Exhibit One

A week ago I slept with a man twice my age. 
I have now proved that with age does not also come skill. 

Any man that believes he can provide you an orgasm by counting backwards from five and telling you to cum, is not a sex god, he’s a delusional narcissist. Unless those fingers are inside me at the time, you’re not going to illicit any sort of genuine response. 

I don’t remember ever rolling my eyes while giving head…. now I can tick that off my bucket list. Well, add it, then tick it off. He just never. Stopped. Talking. ‘You’re where you’re supposed to be. All your worries are flowing away. My cock takes away your fears…’ queue epic eye roll. Your cock is not a magic wand. It’s not much of anything to be honest. 

Let me provide you with a list of all the times I was to cum on command. 

– as he entered me

– as he counted down from five and hit 0

– as he counted down from five on his fingers and hit 0

– as I went down on him

– every time he just said ‘cum’

Oh and I would be robbed of the capacity to ever cum again if he said the word. Like some sort of orgasm wizard, bestowing and taking away the orgasms of the people at will. If you can’t cum, I can’t point you in the direction of the man to blame. Perhaps you cut him off in traffic once, or bought the last cream bun when he really had a hankering for one. Who knows. But it’s most definitively his fault. 

Number of orgasms – 1 (did it myself, got bored waiting for him to show up with my magical ones)

Here’s a picture of a sunset to help dull your orgasmless rage. 



Exhibit ‘get fucked. I shaved for this bullshit’

Don’t be the fat girl at a gang bang, guys. 

The tall thin blonde ones get a queue while you could probably turn into a pot plant and no one would notice. Except for exhibit one who happened to be there. Tried his whole counting down to an orgasm thing too. Ugh. Get fucked. 

I could have been in my friends kitchen eating antipasto and bitching about her ex girl friend and our passive aggressive hitleresque boss. But no. The gang bangs have been a lot of fun before. I was looking forward to it. 

I shaved. 

I fucking shaved. 

That shit takes effort. Shallow ass bastards. None of them were exactly super models, but we’re supposed to feel lucky to have them grant us with their cock. Nope. Get fucked. 

I’ve gone from being sad to being cranky. 

Thank god for hot builder booty call on the way home. Helped soothe my bruised ego and scratch and itch. 

Gonna just mutter for the next few days about societies perception of the perfect body and how it’s damaging women everywhere and brainwashing people into thinking only one shape is desirable. And also all men are bastards. But that’ll wear off quickly. I know too many good men. 

But for now, I leave you with the queen. One bad ass mother fucker who won’t take any shit. Do you think she ever lays in bed, pulls the covers up to her chin and says, ‘look Phillip! I’m a stamp!’? 

Exhibit Five

A week late but here none the less! 

Last Friday I had a sleep over. 

Which is a big deal. There are very few I stay the night with. That means I’ve grown attached to them. It also doesn’t happen often because as a single mum I don’t get a lot of nights off. So when I spend the night, it’s a thing. 

And this time it is with a gentleman I’ve played with quite a few times. A daddy dom who likes to play DD/lg with me and it was time for my first sleep over. 

I admit I was nervous. DD is a refined older gentleman, and I’m what has been described as eccentrically eclectic. I have rainbow hair, tattoos, piercings and a mouth like a sailor. 

I arrived and for ages we talked things that other people would find boring, ancient languages, apps to help children with ASD, podcasts about morphic feilds while his little dog sat between us loving me because I was a novelty. Then he called me princess and I knew things were about to start. He calls me princess, I melt, and he leads me to the bedroom. 

He tells me I’m a good girl as he uses my body and whispers dirty things in my ear. I get my paci and stuffie and DD does very naughty things. His dog tries to snuggle me before being expelled from the room, not before stealing my hair flower and doing a runner. 

When we’re done he tucks me into bed and he holds me. Or at least tries to because there’s a possessive shitzhu in the middle claiming his daddy but also demanding my love. 

