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Eroticon 2014 Meet & Greet

♦ So, it’s nearly Eroticon 2014! Well, it’s not. But it’s nearly nearly it. And that’s close enough to start getting really excited!

For those that don’t know, Eroticon is a yearly convention for erotica writers and sex bloggers with many, many different sessions on everything from spanking to SEO and more. I’ve been going every year since it started and I love it. Absolutely fantastic.

Every year there’s a little online set of questions to serve as an introduction to those attending. Here are my answers!

What’s your name?

Blacksilk. It’s definitely my real name and everything.

What are you most looking forward to about Eroticon 2014?

The fantastic sessions, that’s one thing. They are just amazing. Although I find myself much more muddle-minded this year about which to go to. Some jump out obviously, but others could be equally good and it’s so hard to decide!

Aside from that, it’s seeing all my blog friends again. There are less events that we go to than there used to be, so it’s been far, far too long. I miss you!

What are you most nervous of about Eroticon 2014?

Last year I had, essentially, an incredibly sensitive stomach brought on by nerves, plus a great dollop of anxiety, which really made me far too poorly-feeling to get anywhere near the most out of the event. I’m nervous that’ll happen this year, but I’ll know what’s going on and how to deal with it this time, so I should be well-armed against it!

What do you hope to get from Eroticon 2014?

My mojo back. I’ve become a bit lacklustre lately and I know Eroticon will be full of absolutely bollock-loads of inspiration and, let’s be honest, mild jealousy at the motivation of others. That should be enough to get me back into the swing of things.

What is your bad erotica writer’s pen name?

Well, people often shorten Blacksilk to BS. Luckily, I don’t mind! With that in mind, it makes my bad erotica writer’s pen name… Robustia Orificeicle. I’ll bust your orifice…. icle. If you know what I mean. Er…

Readers, why not comment with your bad erotica writer’s pen name below?

Bad Erotica Writer's Name

Intoxicating – a tale of drunken sex

We went out. We ate, drank and made merry. We chatted with friends and draped the frosty air with tinsel. We laughed. The wine glasses emptied by the gulp.

And then we went home, noses cold, hand gripping hand, voices just slightly too loud.

The beautiful thing about knowing him so well, about him knowing me so well, is that drunken sex is a giggling, wriggling thing, but ultimately, clumsy or not, we play a chord. We know what we want. We know how each other works. There’s little hesitation, little confusion. Everything is collaboration.

We fall laughing onto the bed. We’re a tangle of smart jackets and sparkly dress hems. We strip, sexily, faltingly. Coordination is not our strong point.

We’re naked. The bedroom is cold, but alcohol provides a blanket. Our gay apparel lies discarded.

He’s on top of me, as I lie back topsy turvy on the bed. My head jingles, my mind is fuzzy, but my cunt is clear. I don’t need him, but I want him. I want his heat to penetrate mine. And I’m not shy about it.

I tell him bluntly. He grins. Wine has dissolved any pretence, any oh-so-human façade. Animal natures are laid bare. Eat, drink, fuck, sleep. We’ve done two of them and the buzz in our veins makes us just not ready for the final one.

He pushes inside me, lust overtaking sluggishness of the blood. He is as hard as ever.

I undulate under him as he pumps. I learn it’s a need after all. Not a conscious, reasoned need, but a feral one. It’s not my mind that needs him, it’s the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins  and, if I’m honest, the wine in them too. I’m grasping and he is giving. He too feels the lure of alcohol and animalism. He thrusts and I cry out without hesitation or moderation.

I’m rubbing my clitoris furiously. Here is where drunken sex falls down. The beer blanket is warming, but provides a quilted layer between my fingertips and the nerve endings of my clit. I’m numbed. My clit is wrapped in cotton wool and indulgence. But my pussy still spits with fire and feeling.

I decide I don’t want to rub my clit any more. I decide it’s not actually necessary that I come. My pussy sings with sensation. That’s enough. It really is.

That’s mind-blowing in itself. If I’d never felt this way before, I’d have laughed in your face if you’d suggested it. But it’s not the first time. An orgasm really isn’t everything, not when the walls of my cunt are pushing and being pushed, not when he’s opening me up deliciously with each thrust, not when I’m riding the crest of pleasure/pain and diving into the feeling of him fucking me (too?) hard.

It’s not all I need, though.

I need more sensation. My dulled senses thrive on it. Bigger, harder, rougher, faster. I move like a steam piston under him and watch his face contort between loving smile and losing it.

“Bite me”, I both beg and demand.

He obliges, face buried into my neck, teeth nipping at my skin, tongue wet and breath heavy.

