Tag: anal sex

A thousand and one unfinished novels

The problem with writing Erotica is that you have to think of a million different ways to say the same thing.

‘He walks in, pushes her up against the wall, they kiss.  She wraps her legs around him, moaning softly, groaning a little. He lifts her dress, feeling, finding, wet, he’s hard, so good, she reaches for him, all of him, moans, can’t wait, now, in me, go in, please, now, harder, deeper…’

‘She’s on the bed, wearing only her French underwear. He’s watching. She plays. One finger, one, no, two, in her, on her, oh god, can’t wait, legs, thighs, nipples, he watches, he sips, she comes, he stands, undoes his jeans, she pulls him, he, they, oh god, come in me, can’t wait, oh oh, more, now…’

‘He’s cooking. She creeps up quietly behind him, pushes herself against him, hard, urgent.  He stops, turns, grabs her, lifts her, yes, jesus, the kitchen table, garlic, onions, rips off her panties, goes in, quickly, deep, oooh, from behind, oh oh, oil splatters, the chicken burns, but more yes yes jesus more, flour, eggs, the ice cream, dammit, god again, harder, deeper…’

Shattering moans, groans, taut nipples, quivering sex, thumping cocks, whipped cream, one finger, two fingers, jesus and god and yes more oh oh no yes please oh my god, harder, deeper, shit, deep no not my ass, hey, my ass, no not my ass, no oh no…

The problem with writing Erotica is that it can be very bloody predictable.

But it can also turn you on, halfway.

‘Which is why you call him, you ask him to come over, now, yes, I want to feel you, against me, in me, come now, open the door, oh fuck, yes, your fingers, your hand, skin, your oh god yes this is really good, yes yes…’

The problem with writing Erotica is that it is impossible to finish writing the bloody stuff.


Maybe that’s a good thing.

1001 unfinished novels.

Each one with a happy sexy ending.


My poll on Anal Sex

In the name of research, I am conducting a poll on Anal Sex.


Because you like it?

Because your partner likes it?

Does it scare you?

Do you have a butt plug?
A what?

Used it more than once?

Would you share a butt plug?
Don’t be ridiculous.

Is it ever good?
1 – Always
2 – Never
3 – Hahahahahahahahahahaha

Would you tell your girlfriends you have Anal?

Are you a man?

Do you think we care what you think?

Should I stop this now?

Last one. Was it good with your bank manager?

Really? Really. You still dream of it? Oh. Okay then. Ooooh kaaaay.

According to the poll, it can be fantastic.

Which means I shall try again.

But shhhh, don’t tell anyone…


Are we safe, Violet?

I’m staring to laugh about this now, mostly because I’m in a really good space. But I didn’t laugh so much when it happened.

Violet.  Meet me for a drink later, usual place, 5 pm.

Cool, I said to the guy with the pink couch. He’d been super stressed and not so well, so we’d had little contact.

I should’ve known something was up. He hadn’t tried to have phone sex, he hadn’t tried to persuade me to have anal sex and he hadn’t reminded me he was the best lover in the world.

He had been icy cold and Germanic.

Which he is anyway, nothing new here.

We met for a drink. Chatted about the heat, his health, stress at work, all that kind of making conversation and not getting down to the real thing stuff.

He never asked about me. Although he did tell me I looked gorgeous and that any man would be lucky to have me.

Well then, I said, it’s lucky you have me.

And he replied:-

I’m going to end things with you Violet. I’ve met someone. I didn’t know how to tell you. But I want to give this new person a chance; it may go somewhere.

I sat, seriously stunned. He’d always told me he couldn’t do commitment.

But we did have a kind of agreement.

That we would not be with anyone else at the same time. I had assured him I had no other man in my life. He had assured me there were no other women.

From what he was telling me, he had been seeing this woman for a few weeks.

At. The. Same. Time. As. Me.

I was upset. I didn’t want to give him the pleasure but my eyes filled with tears.

It felt like a betrayal.

And I was humiliated.

He leaned over and looked me in the eyes. My lovely blue warm inviting eyes. His cold cuntish unemotional eyes.

