Take Care – a self-care post

I was inspired to write this after reading Girly Juice (Kate Sloan)’s excellent post on strange self-care in a time of terror.

Self-care (or coping, as they are sometimes one and the same) as Kate points out, is unique from person to person. What works for you might not work for me, and vice versa. With that in mind, here’s some of the shit that’s helped me in the past two weeks – hopefully, some of these bits will inspire you to do what you can do for yourself or even help you with finding something new.

I love you.  You matter. I’m with you in this fight.


Confession – I am not the greatest when it comes to drawing things. And I’m also not the greatest at allowing myself to do something for me. But that mindset took a bit of a shift recently, when I discovered the work of Ruby Etc.

Her stuff made me pick up pencil and paper, and lemme tell you, I’m still shite at drawing but fucking hell it feels nice to just let go and doodle what I can’t put into words.

Challenge (and general retro TV)

This is a very UK thing – there’s a channel called Challenge which is basically a treasure trove of UK game show repeats. The other day, I watched a Wheel of Fortune celebrity Christmas special in which they all wished me a happy 1989.

It’s similar to watching random episodes of old TV shows. A visual comfort blanket in the form of Tequila and Bonetti or ER.

Nail polish

Red lipstick is self-care. And so is nail polish. In any colour, really.

Scary media

Whether in book form or in film form, horror can be helpful with alleviating anxiety for some of us. It’s a genre I’ve turned to time and time again (along with sci-fi/fantasy) for a strange kind of comfort. Hit me up for recommendations, if you’re feeling getting lost in something spooky.


Film. The other love of my life. The day after the referendum, I went to see The Secret Life of Pets. In the last week, I’ve barely held it together through Arrival and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Film is, along with music and books, essential. I could write for the rest of my life and far beyond that about how film matters, but for the purposes of this post I’m keeping it simple. It matters. Entertainment is not (and will never be) a mere trivial distraction from outside shit.

Hot chocolate and a book to read

Speaks for itself.

The “My Dad Wrote a Porno” podcast

I have gone on record on Twitter as saying that My Dad Wrote a Porno basically saved my life, and that is no fucking lie. If you’re new to it, MDWAP (for short) is the brainchild of Jamie Morton who, after discovering his dad had written and self-published a hilariously bad erotic novella called Belinda Blinkeddecided to share his misery and embarrassment with his two mates Alice Levine and James Cooper. And also the world, in podcast format.

ILB and I started listening to MDWAP not long after the referendum. It was a laugh we both sorely needed, and we binged season one at a breakneck speed, finishing in time for the start of season two. It is horrifying, cringe worthy, hilarious, wonderful fun;

Let me know if you have any unconventional self-care methods, if you want any horror recommendations or if you’ve joined in on the fun with My Dad Wrote a Porno. Similarly, let me know of any fundraisers, charities, people and places you want to give a signal boost to or come on here to talk about.

And I will say so again: I love you. You’re not alone. You matter.

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“I Can’t Find It!”

Oh god, I’m such a fucking potato.

Himself and I were on a date at the cinema last night. One that was a bit fraught, considering most of what we’d planned went a bit wrong. Down to the fact that, as we were heading towards the exit afterwards, we were confronted with a massive downpour. Eventually, we made it onto a bus.  It was late. We were tired and cold. So conversation wasn’t exactly flowing. It was more of a “let me cling onto you like a loving limpet” kind of moment.

I mentioned something about making a t-shirt with an inside joke between us on it. Like, I don’t even know why exactly. I just did because when we’re both tired it’s like our brains sync up to hammer on the ULTRA RANDOM button. So, I mentioned this particular inside joke. And I said something along the lines of “but which one would you put on a t-shirt for me?”

He thought it through for a second. Then his face lit up.

“Where is it? I can’t find it! Oh God, IT’S GONE.”

Have you ever, in the heat of a sexy moment, blurted out something so ridiculous it just follows you around perpetually? A something that occasionally gets brought up by your partner and makes you wish you’d never ever spoken, ever in your life? This is what that is for me.