“Bite me!” I shout, although he’s already doing it. He’s already biting and bucking and fucking me hard.

I feel as on top of the world as I can be with no orgasm, no throbbing clitoris. The experience is intense. Our connection, equally so. We know each other so well, that even inebriated and exhausted, we’re guiding each other to that delirious freefall that is absolute pleasure.

Not gentle, not classically romantic. Full of yelps and sweat and calling him “bitch” in loving, honeyed gasps.

He comes, moaning, thrusts shuddering slowly to a crawl and then a halt. I stroke his hair, he clambers off, we clean ourselves up and, swapping our beer blanket for a real one, slip drunkenly into sound and smooth sleep.

Rushed Rhymes – NaPoWriMo

♦ Heck, most of these aren’t even rhyming. They’re haikus, otherwise known as the “Oh, God, I’m so behind!” of NaPoWriMo. But more on what these poems are all about in a moment, for now just enjoy (I hope) poems 15-20 of the month…

Fauves

Following the curves
The lips of the paper cunt
Ink flows from pen nib

Corset: Five Hours In

I never once thought
You’d hear me say, after hours
“Pull me in tighter”

Book!

“Can I draw again?”
A different erotic book
Passed into my hands

Confidence Crisis

In sight, in mind
Out of place, out of time
Show an interest, show my face
One day I will take my place
Read aloud what I’ve made
Hold my head up on the stage

You

You, here, below me
You, forever, here with me
You, now, inside me

Syllables

Oh, BDSM
So easy in the bedroom
Hard in a haiku

“Fauves” is a haiku about my little cunt colouring book that I so enjoy inking, whereas “Corset: Five Hours In” is about a true situation I found myself in recently: after five hours in a corset I was finding myself so comfortable that I actually wanted it cinched in tighter after all that time! I’m told this isn’t always usual for a corset novice.

“Book!” and “Confidence Crisis” are all about the Kinky World Book Night that I recently attended. I was given a free erotic book at the door, but it turned out to be one I had already, which got me praise! Confidence Crisis is a good deal more emotional. I was feeling nervous and out of place and awkward and didn’t think I’d be able to read my own work aloud. It’s about that feeling of lacking confidence and hating yourself for it. It’s about how one day you’ll get there. But then it turned out that I would have the opportunity to read aloud after all! So I did! And I “got there” about an hour or so after writing that! And it was amazing.

“You” is a little haiku about a lover, prompted by the word “below” and “Syllables” is a simple one about how hard it is to use “BDSM” in an erotic haiku given it’s a syllable per letter!

Hoepfully I’ll get a chance to write some more substantial ones soon! ♦

Wicked Wednesday

Finessing Sex – Eroticon 2013

♦ In my last post, I wrote about the Eroticon 2013 poetry workshop run by Ashley Lister and showed you the poems I wrote in a panic during the session. Now there’s more where that came from, but from a different, equally fabulous session: KD Grace‘s Finessing Sex creative writing workshop.

Creative writing 5: Finessing Sex : KD Grace

It was described thusly…

“KD Grace will take writers beyond the slang of the old ‘in and out’ and beyond the biology of coitus to the other levels where sex takes place and will show how well-written sex shapes the story and the characters. The session will involve some writing and some brainstorming and hopefully a whole lot of finessing what we all want to write right. Though the session is designed to help newbies break through to a deeper level of writing sex, it will also help anyone writing sex in fiction do the same.”

KD Grace, a wonderful speaker, furnished us all with a handout and began her presentation on how to make our writing zing, along with some incredibly helpful advice, before getting to the part that made me gulp nervously: actually writing.

Five Minutes: Invent your characters

Using the tips she’d given us, we were to spend five minutes thinking of some characters to work with. I struggled here, indecisively bouncing back and forth between ideas.

At first I considered “cheating” and using the often-helpful method of basing characters off real people. I considered fictionalising my current girl-crush Red. Then I wrote, a step further away from that, of “the girl in the coffee shop with the not-quite-covered-up tatts and the pierced nose” and “the shy student with a thesis to finish and a need to blow off steam”.

Then, a love triangle of characters I’d written for multi-author fantasy story back in my teens popped unbidden into my head. Fuck, where on Earth had they come from? That was never designed to have erotic content, although I’m fairly sure that sex was going to come up as a plot point. But they suddenly SO wanted to be written. I’m now seriously wondering if there’s something I can do with them in future.

