The Devil Is In The Details: Erections

Welcome back to my new miniseries of blog posts, The Devil Is In The Details, where I explore sex- and kink-related topics in way more depth than anyone asked for! Today, as you can guess from the title, I’ll be talking about erections and why I love them.

I love my own erections. I came with a vagina and a clitoris pre-installed, rather than a penis, and for the most part, I’m happy about that – my vagina has brought me a lot of joy over the years, and I wouldn’t want to get rid of it even on my most dysphoric days. My clit, too, has brought me a great deal of joy, mostly while it’s been erect. I love starting to masturbate and feeling my clit slowly harden and peek out of its little hood. I find my own erections affirming on my masculine days, but they aren’t so obtrusive or gendered in my mind to be off-putting on my feminine days. Plus, obviously, they’re a lot of fun to play with.

I love other people’s clitoral erections too, of course. Whatever the gender of the person I’m fucking, I love playing with their clit in a way that makes them squirm. I love that clitoral erections are a little bit harder to find and get my mouth around than penile ones, because it makes it all the more rewarding when I find that hard knot of flesh with my tongue.

Penile erections, though – that is, erections happening to a penis – are delicious in their own right. As well as saying, in a way I cannot refute, that I’m sexually attractive, an erection says to me that foreplay is going well. I love how obvious they are, how incontrivertible and, well, solid the proof is that sex is still going okay. (Note: erections are not a substitute for ongoing communication. However, they are a substitute for nervously asking, “Do you fancy me?” or “Is this neck-licking thing doin’ it  for you?” dozens of times during a single fuck.)

I also love the sensory experiences an erect penis can provide. There’s the halfway-there erection that gives way just a little under your fingers, the tissue springy but firm. There’s the rock-solid erection that twitches in your mouth (did I mention how much I love to put anything in my mouth? Never lend me a pencil.) and which shoves any foreskin out of the way, just inviting you to roll it back and forth over the head of a cock with your hands, your tongue, your tits…

Ahem.

Then – and this might be cheating – there’s the taste of an erection. It’s not just the texture of my spit, mixed with precum, on my tongue, against a dick – a unique sensory experience, the only word for which is “slick”. Erect dicks taste different to flaccid ones, at least in my experience, which might be because of sciencey things to do with pheromones or precum (which I did once write an entire blog post about – I fucking love precum), or which might just be to do with the magic of having a hard dick in my mouth. Either way, erections taste hot and human and different on everybody, and the sight of an erection immediately gets my mouth watering – what might this dick taste like? When am I going to find out?

I don’t know whether I have an oddly sensitive tongue or an oddly detail-oriented mind or whether this is a universal thing, but I also love feeling out all the different parts of a dick with my tongue – the curve of the head, the slit down the middle, the tautness of the frenulum, all the way down the shaft and then to the balls (which maybe don’t count as part of an erection, but don’t you just love the texture of a scrotum? The way it gives and folds? The fact that sometimes you can feel individual hair follicles with your tongue?).

Oh, and obviously: erections look hot as sin. Dripping precum, hidden in boxers, in the mouth of another hot human – all unbearably hot.

Y’all might have to excuse me. I have blowjobs to think about and an erect clit to deal with.


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I Wrote Some Poetry About Sex

A close-up of some rope marks on a white person's (my) torso alongside a cute little mole, because choosing an image to represent the abstract concept of poetry about sex

Hey, folks! I’ve been having a really rough time with my mental health, and writing whole blog posts is a bit beyond me at the moment. However, apparently writing poetry (mostly while stoned) is not beyond me, so I wrote some poetry about sex. I’m really self-conscious about my poetry – even, like, the ridiculous poem I wrote about Christmas – so please be kind about it. And if poetry isn’t your thing, don’t worry, because I do have a few blog post ideas up my sleeve and I might one day soon have enough executive function to actually write and publish them.


how do you write poetry about people having sex?