Lemme rewind.

*spoopy, squiggly flashback effect*

This happened about three years ago. I may have written about it then, but fuck it, I’m writing about it again. We were in the midst of some ferociously good foreplay, the kind that makes you lightheaded and giggly and slowly replaces any kind of logical linear thought with the words WOOHOO SECKS YAS GOOD on a loop.

So it was that I went in to give him a blow job. Well, I wanted to. And I was going to. But… weirdly enough, I couldn’t immediately find his cock. Which was quite the achievement considering he was rock hard and also RIGHT FUCKING THERE.

I panicked. I legit panicked because my brain can be a cheeky little shit sometimes. Especially in the heat of a sexy moment. But this was peak me being a shambles. In a thick haze of lust and libido, my brain had successfully convinced me, for a few seconds at least, that my boyfriend’s cock had vanished into thin air.

Three years on, and I still am a bit mortified by it. Just a little. The words, mostly. I actually had to ask him what context this happened in, as I couldn’t for the life of me remember.

Well, I do now. And yeah, after a bit of a duff night, remembering it was a slight bit of a laugh which I needed. An embarrassing one, but a laugh nonetheless.

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“Hot Tahiti” – for Charlie Powell’s Lippie competition

Last year, the gorgeous and awesome Charlie Powell held a short story competition in which you were to write a short piece of erotic fiction using the name of a nail varnish as your prompt. This year, she’s putting a twist on it.

I’m not a big wearer of lipstick, so instead of my own collection, this competition will be based around the names of classic MAC lipstick. It’s simple – if you want to enter, you drop me a DM, I’ll select a lipstick name for you at random and you write a piece of erotica using that lipstick name as a title. Sound familiar?

Oh, you know I had to get in on that. Plus, Charlie is donating £1 to the charity Refuge for every story entered (up to £30). How great is that?

The lippie name Charlie gifted me with? Hot Tahiti. It’s a magical place, that.

_ _ _ _ _


The roads grief leads you down can be strange. Inside the walls of my flat, I lose track of time because there’s no need for time with her gone. In those last months and weeks, all I cared about was time because I didn’t know how much of it, of us, was left.

The TV becomes my timekeeper.  Just another noise alongside the non-ending cliché chorus of “How are you, really?” and “You’re so brave.”

Except the TV is a noise that doesn’t seem to question the ways I’m grieving her. The TV doesn’t judge me for not doing it properly, as if there’s any way to properly grieve the woman you thought fate had planted into your life until the end of time. The TV doesn’t make it sound like there’s some sort of manual on how to be a good mourner – one that I, according to some bastards, apparently wasn’t handed staight after the funeral.

The TV becomes my timekeeper and, after several months, my faithful companion. I trust TV because it doesn’t judge – it just happens at me. If there was some way to make a reasonable case for never getting off my sofa again, I would be shouting it from the rooftops.

“You’re so brave.”

Sod that shit. I’d rather be a cowardly hermit than ever go outside without her again.


Sometimes she comes to me in my dreams, and I get fooled again by the warp of reality. I wake up bathed in sweat and clutching at the empty side of my bed. I wake up hard, my cock straining as much as my heart at how our sex replays itself in the middle of the night.

It’s like being trapped in a limbo, reliving the same encounter night after night and waking up to silence. But if I am truly honest with myself, this would be the one encounter I would gladly relive for the rest of my days.

It isn’t the memory of some landmark night, like the first time we fucked – weeks and weeks of sexual tension culminating in a torn shirt, scratches on my back and the feeling of floating on air. Nor is it the memory of the last, desperate, agonising night of passion before the dark ghost of her illness commenced its endgame. Instead – funnily enough – it’s the memory of  just another Friday night…


“Is this a bit too much?”