By this point, my five minutes was nearly up and I’d decided that those characters needed far too much housekeeping and gentle treatment in my head. So I brushed them aside and hurriedly decided to hang everything on a story hook I’d thought of a few months earlier: a girl who fetishes ancient/old objects. A kink for the past. Rushing like mad before the timer, I invented a quick secondary character: her shy boyfriend, not understanding her kink but eager to please and deeply in love.

Ten Minutes: Write your sex scene

Then, characters still jostling for space in my head and still battling indecision, a longer, harder challenge. Start writing a sex scene in medias res and don’t stop until ten minutes are up. Don’t be too picky, don’t self-edit, just write like the wind.

This is what I came up with…

The door creaked far more than I’d have liked as it closed; the little draft-excluding brush on the bottom – the kind you only get in public buildings like this one – kicked up fine dust from the marble floor. We waited, fixed on these little details while the danger of being discovered passed.

But no-one came.

Hurriedly, he took my hand and led me over to the main exhibit of this room: a fossilised tree trunk calcified millions of years ago. I reached out to touch it reverently, almost feeling an aura around it as I drew near. It was cool to the touch and smooth like onyx.

“Come on,” he hissed. “We don’t have long.”

I turned and hopped up backwards onto the trunk’s broad top, feeling the millennia-old relic on my bare thighs.

I wasn’t wearing panties. And he knew it.

Gingerly he placed a hand on either of my knees and splayed them outwards. I wriggled and eased my skirt up as he did so. The glacier mint sharpness of the trunk made my…

And that’s as far as I got. I noticed that even though I thought I’d started in the middle of the action, I was nowhere near. Very little sex happened in my sex scene, which quite surprised me.

On the whole I can’t say that I’m pleased with it, but I’m pleased with the idea of it. I certainly don’t hate it. I’d never publish it, of course, but there’s some promise, I think. And that’s the idea. KD told us that the important thing is to write, that you’ve got to have something on the page to work with before you can edit anything, improve anything, play with anything.

Write shit down, sort it out later.

It was very refreshing, because I’m perhaps guilty of being a little too precious about the words I actually put down on “paper”. It’s got to be as close to right as I can get it first time. But it can’t be and it never will be and being forced to deal with that was a wonderful exercise.

Will you be seeing this story again? Yes, I hope so. It needs a lot of thought put into the characters and the plot, but the hook is there and there are some bare bones to work with. And, if nothing else, I’ve proved I can do something with it.

Now all I need to do is to find more instances where I have a pen, paper, five minutes and enough brain energy to think with and I’m sorted.

Don’t forget, you can share the results of your ten minute writing exercise over on Irregular Voice with Mia More. ♦

Poetry: The Greatest Taboo – Eroticon 2013

♦ At the weekend I went to quite probably the event of the year, speaking as a sex blogger/erotic writer anyway. Eroticon 2013. When I’ve finally wrapped my head around the whole thing (and recovered), I’m going to do a general post about the event and the sessions I attended and so on and so forth. Until then, I’m going to write two or three posts showing you some of the more interactive elements I participated in over the weekend. First from Ashley Lister‘s poetry workshop, then from KD Grace‘s “finessing sex” session and then Kristina Lloyd‘s “threads of woo” one. At least.

Creative writing 4 : Breaking the greatest taboo in sex writing: poetry writing : Ashley Lister

Described as “an exploration of creative writing using short poetic forms to encourage writers to focus on unfamiliar aspects of language and unfamiliar approaches to getting words on paper”, this poetry workshop was exactly that. We were given five-minute blocks to attempt to rush out poems of various types in order to get use to think about words in different ways to the ways we think about them in prose: rhyme, rhythm, syllable count, mouth feel, etc.

It was very interactive indeed, something I didn’t quite feel up to on Sunday what with being tired and ill, but I think I soon got into the swing of thinking differently about language. And, since it makes a good blog post and gives you a sneak peek into what I come up with in a panic, I’d thought I’d share my little poems that I wrote in the session.

The Clerihew

The blogger Blacksilk
Writes sex right with the rest of her ilk
Toy reviews, pictures and dabbling in fiction
You can mark her out by her Cornish diction

The Haiku/Senryū

Poetry writing
How this flowing form mirrors
The curve of your thigh

Breath draws in, holds tight
Then rushes out, shuddering
You gasp a moment

The Limerick

There once was a woman from Wales
Who preferred to fuck girls over males
She said, “It’s a punt
But there’s plentiful cunt
And I’ll go back to the cock once that fails”

And those are the poems I wrote in the session! At various points the very jovial Ashley would ask us to share our poems with the class, as it were, which of course got me quite nervous. But I needn’t have been!