I fell asleep much faster than I thought I would. I was paranoid about snoring, I know I’m not exactly a delicate flower while sleeping. I woke up about 2am and he was gone. Ugh. My snoring has driven a man out of his own bed. He invites me to stay, numerous times, I finally accept and I drive him out of his own bed. 

So I spent two hours playing Whirly Word on my phone planning how to appropriately apologise in the morning for ousting a man from his quarters with my death rattle. I did finally fall back asleep, but that was going to be short lived. 

There’s nothing quite like being woken up at 5am for kinky, no holds barred, sex. Being half asleep as a man pushes inside you and takes you for his own. Apparently he wasn’t too upset about having to sleep in his own spare room. 

So it turns out, yes. I did snore. BUT, that’s not the reason he moved. Apparently, as I’m  used to sleeping alone, I did a bit of bed hogging. And…… rolled on top of the dog and kind of squished it a little. Nothing is quite as hot as staying the night and killing a mans pet. Puppy didn’t seem to hold it against me. Or at least didn’t pee in my shoes. 

As tribute to the poor put out pooch, here is a flat puppy. 

Exhibit Four

Now this actually happened a couple of days ago, but I needed a bit of time to gather myself before writing. I also had to briefly leave the state so that took up a little of my time! More on that later. If you’re not familiar with BDSM or just don’t get the appeal, this post isn’t going to make a lot of sense to you. So let me start with a disclaimer. 

I had a painfully average childhood. Mum, Dad, two siblings. Nothing bad happened to me sexually. My parents are still married. I have no daddy issues. I was never touched by a creeper uncle. I lived the stereotypical average childhood all Australian children were supposed to have. I am not damaged. I am not crazy. I chose this. 

Now we can move forward. 

Yesterday I played with a good friend of mine, my friendly neighbourhood sadist. He pushes my limits, he takes care of me, he is good to me. 

A short list of toys used yesterday, you can use you imagination as two how. 

  • Anal plugs
  • Rope
  • Hitachi
  • Reciprocating saw
  • Anal hook
  • Assortment of canes
  • Paddles
  • Dragon tail whip
  • Dildos
  • Collar

Now being a sadist he likes to give pain. As a submissive I get pleasure taking it for him. I don’t like being caned. In itself it is not enjoyable. But when I see how pleased he is with me for taking it, I get enjoyment. 

That’s statement is one I don’t expect people outside of the bdsm world to understand. I understand that feeling pain for someone else’s pleasure is something that most can’t identify with. And that’s cool. But it’s one of my things. 

There were five canes of varying sizes. I was to take five strokes of each, count the strokes and then report as to how it felt in relation to the other canes, give feedback as it were. After each five strokes I was comforted. Told how well I did. Caressed and soothed. Before he continued he always checked if I was ok to keep going. I had a safe word. And so we went until I had received all twenty five strokes. 

At that point it was a mix of relief because it was over, pride because I took it all and exhaustion because though it doesn’t seem like much, taking a beating like that is draining on the mind and body. He held me, my breathing steadied and I slowly came back together. (Do we all remember subspace from a few exhibits ago?) We came together and fucked and both got release before laying together for awhile. After he made sure I was fine, there was no break down or tears or immediate sub drop (head to Google again, folks) he left me to recuperate. 

I have the marks from our play on my ass and thighs, yes they hurt, but in a way that is something special. It remind me of the play, of my achievement, of the friend who cares deeply about me. I’m proud of my marks. They’re part of who I am. 

Of course when muggles ask I tell I slipped and landed and on my ass to explain away the bruises. But to friends in the community I proudly show them off and they appreciate them with me. 

Also, if you trust me with your secrets and people try to torture them out of me, I’ll probably get off on it and freak them out. So win win for you, buddy. 

For your enjoyment, here is Britney Murphy pretending to be me. 

Exhibit Three

This has been a busy week, even for this slutty McSlutface. So let me introduce you to exhibit three. 

The over confident under pleaser. 