Lila had gingerly stepped into the living room of our apartment, dressed up to the nines for the engagement dinner of a friend of a friend. Neither of us were chomping at the bits to go, but still, Lila liked to make an effort. And my God, she looked every inch like a preternatural goddess in that beautiful red dress of hers.

“Joe. Seriously, your eyes’ll fall out if you keep staring like that. Is this too much for the dinner? I mean, I know it’s not the actual wedding but I don’t really fancy upstaging the bride to be just by wearing red. Do you like it?”

I couldn’t help staring. Lila, three years into our relationship, still had the power to render me entirely speechless, whether with her intelligence, humour or beauty. She was never too much. She was all I’d ever wanted from life itself and in that moment, I wanted her badly. I wanted to take her in my arms and carry her to our bedroom and still find the marks of her delectable-looking lipstick on my body the next morning.

So I did.

I pulled her to me and kissed her, hard. She tasted like sunsets and Mai Tai’s and dreams of a life lived less rushed. The soft red on her lips smeared as she kissed me back, grabbing me by the hips and pressing her pelvis against mine. One kiss and already I was embarrassingly hard for her, needing her, not giving a shit about what time it was and how much time we had before we had to leave for the dinner.

“I take it that’s a yes, then?” she breathed, before grabbing me by the hand and pulling me towards the sofa. She hiked up the hem of her dress and wriggled her knickers off, beckoning me closer.

“Oh God, yes.”

“We’re going to be late for the dinner, Joe.” she said, less a warning, more a tease. I chuckled, undoing my belt and unzipping my trousers. The chuckled turned into a gasp as Lila wrapped her lips around the head of my cock, leaving her red lipped mark and making me ache for her.

Time didn’t matter in that moment. Nor did space, or the rest of humankind. There was only the feeling of Lila’s warmth, of her inner walls clenching around me and her hands under the hem of my shirt. Nothing else mattered apart from being alive and in love and in sex…


Sometimes I wonder if I’m a sick fuck for masturbating over the memory of her. But when those dreams happen, and I wake up drenched in sweat and hard and desperate for a release without tears, it’s the only thing I can think of.

It was just another Friday night, but it will be the one seared into the depths of my soul exactly because of that. Some people choose to remember milestones and special days. I choose to remember just another Friday night.

I remember shifting down the straps of her dress to reveal her soft, round breasts. I remember the feel of her nipples, pebbling at my touch. I remember the moment my cock slid inside her wetness, the sounds she made, the friction against her clit. Those lips, in that shade of red…

I remember all of it, replaying it like a reel of old film as my hand wraps around my shaft and I jerk the need out of me. I hear my own echo bouncing off the silence, crying out her name, remembering her lipstick and the words she said to me when we finally managed to peel ourselves away from each other.

“Hot Tahiti.”

“Seriously? I don’t understand why they give lipstick names. What’s wrong with a number?”

“Lipstick’s a fantasy, baby. You need to give it a name because you can’t fantasise about a number. Besides, this one spoke to a very particular fantasy of mine.”

“That fantasy being?”

She stayed silent for a few seconds, lowering her voice so the taxi driver couldn’t make her out.

“Getting hot… in Tahiti. With you.”

Back then, it had almost been enough to make me come in my trousers. But now, as I come sticky and hot over the palm of my hand, it’s the thought of that unfulfilled fantasy, that unfulfilled life that makes me cry anyway.

I am not brave, because right now, try as I might I can’t see a way of living without her. Even though I’ve been doing so for four months, every single day is just another sting, another corner of hell.

I am not brave because I know that, buried under a pile of mail and receipts and junk in the bedside drawer is a letter from Lila. I know that inside that envelope, along with the letter, is a ticket to Tahiti. I know that she never had the chance to explain why she wanted to go there, and I know that the answers are in that letter. I know she wants me to go.

I am not brave because that would mean I can live with the pain of not having her with me.

I am not brave. Not yet.