To my absolute delight (and these are moments I shall endeavour to remember a long, long time) I actually got approving gasps and compliments for both my senryū (even the one I thought was a bit rubbish) and a straight-up round of applause for my limerick! From a room largely composed of writers! A couple at least of whom I know to have high standards. I may have actually beamed.

By the end of the session, I think we were all convinced not only of our ability to give poetry a go (although, in my case, poetry is something I’ve dabbled in a few times before), but also of its use in writing prose. It makes you consider words differently and choose them carefully and I’m certainly going to be writing little poemlets here and there more often in order to improve my writing in general. Especially the haiku/senryū form because it’s a little more suited to being used erotically rather than bawdily.

Anyway, I hope you liked my five-minute offerings and this little glimpse of one of the more interactive sessions of Eroticon 2013. And, hey, why not join in? How about writing your own clerihew/haiku/senryū/limerick in the comments! ♦

Wicked Wednesday

Eroticon 2013 Meet and Greet

Eroticon 2013 is nearly here! Woohoo! I can’t wait until that suddenly dawns on me and then I collapse in a panic-strewn heap! But it’ll be great, I know. Two days of talking sex, writing and all sorts of awesome. It gives me a whole other day to attempt to fight past my hilarious levels of social awkwardness! There’ll be lots of people I’ve met before, lots I know online but haven’t met and lots still out there for me to get to know, so I’ll have plenty of practice. Here’s my Eroticon Meet & Greet questionnaire-thingy. Oh, God, what do I wear?

Eroticon 2013 Write Sex RightName: Blacksilk

Twitter ID: @BeingBlacksilk

Must attend Eroticon 2013 session: SEO love with the lovely Michael Knight. I’m getting really into the techy side of blogging and this man certainly knows his stuff! Whilst there are maaaany writing and content sessions to divide my interest, this is the only one like it for the tech side!

Bloggers you’d like to be trapped in the lift with: Lady Pandorah, Epiphora, Mia More and Molly.

Erotic writer you’d like to write dramatize your life story: Guy New York. Everything he writes is fucking gold. In both senses. It’s erotica meets literature with a sort of slightly wild nostalgia that I can’t really describe. Oh, yeah, and it’s all super hot.

Expected biggest fangirl / fanboy moment: Weren’t we just talking about that? :)

What keeps you awake at nights? Lately? Hmm, Crush’s hacking cough. Though it turns out that enough glasses of mead and girl kisses will sort that out no problem.

See who else is coming to Eroticon 2013 in the Meet & Greet link up. I look forward to seeing you all there, it’s going to be great. London, here I come!

Winter

♦ In winter, it takes ten minutes to get out the door and another ten to come in again.

The second pair of socks are wriggled onto waiting toes, the second jumper meets cold shoulders. Then a coat buttoned high, a scarf wrapped tight around a neck meant for dappled sun and dappled kisses.

A hat provides blinkers. We can’t see each other unless we turn directly. Gloves keep the pads of our fingers delicate for a delicate touch, but make holding hands a bundle of wool upon wool. In protecting ourselves from the biting wind, we shield ourselves from nibble and nip.

Each layer becomes distance. I can wind my way to your waist through hidden passes, but each exposure provokes a yelp and a wriggle to re-adjust.

Your cock is an onion heart, found after peeling off layer after layer. Your kiss often lands on fabric instead of flesh. I feel the pressure more than your touch.

But we brave the weather together, hand in glove, glove in glove.

And the reward is worth the wait, the enforced frost of the lack of loving touch.

Each piece of clothing becomes a striptease. Each sector of skin revealed is like lovers reunited after a journey. Absence makes the cunt grow fonder.

The air is chill, even indoors, but you’re still the same under the layers. Your skin radiates heat, a warmth that smells so much of you. Your temperature probably shouldn’t come into my lust for you, but I find myself so often wanting to press myself up against you just to feel it. To inhale it.

In weather like this, the desire is practical as well as sensual. We huddle under blankets, snuggle, bodies pressed close. Our hands wander, freed from woollen barrier and endless obstructive layers. Fingers scuttle over skin, wander curiously into thickets of your body hair and my own hot-wet crevices.

I’ve missed the freedom of your body and your freedom of mine. You’re something familiar yet almost forgotten, a staple I once took for granted that I revel in now that it’s returned to me. Like lasagne after months of onigiri and yakitori.

At first all I want is to play, but then the play turns earnest, our breaths mist hotly, our grasp is needier, our hips move without thought. My skin flushes, your hands are embers and soon the closeness of the duvet is repressive. We burst from the bedding like budding shoots from snow.

The heat of our bodies as we fuck grows until the room seems temperate, clement even. I wrap about you, new vines curling, grasping, as you thrust warmth and life into my once-chilled skin.

