♦ One of the great and yet awful things about blogging, particularly sex blogging, is being made to confront your own experiences and express them to an audience who don’t know you and, you know, weren’t there, man. Sometimes that expression comes easily, other times it’s more difficult. This’ll be the latter. Because stepping outside your norm is always a challenge.

And stepping outside my norm is certainly one way of putting my weekend, so you’ll have to forgive me if this post is chaotic. To be honest, I might very well appreciate some (non-judgemental) comments, in fact.

On the weekend I went to what was to be a normal, friendly housewarming chez my friend Mermaid,  who you may know as a girl I’ve drawn nude before. I don’t think I’ve mentioned that on the blog, but I know some of you follow my Twitter. To sum up: she posed nude for us for life drawing once. Every party of hers that I have been to has been a little bit raucous, so I really should have expected that. Silly me.

Let’s be honest here, most of the evening’s events, for me at least, stemmed from too many bottles of Sidekick and a very enthusiastic game of Ring of Fire. Now, I didn’t intend for debauchery of any kind. You can tell, because although I’d prettied up in an underbust corset covered with a sexy 50s rockabilly dress, none of the, ahem, more intimate parts of my outfit saw any attention. I shaved my legs, but not my (by then lazily verging on 70s bush) pussy and my knickers were of the massive Transformers boxers variety. I didn’t expect anyone to see either, though, so it didn’t matter.

But the alcohol had other ideas about my evening.

It started out fairly harmless: flirting with Mermaid’s 19-year-old lesbian sister, who was flabbergasted by the idea of being “hit on” by a 26-year-old; my housemate Alt generally making what I took as flirty growly noises at me and stroking my newly short hair, a discussion of boob sizes and corsets and yet more blatant attempts on my part to seduce either my new lesbian friend or the very buxom bisexual wench (she was very wenchy) who was also aiming for my first target.

When it comes to women, I am a bit of a cad. Normally my gentlemanly exterior (and, let’s be honest, my ridiculous social awkwardness) keeps this under wraps. Enough Dutch courage, however, and all that is wiped away. It’s one of the things I both love and hate about alcohol. It boosts my confidence, it strips away the stuff that stops me fully living life, but it doesn’t half make for its own trouble.

The party got more raucous, I got more intoxicated and certain party-goers got flirtier and dirtier. Alt soon disappeared somewhere with the Wench, but the two returned after a while.

The next thing I can tell you is that I was outside in the alleyway at the back of the house with the buxom Wench, my housemate Alt and one or two other gentlemen. None of them were Crush, who was still inside chatting away to people. Then suddenly (at least in my memory-deprived mind), debauchery struck.

I don’t know how it started, but the Wench became a sudden focal point for a group grope and tangle of hands and mouths. I can’t tell you exactly what went on, which is a damn fucking shame, because I at least know that it was hot. Things I can remember:  my mouth eagerly sucking on the nipple of her bared breasts; a practically pitch-black muddle of clothed bodies and moans; very probably kissing Alt (though I really am not sure); tugging on a proffered, unknown cock as I focused my mouth on the Wench; Alt and I spanking the Wench hard as she leant against the alley wall; my knickers and tights around my thighs.

The rest I can’t be sure of except to know that nothing more serious happened than some bared-body-part groping. How do I know this? Because although the alcohol coursed through my head and the sheer orgiastic lust of it all sparked in my cunt, my heart was full of one thing only.


Women were allowed and the Wench was the focal point and spark of this little happening, but there were men and there was cock and before long thoughts of Crush and what he might say and how I wished he was there loomed large. I barely remember disengaging, making myself presentable and coming inside. But I did it for him. I tried, of course, to get him to come back out with me, but it wasn’t his scene.

I told him everything, because Mr Secret is not our friend, and I was so amazingly pleasantly surprised by his reaction. He was a little disappointed, naturally, but it actually came down more to the fact that I hadn’t told him what I was getting into than the fact I did it. He was so good about what could have been a serious blip on our radar. If I’d have told him, he wouldn’t really have minded. Of course, I’m actually glad now that I was feeling guilty and came inside because I am pretty damn certain I was too drunk to make clever decisions about anything or to even get the full benefit of much.

So, you can see how I had a pretty confusing and mixed weekend. I’m still sorting through my feelings about it all.

On the one hand, hot, awesome, playful sexiness of the kind I really wish would be a bigger part of my life. On the other hand, the loss of control and memory and the fact things could have easily gone much worse, both relationship-wise and safety-wise 1. I was more than a bit silly and, thanks to the Sidekick, that wasn’t even really a decision I made. On the third hand (shut up), this whole thing has made me love Crush so much more than I already did. He could have flipped. Although my relationship with him basically started with drunken naughty shenanigans, it could have been drunken naughty shenanigans that ended it. He took everything so well and was the paragon of loving and supportive to me. He was, and is, a fucking angel.

Plus also, his punishment for my transgressions is that I have to “make it up to him”. In a sex way. So that at least is something to look forward to… ♦


  1. Although I’m almost certain nothing serious enough to warrant it went on, Crush and I have been planning to get our sexual health checked out for a while now, so this is a good kick up the arse for that.

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