eye-contact and (if you’re up to doing so) going in for a conversation.

Which leads to possible mistake number two.

Mistake The Second – Fucking up the opening conversational gambit

Otherwise known as the “Chat-Up Line”. You’ve probably heard many of them in your lifetime – possibly in a “Ten Worst Chat-Up Lines” line-up in a magazine or TV show of some sorts.

So, you’ve achieved going in for a conversation. You’ve probably already gotten past the Hi/Hey There bit of it. Now, what follows will be key for both of you. Ideally, you’d want to aim for a casual, flowing conversation that won’t make you want to bolt out of there with your glass of wine still in your hand.

Ideally, you’ll aim to not utter anything along the lines of “The time is two-flirty and the date’s with me, babe.”

Avoid by going in casual. Ask their name, make some small talk, put your feelers out and see if you hit it off. Don’t go full-on HI HAVE SEX WITH ME M’KAY, or anything else that will send them straight out the door and back home.

Mistake Trois – Not being yourself

Okay, I know how much “Be Yourself” sounds like inspirational cack to some, but it’s bloody true in most situations – certainly in flirting with someone who you’ve taken a shine to.

“Not being yourself” can be interpreted in a manner of ways, from acting against your actual day-to-day persona (eg. being cocky and brash while you’re actually modest and lovely) to actually claiming you’re an entirely different person.

eg. Chandler Bing claiming he’s a Kennedy when he’s flirting with a girl.

Really, just be yourself, in as much the situation allows you to. Try to relax; try to be natural.

Mistake IV – Not taking initiative/Assuming too much too soon.

So, you’ve been doing alright throughout the night with your flirtee. You’ve chatted, you’ve laughed, they turn out to be a lovely and not at all horrible person. You’ve maybe even danced with them. Doesn’t mean that at the end of the night, everything will be a-okay.

Don’t assume too soon that this person will ask for/give out numbers, or anything relating to actually seeing you again. Remember, you’ve only met this person about four hours ago, and all you know about them is maybe their name, job and if they’re a crap dancer or not.

What I’m saying is that you don’t know their situation beyond the walls of the environs you find yourself in. If you’re into this person, at least to a level of “I fancy meeting up in a place that’s less crowded so we can have a decent chat”, ask if this is a thing they would like to do as well. If it’s just as friends, then good, you’ve made yourself a new friend. If it’s a date, then good, you’ve got a date.

Mistake The Fifth – Assuming the kiss will happen.

So, it’s the end of the night. So far, you’ve managed to not creep them out with your eyes or words. You’ve managed to come off as your natural, lovely self and you’ve not made an arse out of yourself by assuming that there’s a relationship in there somewhere too quickly.

Thus we come to the goodbyes.

No matter what has happened up until this point, don’t assume that there will be a kiss. Doesn’t matter if you want one (however badly). There is nothing more terrible (and, sometimes,painful) than going in for a kiss with someone you rather like and then having it turn awkward because they’re not ready to give you one.

And an extra pointer, just because I loves y’all:

You are more than allowed to walk away.

You know what I mean. If your flirtee turns out to be an absolute dipshit, excuse yourself and walk away. We all have our limits.

Again, this is in no way intended to be taken as gospel, but I hope this was useful, in some way or another. If you’ve got any more flirting mistakes to add, or you want to share your own story, feel free to leave it in the comments. But remember, politeness and such!

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.

Peace Out

It’s not very rock and roll to admit that you’re basically spending the last day of the year curled up on the sofa, petering about on the interwebs and watching a Great British Bake Off marathon.

But that, my friend, is exactly what I’m doing. And it is exactly what I want to be doing.

Christmas was brilliantly awesome, brilliantly batshit and absolutely tiring as buggery. So, as you would expect, sex wasn’t really a thing that happened. Except for that time it did.

I’ve had time to reflect though. So, here are some moments that I rather liked in the past year.

In the spirit of being all cheesy and looking-forward-y, Christmas also gave me just about the best gift ever, in the form of love and support from his family. And life continues to keep giving me the gift of a man who I utterly adore, and a mother who manages to always be extra supportive, even though she’s miles away.

So, with the raindrops dripping, counting down the seconds and hours until a fresh year comes in and says hello, I think I can conclude as such:

2013 might not have been the best year of my life, but it had brilliant moments, from which I learned, which I treasure and which I shall take with me into this new year.

So, watch out, 2014. The game is on again.

Happy New Year, and lots of love. May you get everything you want, do things that surprise even you and continue to be awesome in 2014. Let’s make some waves, bro!

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Year, End

2014 is peeking on the horizon and 2013 prepares to sneeze and regenerate into the next year (or at least, I think that’s how Matt Smith regenerated into Peter Capaldi…). I reckon now is as good a time as any to take stock and set goals for the next 12 months, especially as I plan to spend the dying days of this year doing absolutely fuck all.  Read the full post »

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.