Category: Sexy Time

First time sex is often built for him. I write about leaving wet, polite, and furious, then deciding I will not fake it again.

A good kisser can ruin me faster than a speech. Bad kissing is a warning. I should have listened more often than I did.

I want the savage bit and the soft bit. Foot rubs. Kettle. Hair stroked. If he can only do one, he was never going to keep me.

In my head I am fearless. In the doorway I am shy. The gap between the filth I imagine and the girl who still hopes for kindness.

Not shame exactly. More the Tube ride home in last night’s dress, thighs still humming, wondering if I was brave or just lonely and lucky.

At work I am stern. At home I am greedy. This is about the sweet act, the private hunger, and why I keep those two girls separate.

Last night with the girls started the usual way, proper loud and messy in some random Shoreditch bar that smelled…

It started soft, the way the best ones sometimes do. We met outside that bar in Dalston after the girls…

It began the way the best ones always seem to, with that low hum of possibility in a crowded Hackney…

Curiosity has this cheeky way of tapping me on the shoulder at the most inconvenient times, usually when I am…