“single mom anal sex persuade”

He: “Go on…”

She: “No.”

He: “But you’ve put Postman Pat on for Harry… We’ve got at least 20 minutes… Just relax, baby…”

She: “I said no! And quit nudging at my backside. Oh – put it away, for God’s sake.”

He: “It’s because I’m not his real Dad, isn’t it?”

She: “Huh?”

He: “You’d let his Dad fuck you up the arse, wouldn’t you?”

She: “What are you on?! I’ve not seen him for years!”

He: “Then what is it then? Is it because you’ve been on your own for a bit? You feeling a bit rusty? Not had any backdoor action for a while?”

She: “It’s just not something I especially enjoy.”

He: “But it feels so good for me, baby. So tight. So dirty…”

She: “Yeah. You’re going to have to work harder to persuade me than that… Seriously. Put it away.”

He: *goes away, Googles ‘single mom anal sex persuade, ends up here*

Seriously men. SERIOUSLY. What’s with the ‘single mom’ qualifier? Don’t just read and run next time you land here from a search like that. Help me out. What specific information are you looking for about anal sex with a single mother? How exactly do you imagine it is different from a married mother, or a non-mother, or, I don’t know, another man? Please leave a comment. I’m dying of curiosity.

 


“Anal sex for depression”

She: “You could try listening to me for once, and understanding.  I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t want to feel like this. And you banging on about how we don’t have sex any more really isn’t helping. Just… try and be a bit more understanding, could you?”

5 days later…

He: “I’ve done a bit of Googling, love. About the way you’ve been feeling.”

She: “Really? Wow. Thank you…”

He: “Yeah – it says that taking it up the shitter is fucking BRILLIANT for depression…”

He: *big hopeful eyes*

She: *speechless*

The conversations that I imagine happened around my new favourite search referral…


Match.com and The Godfather III – the promise vs the reality

How match.com tenderly imagines The Godfather III brings people together:

“I like old movies, especially Godfather III, it’s not considered the best one, but that’s just me…”

How my match.com date imagined The Godfather III (and indeed I and II) could bring us together:

Ah, it’s beautiful, isn’t it? The kind of offer every girl dreams of… I should send it to match.com. They can do something with it in their next advert.

“I’ll finger you while watching The Godfather I, II and III”

I declined his (very kind) offer and instead reached for the notebook I carry with me at all times and wrote it down. When you’ve drunk the best part of a hotel bar and someone propositions you with a gem like that, it needs to be recorded for posterity, lest you forget.

PS. I actually only wrote “I’ll finger you while watching The Godfather”, which is what he said when we got got back to the hotel room and I clocked the big bed and massage oils, and he clocked the widescreen TV and DVD library. He added the I, II and III himself – which just sounds sore, quite frankly – and signed it with a flourish. I cropped his signature out. See? I know when to stop sharing…

PPS. We didn’t watch The Godfather I, II or III, but he was so very, very drunk, he fell asleep mid-fuck, collapsed heavily on my left leg and gently snoring. Can anyone tell me why I miss this man…?


“I am a mother and I like anal sex”

Third result on the first page of Google’s main search results! Score!

I am sitting here actually laughing out loud. I have totally got the market for long tail crude sex searches nailed. I’m going to offer my services to the sex industry. It just goes to show, fellow SEO geeks – write natural content aimed at users, not machines, and Google rewards will follow.

For the record: I am definitely a mother, but ‘like’ would be stretching it – no pun intended. It’s true I will indulge, but there are many bedroom activities that feature higher up on my fun list. Like, this weekend I hung a vintage Vogue mirror in my bedroom, with a lovely Deco peacock lady on it. That was more fun than anal sex.

But whatever. I’m totally going for the anal sex search market. I’ve got long tail searches covered, but I want total search domination: anal sex = motherinterrupted. Every time.

I like the idea of a load of hot and horny types coming here to fiddle with themselves while reading about some dirty back passage action, and finding… me. The girl sitting writing this in an ankle length dressing gown, geek glasses perched primly on her nose. Yeah baby. I’m so hot…


A sentence I never thought I’d write – and a question I never imagined I’d answer

“It is impossible to orgasm when you’re worried that the string of your tampon is going to catch in his teeth.”

That is the best thing I’ve written all day. Possibly ever, in fact. And I write for a living.

There is a little more to the tale of the tampon. I’m only telling you so I can commit it to paper. I might forget, and that really would be terrible. (Zoe, if you’re reading this, you know what’s coming, and you’re excused from class…)

So I’m on my period and he clearly doesn’t care, and he’s going down on me. Which is cool. Quite sexy, actually. But I am never going to come. EVER.  He’s licking the string of my tampon, for fuck’s sake. I wonder if it will fray? If it frays, will I still be able to remove it? Yes, don’t be silly. But then he really could end up with a thin string of cotton between his teeth… What if it gets caught and he jerks his head? Eek! His teeth are really tightly packed together though. I bet he couldn’t floss if he tried. I wonder if that puts him more at risk of gum disease, or less? If floss/a thread of tampon string can’t get between his teeth, neither can rotting food… Hmmm. His teeth are really good. Maybe that’s why…

See how my mind is wandering?

I am never going to come.

“Um… PB… ”

“Ungh-hugh…”

“I’m sorry… All I can think about is you licking the string of my tampon.”

This is greeted with a muffled snigger. He looks up at me, those gorgeous curls framed by my open thighs, his huge green eyes peering amusedly over my pubic hair.

“Are you going to remove the tampon so I can fuck you then, or shall I?”

SQUUEEAAAAAAA!