We are gasping, we are groaning, we are creaking and panting and running riot.

We are spring.

So the next time we venture out into the winter cold again, in our solitary confinement made of hats and gloves and clumsy layers, at least I’ll be able to think of uncovering the long-lost territory of your skin again and of fucking life and warmth back into our bones… ♦

Steampunkstress

♦ I’ve always known I was a fantasy geek. I have a massive hard-on for swords and the fantasy genre is something I’ve grown up with. I’ve always appreciated sci-fi, but even though I love lasers and science and space, I wouldn’t identify particularly as a sci-fi geek (because that geekdom goes deeper than I can claim to have travelled). I’m not a horror fan as such, because whilst scary films are fine, I am an awful wimp when it comes to scary games 1.

Steampunk, however, is a bit of a newer genre, at least when it comes to being widely recognised. But it turns out I was a fan before I even knew what it was. Steam machines? Hell, yes. Corsetry? Damned sexy. Waistcoats? Like lingerie for men. Pocket watches? The height of cool. Cogs? Pretty! Dirigibles? Awesome!

I’ve slowly oozed into becoming a steampunk lover, it seems. The incredibly good Carnal Machines steampunk erotica anthology (which I’m considering doing a short review for) definitely didn’t help. When I saw this gorgeous corset on sale, I had to have it. Click the link, it’s worth it. The thing is beautiful.

So I bought it and soon, thank God, the perfect event came along for me to wear it. An Erotic Meet party. I pulled on a wench-tastic white blouse and laced my corset tightly over the top. I added my bronze pocket watch and my bronze Triceratops necklace. On my bottom half I started with nude hosiery, then black cotton bloomers, Victorian boots and a long black skirt hoicked up at the front to show off my legs. On my head, a top hat and, of course, goggles. I have to say, I think I looked pretty hot as a steampunkstress.

Here’s a snapshot I took, what do you think..? ♦

Steampunkstress

  

Notes:

  1. Limbo was surprisingly doable, but the Ocean House Hotel level of Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines can fuck right off. Don’t even start me on Amnesia: the Dark Descent. No, really, don’t.

Constellation

♦ It’s dark out now when I come home. Soon, it will be dark when I leave in the “morning”. Winter is Coming and the air is getting chill. It feels like the end of the year is drawing close and night becomes a bigger part of our routine.

But it’s not all bad, of course. Night time has its own charms, not least of which are the stars wheeling overhead. I was once a country girl and could pick out individual distant suns each clear night. I had a favourite constellation and everything 1. I love the stars, the constellations and the vastness of space hanging above our heads.

I miss them sometimes, living in the city now. So this week for Toy With Me Tuesday I decided to use some new toys to create my own starscape in the blackness…

In this picture you can see:

1) At the back, Floggermeister‘s take on a Cuban quirt, which is made from a recycled tyre. It’s a wonderful, ethical toy which makes a hell of slap and sting. In fact, I’ve taken to calling mine the Lazy Twist because of the incredibly tiny amount of effort Crush has to put into it to get me to yelp and cry “Uncle”. (Not that my safeword is Uncle, but you get my drift) I think part of it is down to the fact that he makes it connect in a different place to where I did on my test run. Such an effective toy and so unique too. I love the recycled ingenuity.

2) Just under that, an uncoloured leather paddle from Leather Delights. As you’ll have seen me say before in a review for them, Leather Delights’ products smell amazing. I think they quite honestly dragged me out of the leather closet before I even knew I was in it. I bought this paddle because it’s simple and classic and felt like it’d suit me. I love the natural leather look and it feels great.

3) At the front, the main, ahem, star of the show, a suede flogger with a wooden handle, also from Leather Delights. I plan to do a colour photo of it soon, because it’s gorgeous in colour, but it was striking like this too! The falls are a royal blue and those little stars? Tiny, shiny holographic blue. So sparkly! I’ll be honest. I mostly bought it for the sparkly. But after using it, it’s definitely a new favourite too!

All these things (and more, in fact) were bought at my trip to Cardiff’s first fetish market O Cardiff! I’m currently writing a blog about it to be posted soon, because it was a great event. Fantastic day. So keep your eyes open for that. Anyway, quite enough rambling from me. You came here for the toy pictures. I just wanted to explain what they were since they’re not the off-the-shelf common garden variety! Hope you like my own little starscape. ♦

Toy with me Tuesday

Notes:

  1. Orion, if you’re interested. Though I love the Seven Sisters and Cassiopeia too

Alley-Oops

♦ 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.

Crush.

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… ♦

Notes:

  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.