The Fuck-Drunk Chronicles

I’m not a great fan of labels.  I do use them for convenience, but I sometimes find them restrictive, particularly when it comes to something as ambiguous and fluid as sexuality.  One of the sites I frequently visit seems to attract young men who are questioning themselves and their desires: “I love women but I’m fantasizing about cock: does that make me gay?”. I’ve always thought of sexuality less as tickable boxes and more of a fluid continuum, a sliding scale or a cobweb diagram, where varying preferences can be dialled up or down over time as tastes change. Sadly, when it comes to registering on hookup sites the vast majority don’t have an option of “loves cock but wouldn’t turn Mary Portas down given the opportunity”, so when I met R I had my profile set up so say I was hetero. Until that point, I hadn’t really considered other women as potential sexual partners.  R was bi, and was very open about his bisexuality (online – not so open in real life).  While his p...

As the current Covid lockdown rumbles on and I grow increasingly starved of touch I find my masturbatory thoughts turning away from the cut and thrust of sex itself, and instead bringing intimate touch into detailed focus.  I am a very tactile person and I miss touch.  I crave touch.  Yes, I’d love someone to fuck away my cares for an hour or two right now (I have plenty of burdens I’d love to set down for however short a period), but what I really crave is someone lazily trailing a finger across my shoulder as we lie in the sweaty afterglow of a job well done, brushing a damp tendril of frizzy hair out of my face, laughing as my super-sensitive post orgasm skin twitches under the lightest of touches. I think of all the times I lay with C, my head on his shoulder as I played with his chest hair.  I never tired of the way the silky hair would curl around my finger, tempting me to lightly tug on it, testing my resolve to not do so. I think of the way R would wrap...

I spend a considerable amount of time in adult online environments.  I’m a member of two fora associated with different porn sites, as well as spending time on whichever site I’m currently favouring to arrange whatever style of liaison tickles my fancy at a given moment.  Some of those sites have bulletin boards, some have chat rooms, all have messaging facilities.  Some of them are more welcoming than others, some are like spending time back in the school playground where X won’t play with you because you’ve been seen talking to Y.  On the whole the porn fora are far friendlier than the sites designed to facilitate encounters (it’s living proof of East and Watts assertion on Jealousy and Envy: that higher sex drives tend to be a significant predictor of higher levels of sexual jealousy). Some questions are, if not unique to a particular site, certainly unusual away from that site.  One porn forum is an American site and seems to attract guys obsessed with...

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What does it take to attract someone?  Damned if I know.  Aside from sexual availability and an impressive rack I find it difficult to see myself as being in any way desirable.  I am always surprised when someone else finds me sexy because I find myself resolutely lumpish and ungainly.  The fact remains that I’ve never struggled to attract potential bedfellows, both online and in real life.  I choose online for convenience and because it allows me to be incredibly open about what I’m looking for, not because it’s the only route open to me. I suspect the same isn’t true for everyone. What does it take to turn someone off?  Well, I can’t speak for everyone but it takes ridiculously little to turn me off.  My initial attraction is a precarious and fragile thing that requires nurturing, and in the early stages the slightest thing can leave me wincing and leaving a conversation. I had been chatting to N for a little while when we decided to try to m...

Most of the stories I tell on here have two things in common: they’re entertaining (honest), and they happened a while ago.  I spent a good chunk of Monday night on a call with R, talking about a few different experiences we’ve each had, and the subject of T and my behaviour with him cropped up.  This only happened towards the back end of last year, so is far more recent than I would normally write about, but since T (the guy involved) was genuinely a good bloke and the comedy value of the tale rests entirely on my ridiculous lack of even the thinnest veneer of sexual sophistication, I figure it’s a safe story to tell without causing undue offence.  Plus both R and I were howling laughing to the point he kept choking and I couldn’t catch my breath, so I wanted to write it down before I forgot about it again.  Please God, at some point, let me forget about it. T had messaged me on the swingers’ site I’m currently using.  His message of “Fancy a drink?” is one...

Some poetry spoke to me from the first line I read.  Larkin’s Ugly Sister is eight lines of such sparse beauty it makes my heart swell just to read it.  I never felt that way about Heaney.  Heaney was… OK.  Nothing objectionable, but a blah bit of background noise that I didn’t pay attention to.  I had no idea he needed to be read aloud to be really appreciated. Anahorish, soft gradient of consonant, vowel-meadow On the page (or in this case the screen) it’s a pretty nothing.  Aloud it truly comes to life. I was 18, not long out of a relationship with a much (MUCH) older man who was dour and serious (and an insecure controlling bully, but nobody is perfect).  Life had been short on laughs for a little while and I was in need of a bit of pure unfettered fun.  Although my parental home wasn’t exactly a strict one (I spent unsupervised weekends home with my brother from the age of 13), it was my first year at uni and the opportunity to have ...

