TMI Tuesday – 22 January 2019

1. What was your favorite part of yesterday?

I was going to say that it was starting rehearsals for a play that I’m going to be in, but then I realised it wasn’t that at all. I was called into a meeting with my boss and a (slightly) more junior colleague. He is the single most repulsive individual I’ve ever worked with, and it was because his ‘office banter’ is straight out of a 1970s sitcom. He refers to people by description (the tall blonde (female) one, the little fella, the Irishman, and my personal favourite ‘the little blonde girlie in the main office who, for some reason, got Employee of the Year last year’), uses incredibly sexist and patronising language (calling female colleagues ‘dear’ and worse) and has used the phrase n****** in the woodpile in front of me, twice. I’d mentioned it to the boss on a number of occasions, to his face and by email, and explained exactly the shitstorm of HR pain and grief that was coming his way if he didn’t do something about it.

The colleague was appropriately rebriefed, and I then had to take him aside and explain exactly why his comments were unacceptable. He played the ‘it wasn’t me, it was him too’ card, and I got to slap that down hard too. I’m not sure it went in, so he’s not going to be long in the company.

2. If you could make your own porn movie, what would you call it? Would you write it, direct and/or star in the movie?

The Cuddle Puddle – it’d have all the wonderful range of people we play with in kink clubs. All ages, all gender presentations, all bisexual. Men DPing women with their cocks and a strap-on, boys and girls playing together with enthusiasm and abandon in all configurations, tattoos, scars, bellies, women spit-roasting men (not for the power play, just for the sheer fucking fun of it). Watersports, feathers, dress-up, spankings, all the players taking joy in the giving of pleasure, not the taking of it.

I don’t think I’ve seen that outside the realm of indie, ethical porn producers like Four Chambers, or all the cool stuff on Pink Label, and there needs to be a lot more of it in the world.

3. What do you like the least about sex?

Finding the opportunity to do it without inhibition. That’s not just to do with the surroundings and kids in the house – I’m also aware that @NotMuchofaMuse still has to give me a slap on the bum and tell me to get on with stuff I’m hesitant about giving myself permission to do.

4. So, now what are you planning to do?

I’m about to have a VTC with out company’s CEO to explain to them the view of the management and operation of the company from the ground floor. I’m going to be telling the whole group that we’re hideously behind the curve on Diversity and Inclusion, but I’m not going to be telling them all that I’ve put together a plan for a Pride network that should have been established 10 years ago (I’m not really out at work – it’s coming, just not yet).

5. If you were a box of cereal, what would you be and why?

The sort that’s really a bacon roll with a thick slice of black pudding in it.

To see who else is oversharing, click the link above!

Elust 114

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Photo courtesy of Rebel’s Notes

Welcome to Elust 114

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #115? Start with the rules, come back February1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Painful Truth…

As Wet As I Get

Three, in the end

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Pachelbel

Window

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

FemDom {T}ropes

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On Discovering Queerness in Later Life

I was 47 when I recognised that I wasn’t exactly as straight as I’d heretofore assumed. Now, I flatter myself that I’m about as liberal, open-minded and sex-positive a human as you could hope to meet in normal life, and given that I’ve been pretty open on the kink scene for about 4 years, my ‘normal’ casts a pretty wide net. But no, as far as I was concerned up to that point, I was comfortable counting a pretty wide variety of LGBTQ+ people within my friendship group, openly and on Facebook, but it really wasn’t my thing.

Except. Except … Except lots of things, as it turns out. My fiancée Helena knew. She’d always kind of known, and there were lots of bits of our play that had dropped some pretty broad hints. I was quite happy to slip into a little pleated tartan skirt and take photos to send her, entirely because she ‘needed a laugh and a bit of cheering up’; when I was in San Francisco, I went underwear shopping in the Castro and browsed Grindr (strictly for research); I thoroughly enjoyed anal play (although I found it a difficult thing to ask for). I still deny that my willingness and ability to run up a set of curtains for me and lacy underwear for her on her sewing machine is an indicator.