In the right frame of mind, I’ll do anal. I enjoy rimming*. I don’t think I’m that much of a prude. But the thought of someone else removing my tampon… Oh. Em. Gee. And I don’t OMG lightly. (What would he do with said item once removed? It’s a really light day, period-wise – what if he has to pull really hard? What if he pulls me off the bed? Is he going to do it right now, while he’s at eye level? Good god no…)

I shoot off the bed like a scalded cat, into the bathroom. “I’ll do it!” I shriek. Totally not cool.

But seriously. There’s a question I never thought I’d have to answer.

Proper bloggers end their entries with a question, to encourage engagement. Here’s one for y’all – ever had a man remove your tampon? And if not, would you let him? I want to know, on a scale of 1 – 10, just how big a prude I am…

*Zoe, you had better have stopped reading. Seriously.


Sleeping with Mr Greedy

Had one of those lovely conversations with The Boy today, where we’re both talking about entirely different things, but that’s OK. We were discussing our sleeping arrangements. Specifically, how sleeping on our own, in our own beds, is the most amazing, awesome, grown-up thing ever, but sleeping in each other’s beds is bleurgh-for-babies.

“Yes Mummy – because my bed has only one pillow for only one person: me!”

“That’s right…”

“And your bed has… Wait. Your bed has TWO pillows. For two persons!”

His little face lights up. Ohhhhh no. I see where this is going. There shall be no small boy kicking me in the kidneys all night…

“Yes – me and Mr Nobody.”

The Boy is very taken with the concept of Mr Nobody at the moment. He’s a very real presence in our home.

“Yes! Mr Nobody needs somewhere to sleep, doesn’t he?”

And his gorgeous little face lights up again as a new thought occurs to him.

“Mummy – did you ever sleep with Mr Greedy?”

I think about The Pirate, and how much he took from me.

“Yes, yes I did…”

“And did he EAT YOU ALL UP?”

I think about The Pirate’s animal enthusiasm and considerable talent for oral sex. His hands pinning my thighs to the bed as he buried his face between them. Wiping my juices all over his face then smelling his hands, really breathing in, like I’m honey. Me nervously piping up that I’m on my period, and him looking at me like I’m mental and going down on me anyway*.

“Yes, yes he did…”

“Were you scared?”

Pinned to the floor of my living room so I can’t move. Nipples pinched so hard it hurts. Sharp, fox-like teeth in soft, hidden places. Slaps to the backside, playful at first but then not so, administered with a look that says ‘defy me if you dare’ – which was obviously met with defiance. Always, a show of strength – and he’s so, so strong. The thrill of submitting, giving what I know he could take  anyway.

“A little bit. But sometimes it’s fun to be scared…”

“Do you prefer sleeping with Mr Greedy or Mr Nobody?”

Ah, the million dollar question.

“Mr. Nobody,” I reply. But I’m not fooling anyone.

*It is impossible to orgasm when you’re worried that the string of your tampon is going to catch in his teeth. Fact.


Way, way too much information

I would like some sex, please.

I’m probably ovulating, or something. But I would really like sex. Dirty, energetic, bitey, sweaty, laughy, earthy, un-self-conscious sex. I miss the penises I have known and loved in the last 18 months. It’s sad that the men attached to them were total dicks, but they did have nice penises.

My ex-husband’s cock was beautiful. I know there is comfort and joy in the familiar, but I suspect a stranger would be delighted with it, too. Circumcised, always beautifully clean and manicured, and a lovely size. Not too big, not too small. Ah. Just right. Smooth against your lips. He had lovely bollocks too. Weighty and pendulous. Nice and slappy. A fine set of tackle.

The Boy-Child’s cock was… hmmm. Not that pleasant, now I think. But it was incredibly eager, and rose to the occasion again and again and again. Which is, you know, flattering. Oh, and his cum was like water. Absolutely no viscosity, a little oily. Not for me.

The Pirate’s cock… Jaunty. A little periscope foreskin, befitting the nautical vibe. I’d say it was cute – a bit meerkatty, nosy somehow – but men don’t  like words like ‘cute’ being used in association with their bits, right? Not the biggest of cocks which, judging by the many self-deprecating comments he made, bothered him. Can’t say as it bothered me. It was a thing of beauty (and it was big enough to make me bleed. That’ll do, pig. That’ll do…).

Two good things – it smelled amazing. (Naturally. It was attached to him…) Even after a day in fishing waders. Sigh. And it tasted even better. His cum always, always tasted delicious. Actively delicious. Not just tolerable. Lipsmackingly moreish, no matter what he’d eaten.

I really like giving blow jobs. I take pride in my work. I miss giving blow jobs. *I want sex.*

I really wish I could do casual sex. The world would be a fine place if I could. I’d probably still be sleeping with The Pirate. He might be here tonight, fucking me from behind under the fairy lights, doing bad, bad things with the candy canes from the tree, biting my nipples, drinking Baileys from my belly button..

But I’m a stupid rubbish girl, with stupid rubbish emotions that get in the stupid bastard way. (Though with The Pirate, I suspect it was pheromonal as much as emotional. I’m pretty sure no-one’s cum tastes that good without some serious chemical shit going on.) I wish I was a boy. I want sex.

And alongside this physical itch that so very needs scratching, there’s the need to be touched. No-one touches me any more. It makes me jump when people do. My boss touched my arm today, a supportive squeeze, and it freaked me out. It felt like an invasion, because no-one touches me any more. And I am *such* a tactile person. I want to be stroked and hugged and – oh god – kissed.

Yeah. I want sex.