I have said it before and I’m quite sure I’ll say it again: I am fundamentally unsuited to relationships.  I was happily plodding along in ethical non-monogamy when Covid-19 hit.  5 months of solitude later, I can see advantages to living with someone!  I’m not anti-relationship.  For most people they are great, and the issues are mine rather than with the structure most people choose to live within. My early relationship history is a tawdry and hackneyed story with which I’ve no intention of boring anyone, but even with that understanding there are a few things I really miss about them, brought home by a conversation I had yesterday about the most banal and everyday of things: a lift home. I didn’t learn to drive until after my last cohabiting relationship ended, so the whole time I lived with anyone they would drive and I would be the passenger.  I adored the quiet intimacy of being driven home at night; just the two of us in the car in our own bubble, p...

How does a far from classy scouse lardarse wind up dating a ballet dancer?  It was one of those glorious unforeseeable things that ultimately didn’t work out but was huge fun while it lasted. L is still one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in the flesh.  While I don’t have a real physical type, his was that lean, rangy, sinewy type for which I do have a soft spot.  Was he a good dancer?  Well he was no Carlos Acosta (Carlos Acosta… *sigh*).  He danced professionally, so yes he was very good indeed, but he was never a principal, so not quite that elite top tier where the general public would recognise his name. He was curiously graceless when not dancing, slightly heavy-footed and more than a little shy.  He was in my area touring schools as part of a now-defunct arts program, and a teacher friend of mine asked whether I’d be willing to babysit him for a night: take him for dinner, show him some of the sights of Liverpool.  Being of a g...

I may have mentioned this once or twice before but I was a truly terrible Domme.  I lacked a certain ruthlessness necessary for a successful top.  Nevertheless, I was in demand as all Dommes are.  Lately I find myself revisiting those early D/s days.  Part of it is a shortness of temper due to the stress of the current situation, part of it is how much I’ve discussed my time as top lately, part of it is my natural tendency to reflection and self-analysis.  For whatever reason I find myself being more… not dominant, exactly.  Maybe domineering.  Controlling in some conversations, unwilling to accept some of the bullshit that normally helps to grease the wheels of everyday social interaction.  In work I’ve finally taken control of some issues I’ve been ignoring for a long time, taking advantage of my current temporary lack of fucks given.  I’ve discussed some sessions as sub and now seems as good a time as any to discuss a session as a Domme. ...

I have had a couple of conversations recently where this blog has been mentioned.  I keep this going primarily for my own amusement, but I do have an ego. It’s always mildly thrilling to think someone else is enjoying it too, rather than me just mumbling smut to myself like some sort of horny drunk on the night bus that nobody dare venture too near.  Seriously, someone in Burkina Faso has read about my ex-sub’s cleaning shenanigans? How astonishing! In one of the conversations it was suggested the blog may be misnamed; that it should instead be called “We Didn’t Meet Again”.  That does seem to be the punchline to many of my stories and gave me a good laugh.  I also like the subversion of the Vera Lynne-esque message.  We’ll meet again?  Not bloody likely mate.  That’s taking doing your duty to entirely unwarranted levels; I’m not exactly a lie back and think of England type. So many of my more random meets have been such glorious shitshows that they...

I’m not 100% sure I’m capable of romantic love.  Not the “wuv, twoo wuv” type of high romance people talk about, eventually mellowing to a comfortable coexistence once you’ve each sanded down the other’s rough edges and pointy corners.  I feel as though I am all pointy corners, which isn’t the easiest thing to get along with. The closest I’ve come to a traditional romance was with R, and lord knows that was unintentional. We met on a hookup site, and (brutal unvarnished truth in all its unromantic pragmatism) the main draw was his nearness.  He lived less than a five minute walk from me, was quite happy to fit around my availability and was ostensibly looking for uncomplicated physical adventure.  There were other attractions (his profile picture was a beautiful shoulder tattoo, a watercolour rendition of a liver bird, still one of the most attractive tattoos I’ve ever seen, and he never once used text speak – that alone was worth a blowjob to me), but I k...

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