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Tiffany Reisz talks The Virgin

Cover for UK edition of Tiffany Reisz' The Virgin, published by Mills & Boon UK.UK fans of Tiffany Reisz’s gloriously dark and deviant (and also very funny, when it’s not breaking your heart) Original Sinners series , get your wallets at the ready (if you’ve not already pre-ordered your copy) as today sees the UK release of THE VIRGIN. The third instalment in The White Years sequence (both a sequel and a prequel of some sorts to the first four books, The Red Years sequence) sees our central trio of mischief artists – oh hai Nora, Søren and Kingsley – at their happiest, as they attend a wedding in the Scottish highlands (oh hai, kilts). But as we see them at their happiest in the present, the past narrative which is interwoven within the White Years books takes us to possibly the darkest moment in the life of our beloved Sinners.

That’s right, folks.  This is the book which tackles That Year.

That Year, the 365 days in which both Eleanor/Nora and Kingsley ran away from Søren’s side (with Eleanor taking shelter in her mother’s convent and Kingsley mending his heart in Haiti), has until now only been alluded to. But now it’s time to get the tissues out (Christ, between this and Avengers: Age of Ultron coming out here, stocks in Kleenex are about to skyrocket) and delve into this seventh instalment of deliciously original sin.

To celebrate, I’ve gotten none other than Tiffany herself to come and shoot the shit with me about all things Sinners. Prepare for talk of Rolls Royces, ducky pyjamas, finding your true self and a masterclass in how to be a literary sadist…


1 – You’ve alluded to “that year” in Nora’s life many times in the previous books. How did it feel to finally get to write about it?

It wasn’t easy. I had only alluded to the year but didn’t really have any idea what happened during it. I was making everything up from scratch. When I discovered Kyrie was funny and Nora had temporarily lost her sense of humor (as you would during a severe depression) I figured out the relationship and how to write it. After that it was a lot of fun to write. Especially the scenes between King and Juliette.

2- Did you originally intend The Siren to be a stand-alone novel, or was a return trip to Original Sinner Land always the plan?

In the very beginning, THE SIREN was just one book because your first novel is always just the one book you’re working on. As I got deeper into the story, however, I felt I was writing a bigger story that would take more than one book. I wanted to tell the story of how Nora and Søren met and fell in love when she was fifteen and he twenty-nine. Every new character in the book created new stories I wanted to write.

3- In The Virgin, we get to see a pivotal moment in the lovely Kingsley’s life: his first meeting with Juliette. How much does Juliette change the Kingsley we’ve seen portrayed in The White Years (so, flashback Kingsley)?

Juliette sees herself in Kingsley, in his sorrow and his desperation. And Kingsley sees himself in Juliette, in everything she’s lost in her life and the compromises she’s had to make. He’s deeply sympathetic of her situation, and it brings out his softer, more affectionate side.

4- It’s also, obviously, focusing on a pivotal moment in young Eleanor’s life. Would you say Kyrie plays an instrumental part in awakening the woman Eleanor becomes – Nora Sutherlin?

With Kyrie, Eleanor/Nora gets to explore parts of herself she hadn’t had a chance to before. Her dominant side, her creative side. Kyrie is one of those people we should all be so lucky to have who come into our lives right when we’re standing at a crossroad and helps up take the right path.

5 – How important was it for you that Kingsley eventually does become a father? How will he react to the blossoming relationship between present-day Nora and his adult son, Nico?

Kingsley’s wanted to be a father for his entire adult life. I would never give a character that intense a desire and then not fulfill it. As for how Kingsley deals with Nico and Nora…you’ll just have to read the book!

6- Will we at some point see Søren’s side of the events of That Year, or is that something you think is better left unsaid?

In THE QUEEN, Søren gives a couple hints about what that year was like for him, but obviously nothing in his pov. I never write in his pov as that would ruin the mystery of him.

7 – I could probably gush about my favourite bits of the series until the day I die*, but I’d love to know what your favourite scene to write was – and the scene you found the hardest to write. 