You are going to be okay, aren’t you Violet?

You’re not going to make a scene are you Violet?

Are we safe if we bump into you Violet?

We, already. We?

I’m not the kind of person to make a scene, I told him. You and your girlfriend are safe. But Jesus, you lied. You lied to me. 

He didn’t flinch. Or look remotely guilty. But he said this. This, dear reader, and I do not exaggerate; this is what he said.

Violet, if it doesn’t work out with her I’m going to call you.  We can start over. Let’s see what happens.  

The guy with the pink couch has an ego bigger than the entire fucking Nazi Party.

And a coldness to match.

And it was that that got me. The zero emotion.

He is incapable of feeling. Which is why, even though I found him bright and interesting and edgy, I had always been cautious.

I wont make a scene, I said. But I am going to leave now.  Please, don’t contact me again.


I walked away then deleted his numbers off my phone  (second time, third time) as I sat in my car. I had tears streaming down my cheeks. I think it was more the humiliation than anything else.

How dare he? How dare he suggest he contact me again IF IT DOESN’T WORK OUT!

I know I said I wouldn’t make a scene because I’m not that kind of person.

But I lied.

I look forward to meeting this new woman.

I look forward to making the biggest scene ever.

And then setting fire to the couch.



For the last few days, ever since seeing ostrich on their way to an abattoir, I have been thinking of becoming a vegetarian.

And oddly, over the last few days, I have also been thinking about sex. That’s because I’ve been doing an online sex writing course and have been dreaming, eating, fantasising about, and now wanting, sex.

And I am not sure how sex and vegetarianism go together, except for the one man in my life who was both sexy and a non-meat eater.

We used to have this ritual. Every time after we’d had sex I would take a can of cannellini beans from his kitchen. He was on a health kick and there were these lovely Italian beans everywhere.

It was a joke and we would always talk about how many cans of beans I had and how big the pile could possibly get.

Our relationship ended because he was very bloody difficult and apparently so was I. Also, we wanted different things. I wanted meat, he wanted beans. I wanted traditional, he wanted anal. I wanted love, he did not.

We’ve remained friends, in that kinda tricky way.

But now I am thinking of cannellini beans and the million different vegetarian things you can make with them.

And sex.

Which means I have to be thinking about him.

And I know how dangerous it will be for me to call him.

But in the interests of my new non-meat eating habits, I think I have to.

final beans

Meet me.

I know that I’m a little late to the Ashley Madison dating site scandal but I’ve been somewhat consumed by my own dating site scandal.

I subscribed to The Perfect Partner about a year ago. It didn’t go very well, mainly because I don’t think there is a perfect partner out there, also because I kept losing my perfect password.

Anyway. After one too many shirtless pics, LookingForFun69 messages and a little sexual harrasment from NaughtyBoy, I decided it was time to unsubscribe.

You try unsubscribe from a dating site. It’s seriously near damn impossible, and I give up every single time. It goes like this.

  • Find the  teeny writing in the bottom left-hand corner that says Cancel Subscription. It will be well hidden by a young couple holding hands on the beach.
  • Click on the link  where you spend the next ten minutes looking for another link.  More happy people will appear.
  • Are you sure you want to unsubscribe?  Y/N.
  • Why do you want to unsubscribe?          None of your business.
  • Can you tell us anything else?                 No.
  • Right, soon you’ll be alone forever.          

At which point I give up and continue getting messages from men looking for adventure and anal sex.

I realise I have more chance of meeting a man in the two-minute noodle section at the grocery store than online.

Which brings me back to Ashley Madison.

There was outrage that the site encouraged adultery. But at least it was an honest cheating site with clear instructions. And there was outrage that subscribers had to pay to delete their profiles. Personally, I would pay hundreds of thousands right now to get away from the Perfect Fucking Partner.

Maybe I’m going to start my own dating site. Go ahead readers, please subscribe. It’s going to at least be honest.



Anal Sex – yes / no?

My ass, my cute, little, quite boney ass, has always been off limits.