The OCUP is quite the man whore, and is apparently under the impression that a huge (and I mean HUGE) cock means you’re a sex god. I will happily admit that holy hell it felt amazing. For the two minutes it lasted. What a two minutes. Mmmm. 

He did aim to please though, the effort was not unappreciated, he just needs a little training. A few pointers to get him headed in the right direction. For instance – 

  • Stop at the cervix with the toys. It is not a competition to see how much of it you can get it. 
  • Trim your nails so your partner doesn’t shriek when you slice open her innards. 
  • Don’t stop mid play to play with your partners cat. 
  • Don’t fill any available gaps of conversation post sex with tales about your girlfriend who is apparently so ok with you sleeping around. It causes you to be ejected from the premises quite quickly. 

So you know, little things. 

My cat that normally hates everyone couldn’t get enough of him though, but that cat is a jerk so we can’t trust his judgement. 

Orgasm count: 0

Except for the ones I faked so he’d stop assaulting my cervix. 

So here’s a picture of a sassy ass frog to help you on this evening. 

Exhibit Two

After the disappointment of the other day I was well keen to get back on the horse so to speak. 

So let me introduce you to ‘chatty builder sadist dom’. 

Thanks to fetlife my sex life is healthy, varied and endlessly entertaining. The bdsm community is a thing I love. Like any community there’s always a few odd apples, but I’ve never felt more welcome anywhere than at bdsm events and get togethers. 

CBSD and I have been chatting for a week or so, decided we could have a lot of fun together so organised a night in a hotel. We both have housemates that would prefer not to hear him beat me vigorously while I moan like a whore. 

We were into things soon after I walked through the door, we’d negotiated previously what would and wouldn’t happen. Then he came up behind me, leant in, whispered in my ear and asked me if I trusted him. Of course I nodded, you can’t really say no in that situation. My inner monologue was somewhat different.  

I trust you as much I can trust a stranger I’ve been talking to for a week. That’s why I have to message someone in about an hour to let them know I haven’t been murdered, chopped up into little bits and thrown in the river. You seem like a great guy. But as a woman with two ex husbands it’s safe to say I’m not a great judge of character. 

Luckily, he was an ok guy. 

You know what I never expect when meeting people from online? I never expect them to be bogans. I always expect them to be similar to me. Lower/middle class, educated and well spoken. You just can’t tell via SMS how someone talks. 

Anyway, back to the story. I don’t know how much you know about BDSM, but when you play with a sub or little, providing aftercare is very important. Here’s some things for you to Google –

  • Subspace
  • Aftercare
  • Dom/sub
  • Littles/daddy’s 
  • SSC
  • RACK

When you’ve been in a scene quite intense your mind slips into a vulnerable space, and your dom/daddy/top needs to make sure you’re ok and float out of it nicely. 

I was promised great aftercare. I love aftercare. Things can get pretty heavy in a scene, and sometimes you need someone to hold onto you until you pull yourself together. I love the scene, it’s amazing, but it’s physically and emotionally taxing. So you want a bit more than a wipe down and a pat on the ass before he goes to make pot noodle and watch rugby. But a girl gets by. 

Then came the chatting. He knows a lot of alcoholics. A lot of women are apparently obsessed with him. Most of his family have been in prison. His brother beats his wife. His daughter’s name is heaven spelled backwards…..incorrectly. Did I mention women were obsessed with him? Also, he shaves his entire body. His. Entire. Body. 

Bless his little cotton socks, he meant well. But Jesus. I was so glad when we had sex again because it meant he’d stop talking for awhile. After the second session though I was very sure about something. 

At some point in his life, a clitoris had wronged him. One had insulted his mother, taken a hit out on his girlfriend or stolen his parking spot at Westfield the day before Christmas. 

He attacked the clit with such ferocity I though he might rub it off. Out damn spot! But on the up side, he could find it. 

Orgasm count: 0

But a lot of fun was had. We’ll probably play again in the future, as long as he brings his flogger and leaves to pot noodle at home. 

Here, for your enjoyment, is a needlessly belligerent octopus.