Gush away! It’s too hard to pick a favorite scene overall so I’ll say that my favorite scene in THE VIRGIN was the sex scene with Eleanor and Kingsley where she tops him for the first time. I could really feel her fear and discomfort and also her desire to do this thing she’d only fantasized about before when I wrote it. The hardest parts of THE VIRGIN to write was the present-day frame story. I just couldn’t figure out where the book started. I didn’t want to pick it up right after the end of THE KING so finally I realized, “Screw it. It’s my book. I can jump ahead a couple years if I want to!” So I did!

8 – Similarly, I could also curse you to infinity for your by now notorious habit of being a bit of a writerly sadist – the cliffhanger to The Prince comes to mind, especially! What was your favourite, most nefariously sadistic scene to write and did the reaction to it please you?

Probably the most sadistic thing I’ve ever done was tricking readers into thinking I’d killed off a main character in THE SAINT. And yes, I drank the tears of my fearful readers like a vampire drinks blood.

9 – I know you occasionally write little Sinners short stories for your blog. But would you ever consider writing a spin-off series focussing on some of the other characters in the series, like Griff and Mick?

I’d do it in a heartbeat if someone was willing to pay me for it. That’s always the catch.

10 – Are there other genres you fancy dipping your toe in? I reckon, based on the thriller elements in the Original Sinners books – most notably in The Prince and The Mistress – you’d be excellent at writing erotic thrillers (a la In the Cut)?

Thank you! I love using elements of the thriller in my books. Thrillers are the ultimate breathless page-turner books. I’m working on a southern Gothic right now. I love Gothics which is a mix or horror and romance. I’d also love to write a wizard book! I love wizards.

11 – Inquiring minds need to know – do you wear pajamas when you’re writing, and if so, are they ducky pajamas?

Nope. Nora and I are very different people. I can’t start my writing day until I’ve taken a shower and gotten dressed. I treat writing like a job so I at least wear clothes I can go run errands in. I do have some sock monkey pjs though but they’re just for sleeping.

12 – Would Kingsley ever have sex in the back of a car that isn’t a Rolls Royce?

He would but I doubt it would be as roomy.

13 – Can I borrow the gorgeous goddess that is Blaise (King’s retro goddess submissive in THE KING) for the evening? Pretty please?

Finally! Someone how likes Blaise! I adore Blaise and thought she was a really fun character to write. Not Kingsley’s true love, obviously, but she made a great girlfriend submissive for him in THE KING. (Sorry, Blaise. Forgot you don’t like being called a “girlfriend.”) In other words, yes, you can borrow her for the evening. Just give her back in one piece.


I will try my best…


Buy a copy of THE VIRGIN from these here places:


Amazon UK

WH Smith



* If I had to pick one absolute favourite scene from the six books I have read so far, it would be the moment in THE ANGEL where the sexual tension between Griffin and Mick finally comes to a head, leading Griffin to overhear Mick confiding in Nora about his attraction to Griff. And much rejoicing happened because Griffin and Mick are Meant to Be.

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Erotic World Book Day (Or Why I Write Erotic Fiction)

If you haven’t guessed from the many tweets and Facebook posts and blog posts and articles going around, today is Erotic World Book Day (the naughty offspring of World Book Day, devised and knocked together by the brilliant minds of Cliterati’s Emily Dubberley, erotica writer Rebecca Black and editor and techy genius Kevin ‘Mitnik’ Blisse in a staggering five weeks flat). The double aim of #EWBD is both spreading the word about the awesomeness of all shades of erotic fiction and raising some money for sexual health and wellbeing charity, Brook.

Over the past four years, I’ve talked a lot about why sex fascinates me. It’s pretty much the cornerstone of my blog, my mantra/slogan/reason of operating – I am, essentially, a massive nosey parker when it comes to sex. I want to know everything. Knowledge is my driving force. And, to me, there’s no better way of absorbing knowledge about something you want to know about than to write about it.