 

how do you make magical someone 

(or maybe more than one someone) 

mashing their body against yours – 

 

or how do you speak that magic to strangers, 

without letting some of it be stolen by the breeze 

impossible to translate in its sweetness

 

how do you say, convincingly,

that even as the hot-wax-sting bit your skin

the flame on the candle was beautiful

 

or that feeling fingers stretch your cunt

felt so good, felt so fucking good

that when you came, you felt God 

 

how do you explain, fully,

that you bit her because you love her –

and she loves you in part because you bit her 

 

and that your bruises are like love notes

left liberally across your flesh

along with licks and kisses 

 

how can you replicate in words the dark glow of the dungeon

where you made half your closest friends

and where you once got choked half-unconscious

 

or the sound of cum hitting your skin, the heat of it

the heat of other people’s holes around your fingers

and the way their muscles tighten to hold your hand

 

how do you talk beautifully about the twitch of a dick in your mouth

the texture of someone’s scrotum under your tongue

and the melody of moans you can elicit with your lips

 

how do you bottle the lightning that arcs between you?

how do you capture the magic and the mess?

how do you write poetry about people having sex?

Kissing: The Devil Is In The Details

A lipstick kiss mark, from, you know, kissing

Welcome back to my new miniseries, The Devil Is In The Details! Last time, I went into unreasonable depth about cum – what I love about it, and about everything surrounding its production – and now, we’re taking a look at an oft-overlooked but extremely sexy aspect of fucking: kissing.

Not just kissing, of course – I’m also thinking of snogging (or, for the non-Brits in the audience, making out) and everything that entails. I’m thinking of the transition from bumping your dry lips together to opening your mouth and sharing spit. I’m thinking of the wet warmth of a tongue against my lower lip. I’m thinking of the sounds a person makes when I bite down on theirs.

Kissing is hot because it just is, but also because it serves as the spark that turns the dry kindling of want into the roaring flame of need, giving you fuel to grab a fistful of someone’s hair and yank on it. A good snog is the perfect time to try growling at me for the first time, while one hand grasps the back of my neck like I’m a misbehaving kitten and the other tries desperately to unbutton my jeans. It’s also a great time to shove a hard, unrelenting knee into the gap between my thighs, and to hold it there, perfectly still, while I start trying to grind my fully-clothed cunt against it.

You can kiss softly, gently, reverently, whilst you grab and twist my nipples. You can move from laying butterfly-soft kisses on my lips to laying them on my chin, cheeks, neck and collarbone, all while you drag your fingernails across my flesh so hard that I can’t hold back a whimper of pain and want. You can kiss every inch of my body, as long as you come back to my mouth sometimes. And when you do, you can stick to those soft, restrained kisses, and you can keep pulling your head away every time I try to tilt and kiss you more deeply – even if I let out a frustrated whine. No – especially if I let out a frustrated whine.

I also love aggressive kisses – the ones that go from 0 to 100 in the time it takes for me to process that we’re kissing. I love when someone abruptly decides that they want me now and jams their mouth against mine. I love opening up my mouth and having their whole tongue plunge in, slick and hot and desperate, like they’re trying to lick my uvula. Kisses like these ones should hurt my jaw a little, leave my lips feeling bruised from the force with which they were pressed into my teeth, and leave me dizzy and lustdrunk and thirsty for more. These kisses are well-suited for quickies, because they say, “We don’t have much time, and we need to do this now,” but they are equally well-suited for a long, exhausting, sweaty fuck, wherein they say, “I want you so badly I can barely see straight, and I am going to have you.”

Other kisses I like include the one I get after swallowing somebody’s cum, which can say, “You taste like my dick and I love that,” “You did an excellent job and I’m proud of you,” and/or, “I’m not finished with you yet.” These kisses are best served while I’m still on my knees, with you leaning down from above, forcing me to crane my neck up to meet your mouth. Maybe your fist is in my hair, or maybe it’s wrapped around my neck, cutting off my air supply because my breathing is secondary to your need to taste my mouth again. This is also a perfect time to kiss me tenderly, and then to mess with my head by holding my jaw open and spitting straight onto my tongue, just because you can.

But, if we’re talking about tender kissing, I also like the slow, soft kind of kiss that sometimes happens after sex, or first thing in the morning, when I’m in bed with someone and my hair is a mess. This one is a slowdance of lips, interrupted by gazing at each other’s faces with a blend of fondness and awe – a kiss that says, “God, you’re beautiful,” in between us saying the same thing out loud. This is the kind of kiss you share as aftercare, as a way to say, “We’ve just done some fucked up shit to each other, but only because we really like each other.” Those kisses feel like the warm bath of sunlight on my face, and I love them as much as all the other kinds of kisses – if not, secretly, just a little more.


The pandemic and subsequent lockdown that’s going on right now means that I’ve lost a lot of work opportunities (because every other fucker at my agency is snagging jobs before I can). If you also want to give me a birthday present four months early, consider buying me a coffee or commissioning transcripts or captions from me!