Continue reading On Discovering Queerness in Later Life

Senses – Erotic Journal Challenge Submission

The sense I love the most out of all of them isn’t one with a name, at least not one that I know of. Or, definitely not just one name; but it’s definitely one sense and with one source.

It’s the sense of warmth and comfort when I get changed after work, and pinch a pair of her satin pyjama shorts to wear under my pyjamas, knowing that she’ll be delighted and turned on when she discovers this later.

Continue reading Senses – Erotic Journal Challenge Submission

F is for Floating

Helena and I escaped to rural Wales for a couple of days to a little Airbnb with a hot tub. Being who we are, clearly this was an opportunity for naughty shenanigans.

I realise Sinful Sunday is about the single image, so I picked the one below, but I couldn’t really narrow it down easily, so I’ve popped a gallery below it …

Continue reading F is for Floating

On Fucking and Being Fucked

I’ve been trying to write something like an Origin post for this blog – who I am, my relevant life experiences, how I discovered my queerness to where I am now, what I hope and want for the future, and some commentary on what happens on that road. This isn’t that. Not completely anyway…

This is the bit where I get fucked with a real cock for the first time.

Continue reading On Fucking and Being Fucked

Time, and Why It’s Irrelevant. A True Love Story

Helena and I were 41 and 43 in 2014 when we met and, when we met, I honestly think we were a bit in love before we made eye contact. She’d seen something I’d written on Fetlife about Strong and Difficult Women that was inspired by a Royal Shakespeare Company mug I have, connecting Cleopatra, Desdemona, Kate, Lady Macbeth and Rosalind. She immediately pulled me up about the ‘difficult’ bit, and after much back-and-forth, with digressions on why Irish authors write better female characters, I changed it to ‘Strong and Challenging’, which sat much better with both of us.

Strong, Challenging Women, please joun the turquiose line.

We met at a munch a couple of weeks later, and I went to a (ostensibly vanilla) party at hers just after that, where things got excitable (involving fire poi, amongst other distractions), and then a couple of days later, we had our first night together in a hotel. She tries to deny how quickly I fell in love with her, but I can give you the gist of our Fetlife chat without ever having read it again. I can describe pretty much exactly what she wore when we met, how her hair looked, what we talked about, and how I (robust, confident, gregarious) could barely bring myself to look at her when we first met because she was so fucking …much. So beautiful and clever and funny.

We’ve been through so fucking much since then, blending families and tying together our lives, exploring and discovering things about ourselves and each other. I can honestly say I’m more in love with her today than I was yesterday, or any day before that. We know each other; we’re both ridiculously empathic, and that feeds the core of our relationship.

We’ve got a lot that we’ve brought into this relationship, including a not-insubstantial number of children, and we occasionally chat about opportunities missed. How it would have been to have our own, together. How we would have loved discovering ourselves together in our 20s. How it could have been if we’d been there to support, encourage, conspire and generally be a bad influence on each other. And we both miss those missed opportunities.

Except …

Except those missed opportunities weren’t really missed.

We were raised hundreds of miles and a sea apart. The closest we ever came to each other was about 50 miles when we were both doing our respective training. If we hadn’t travelled these separate paths; if we hadn’t had the respective spouses we had; if our previous relationships hadn’t failed when and how they did; if, if, if …

If we change one thing in our past, the whole bifurcating, Sliding Doors, Star Trek reboot, path not taken, chain of events that brought us together collapses, and we never meet. And although I’d have no way to know it, my life would have been immeasurably poorer for not having met her. The world would have had one fewer shining examples of ‘nauseatingly in love’. You know those doddery old couples you see in their 70s who are as clearly at least as in love as they were way back when? That’s our realistic and easily achievable relationship goal.

So. Do we wish we’d met 20 years earlier? Fuck yes. Do we begrudge it? Fuck yes. Would we change a single thought, deed, or decision that brought us to where we are now? No. Not a single fucking thing. I wish that we could have had another two decades of being in love, but we’re not concentrating on that. We’ve got today, and tomorrow and everything else, and we’re looking forward to being together in a nursing home, scandalising the staff by both of us flirting with the same cute ones, demanding Viagra, and Helena asking for assistance with her strap on cock.