Writing erotica makes my brain work brilliantly – I like thinking about the why of a chance meeting, the how of a seduction or the when of a tongue on a clit or a cock. I like making connections, letting the basic plot points connect with twists that make me grin because I know that I’ve found another connection and each one gets me closer to writing the moment where the chemistry sizzles and ignites and bodies entwine.

The afterglow is the bonus. The cherry on top of my saucy Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte.

Erotica is not an easy genre to write in. Despite what a lot of people might think, it’s a genre filled with delicate complexity and beautiful hints of dark and light. Much like sex itself. It’s not something you can knock up in a couple of hours and then clock off and go for a pint. It’s not a genre entirely populated by alpha-male billionaire doms, gay dinosaurs, heaving bosoms and – in one disturbing recent case – sentient gay dresses. Erotica is a genre with plenty, plenty of nuances. You want a bit of hot romance? You got it. BDSM your thing? There’s plenty. Lover of literary lusts? Have a sip of that cup. Want to read about sexy shifters, hot vampires, time travel, steampunk, zombies, cowboys, or just someone who could quite possibly be the woman sitting next to you on the bus? Guess what? Boom, it’s there. Lesbian, gay, bi, Trans*, Queer, questioning, intersex, ace? There is erotica for you, my friend.

Erotica may not be an easy genre to write in – god knows that a lot of people want to also make you believe it’s The Wrong Genre to write in – but goddamnit I wouldn’t trade what I’ve got going for anything in the world. Sure, I’d love to diversify and write across the board in genres as far as the eye can see. But erotica will always be my true love. Because it makes me think, because it makes me work and because it never stops both sating and firing up my curiosity. Erotica and I, we’ve got a good thang goin’. And no matter what happens, no matter how many adversities this genre may yet face in the future, I will make it my business to keep that good thing going for as long as I have the fight in me.

Erotica is worth your time. Erotica is far more than just one particular trilogy. Buy erotic fiction, support the authors that have put so much effort in to making this event happen and, most of all, find something that truly rocks your boat. It is my wish for you that, on Erotic World Book Day, you discover something (or someone) new.

One way to do that (and also give some money to the lovely folks at Brook) is to get your hands on a copy of An Intimate Education: A Charity Anthology for Erotic World Book Day. 22 very good – not to mention, very speedy – authors contributed to this amazing anthology full of hot safe sex. Who knows, you might find your new favourite author lurking between the digital pages of this book?

Happy #EWBD everyone. Thank you for supporting the genre and buying all our books. It means the world.


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The Colin Baker of sex blogs

As is traditional at this time of the year in the blogging-about-the-fricky-frack world, Rori from Between My Sheets has tallied the nominations and compiled the annual Top 100 Sex Bloggers list. This is a scene that occurred this morning, upon discovering the list was up.

ILB (checking his phone): OH MY GOD. *scrambles out of bed*



(Jillian jumps out of bed, sprinting the… well, ambling the five steps to her desk and turns on her netbook.)

ILB: *turns on netbook* Oh, by the way, iwastotallykiddingaboutthelistbeingupNBD.

Jillian: *guffaws*

ILB: SYKE, it’s totally up.


This is a scene that happened shortly afterwards.

Jilllian’s netbook: *takes its sweet time*


Jillian: *waits*


Jillian: No, I’m going to wait until it loads on my netbook.


Jillian: *blinks*

So that’s how I found out I was number 6 (SIX) in this year’s Top 100.

In all seriousness now. This year hasn’t been an easy one, neither for myself nor the blog (having to unexpectedly speed-move it to a self-hosted domain back in March was not exactly my favourite moment). So the fact that I’m on there at all, let alone as number 6, is a lovely and heart-warming way to cap off this year. Thank you bunches to everyone who nominated me, everyone who reads my witterings, and to Rori for making the list happen and putting me up there.

And to ILB for being a bloomin’ spectacular boyfriend. Love you, baba.