I like squeezing it into a tight pair of jeans, showing it off in a bikini, swinging it from side it side when there’s a cute guy behind me, but as a ‘back entry’ it’s always been taboo.

It may be because I remember my mom giving me ‘the sex talk’ and anal sex was something that sweet classy girl-chicks never ever did.

But lately I’ve become more and more curious, especially when so much has been written about anal g-spots, the anal orgasm, and mostly – about how so many women love anal sex. Ordinary women, even classy girl-chick ones.

It didn’t seem fair that I was missing out. If there were more orgasms to be had, I wanted them.

But, I was kinda terrified. My ass was virgin territory.

I called up my friend who is also my local Handyman.

‘Hey’, I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about something recently and maybe you’re the guy to help me’.

‘Not another free Handyman job’, he replied, ‘I can’t bear the thought.’

‘Not really.’ I said. ‘This is about my ass’.

It went really quiet.

‘I’d like you to go in me from behind.’

Deathly silence

Oh God I’ve pushed him a bit too far I thought. It’s quite different asking someone to fuck you from behind instead of the usual ‘Please help me, the toilet’s leaking’.

Anyway, he was delighted. He loved the idea so much that he let out a ‘Yes yes yes, let’s do it baby’, which was quite a departure from his usual ‘Violet, are you sure you need to renovate the bathroom?’

Of course he was delighted. No-one likes changing taps. But all men like the idea of sex without any ties. Especially when tight virginal bottoms are involved.

Usually for handy-work I have to book him weeks in advance. But for this, he was available immediately.

I wasn’t. I needed time to think.

We set the date for a week away. Seven pm. His house. He suddenly got very involved and suggested I wear a short leather skirt, high heels and no underwear.

I did not obsess over the skirt, the shoes or the underwear. I obsessed over my ass.

In those seven days I thought about anal sex a lot. I tried to imagine it, dreamed about it, questioned my girlfriends about it, asked strangers what they thought about it, and then on Friday I pulled on my leather mini skirt, slipped on my heels, put on French hand-stitched underwear because I wanted to and as a last minute thought, sprayed Chanel No 5 on my buttocks.

I rang his doorbell, my heart beating a little faster than normal. He opened and I’ve never seen him looking happier in his life. He was not wearing overalls and there wasn’t a hammer or a toolbox in sight.

We drank a lot of whisky and made the rules. Actually, there was only one.

If I changed my mind, we stopped. Immediately.

We drank, we chatted about my house renovations, the tension built and we started talking about sex.

He reached over and kissed me.

And then suddenly we were standing and I was against a wall, pressed against him while he kissed my neck and I unbuttoned his shirt. My underwear dropped to the floor, he lifted my dress over my head, and then I was naked. He was still in his jeans.

And he turned me around, gently, expertly, and pressed me against the wall. A true handyman.

My ass was bare, exposed and hesitant.

‘We need to go inside’, I whispered, very aware we were still in the garden.

Very aware that I was loving him touching my buttocks.

And very aware that we were going to do this.

We moved to the bedroom. He played with me, tickling me, teasing me, touching me. A little bit in, a little bit out, small gentle touches.

The Handyman was clearly an anal master.

Even so, it’s kinda scary having someone touch you where you’ve never been touched before.

I didn’t use the word ‘Stop’.

But I did use the word ‘Slow’.

And I’ve used the word slow a lot over the last few weeks. We’re still experimenting. One finger has turned to two and I’ve felt the tip of him against me and a little bit in me. It feels good and I think I’m ready for more.

I’ve bought a bottle of Moet to celebrate final entry. We haven’t opened it yet. But I think we will – soon.

We’ll drink it slowly. As we’ll do everything else.

And we might even share it with you, dear Reader. As long as you don’t share this story with my mother.

Tips for Anal Sex

– Only do it if you want to.

– There must be trust.

– Breathe, deeply – yogic breathing is good.

– Focus on the feeling. Really, really focus.

– Go very slowly, over days, weeks, months.

– Don’t be shy to use lube.

And mostly – enjoy the orgasm. And the Moet.