Anyways, here’s that list in full, with the top ten in numerical order and the others alphabetically.
1. Girl on the Net
2. JoEllen Notte, The Redhead Bedhead
3. Erika Moen and Matthew Nolan, Oh Joy Sex Toy
4. Nikki & Heather, Vagina Antics
5. BD Swain, learning how to tell you
6. Jillian Boyd, Lady Laid Bare
7. Cheeky Minx, Love Hate Sex Cake
8. Lilly, Dangerous Lilly
9. Dr. NerdLove, Paging Dr. NerdLove
10. Hyacinth Jones, A Dissolute Life Means

Accidental Masturbator

Adina Rivers, My Tiny Secrets

Aerie, Aerie’s Room

Aggie, SoloPoly

Apricot, Apricot Creams

Ava Grace, The Beauty of Submission

Axe, Unspeakable Axe

Bangs and Whimpers


Behind the Chintz Curtain

Bobbie Morgan, A Good Woman’s Dirty Mind

Bree Guildford, Bree Guildford Erotica

Cande, Secret Diary of an Online Stripper

Cara Sutra

Cara Thereon

Charlie Glickman

Charlie Powell, Sex blog (of sorts)

Dee, Curvaceous Dee

DeepThought69, A Shot of Erotica

d i i r r t y, breviloquence {erotique}

dizzygirl, Toy Meets Girl

Dorothy Black, The Dot Spot

Drunken Slut Mom

DD, Dumb Domme

EA, Easily Aroused

Elle, The Submission of Elle

Emily Nagoski, The Dirty Normal

Epiphora, Hey Epiphora

Evie, Evie the Rabbit

Exhibit Unadorned, Exhibit A

Ferns, Domme Chronicles

Flip, Understanding Flutterby

Fridayam, Fridayam’s Erotica

Gardener, Gardener’s Blog

Girl Seule, The ‘S’ Word

Bobbie Morgan, Gritty Woman

HH & Lola, My Sex Life with Lola

Head Swirl, Head Swirl

Innocent Loverboy, Innocent Loverboy

Jack and Jill, Frisky in the 916

Jade & Sir Raven, The Chrysanthemum and The Sword

Jade Melisande, Kink and Poly

Jill, Naked All the Time

Joan Price, Naked at Our Age

Jz, A Reluctant Bitch

Kara Sutra, Sex Ed 102

Kat, Prowling with Kat

Kaya, Under His Hand

Kayla Lords, A Sexual Being

Kendra, The Beautiful Kind

Kitty Stryker, PurrVersatility

Kyle, Butchtastic


Lorax, Lorax Of Sex

Lorelei, Suggestive Tongue

LSAM, Love Sex and Marriage

M & A, Cammies on the Floor

Marian Green, Creative Noodling

Marie Rebelle, Rebels Notes

Michael, Serafina, & Sinnjara, the Joy of Kink

Modesty, Modesty Ablaze

Mr. A & Miss K, Xtra Curricular

Mr. Will, Mr. Will’s House of Thrills

Mynx, The Mynx Blog

N Likes, My Dissolute Life

Nic, Switch Studies

Nilla, Vanilla Mom

Penny, Penny for Your (Dirty) Thoughts

Sammi, Fun with Sammi

Sarah, Marvelous Darling

SPC, SeattlePolyChick

Stranded, Stranded in Toronto

RG, Remittance Girl

Rose, Sex with Rose

Ruffled Sheets, Ruffled Sheets

Scarlet Dubois, A True Unfolding

Seaside Slut, Seaside Slut Diary

Slutty Girl Problems

Sunny Megatron, Sunny Megatron

Tamsin, Tamsin’s Superotica

The Happy Hotwife, Adventures of a Happy Hotwife

The Sin Doll

Thumper, Denying Thumper

Venice and Ryan, Fuck Blogging

Victoria, Sexologist Vixenne

Violet Blue, Tiny Nibbles

Walker Thorton

Will Crimson, The Erotica Writer

Word Wytch, Adventures of a Word Wytch

Xiao Yingtai, The University of Abject Submission

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