Go Global

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I am not a traveller. I like to be close to home and near to my things like a proper home bird. My cunt however is much more cosmopolitan and enjoys the attention from all over the world that the blog and the clips afford it.

I’ve been loving seeing how that guest post for Girl On The Net changed my blog traffic (more readers for sure) and also from much further afield. I love that filth is a global language and I see hits from Fiji or Nigeria or China quite frequently.

When I was growing up the world was not as easily connected by air or online and things like stamps or pen pals from another country were still notable and I’m not even that old. So seeing these hits from places that are still so far away and different to my day to day world intrigues me.

I particularly wonder how someone in Sri Lanka or Saudi Arabia or Serbia comes across my cunt and my kinks. It’s like a bigger picture of my eternal interest in how kinks develop. Are you born with the predisposition and things throughout life trigger them off or do you actively seek them out because the interest is there?

Lots of people see the internet’s connection with porn and kink and sex as a bad thing and while I’m not a fan of the mainstream porn industry, I think the way the net brings consensual sexual interests together is a great thing.

I imagine someone in a country where sex expression is even less common than the UK stumbling across a photo of my cunt and discovering that stretching is a real thing it’s ok to like or realising that actually cunt turns them on when they never knew before. Or that they discover that poly relationships are a legitimate way to live from how I describe my Master and Princess.

I don’t for one minute think I have unlimited reach online but there is that awareness that in putting anything out there you can influence other people. Sharing stories and experiences is a way humans have bonded and developed for years and no matter how self aware we are we absorb stigma if we only ever hear things portrayed negatively or one way as ‘normal.’

I am sure I’d have made some dubious decisions along my sexual path anyway but I know I made more than needed because I didn’t have any access to the role model of kinkiness or queerness or non monogamy when I was younger and finding my feet. I wonder how different it would have been if that interest could have been validated instead of made to feel freakish or abnormal?

So I love that there’s even a tiny part that sex blogging about a niche kink plays in reminding people that their tastes might not be mainstream but they are valid. Because no one ever felt better about themselves or more turned on for being shamed for being themselves. Not even the people who like a humiliation kink thrive under that circumstance because it’s not the right context.

Here’s to spreading the word that there’s no one way to be sexually and that it’s a constant learning experience that virtual contact and validation can play a huge part in. I hope people reading sex blogs around the world, including this one, feel better about themselves and have better sexual experiences because of it.

I know I rather enjoy living in London and wondering if that person in Argentina is turned on by my cunt thousands of miles away or if someone in Poland will discover fisting this way. That’s a power dynamic I can’t help but get wet for…

Go Global

Revisiting

This piece about sex with an ex piqued my interest when it turned up in my Twitter timeline the other day. There was a debate about which ex people would pick to fuck again if they could, like a fantasy fucking league without the complications of broken hearts and realising your younger self had dubious tastes.

Most people chose the person they had unfinished business with mainly with a good lubrication of revenge to show them what they were missing now. But because I’m contrary the person I’d choose wasn’t actually an ex and it’s more because I’ve finally made sense of what he introduced me to.

I was 22 and had recently moved to a seaside town in England from Ireland where I knew absolutely no one. I was escorting to pay my way through my degree and getting bored with both my reading list and the number of men who thought that hiring a sex worker would be like a south coast version of Pretty Woman.

Unlike many sex workers, I like the emotional labour that comes with the job. The meeting new people, talking to them, getting to work out what they need, manage their expectations and confound the responses of the people around you who make assumptions about you.

So I found it more challenging when my appointments were more functional rather than personal so my interest was piqued when a client called John came along. In those pre internet days, he was looking for something then that would be immediately accessible through Fetlife or a munch these days.

He wanted a girl to submit to him in the bedroom but behave nicely in public. He was an academic who needed the girlfriend experience type to attend those networking dinners with married professors and their wives while being a total slut who took orders well.

Of course I had absolutely no idea that what he was after was called submission. I just thought it was a good gig that fitted round my studies and cover job working in a shop. But unlike the majority of my sex work, I thought about this one before and after with my mind flitting back to it more than most of my dates that year.

I assumed it was because John was probably the only client I had that I would have dated in another life and that accounted for the strong feeling of calm I had when he would give me very detailed instructions to follow while pretending to be interested in conversations with people who also studied the same obscure bit of history he did.

Then he’d take me back to the same hotel every time and tie me to the bed blindfolded  and naked while he took a very long bath. I would lie perfectly, contently still and wait for him to come back out and untie me to walk me into the bathroom and kneel on the floor still blindfolded.

He’d make me wait a bit more, performing his ablutions and moving around in a myriad of ways I couldn’t pre-empt and prepare for. And just when I thought each time he’d changed his mind he’d piss over me, pouring down my hair and face and splashing over the floor, but the blindfold keeping my make up perfect.

Next he’d turn me round, my feet still standing in his piss and bend me over the bath and fuck me before walking me still blindfolded into the shower and pulling it off to wash myself clean. I’d be allowed out when I was told and each time the floor would be spotless again.

He’d pour wine and we’d sit on the bed, me wrapped in a towel and barefaced and we’d chat like two old friends as if nothing had just happened and eventually we’d go to bed and kiss each other on the cheek in the lobby next day to say goodbye until he’d text again to begin the whole pattern once more.

I lost touch with him when I moved to London on impulse and always felt a lingering sense of regret about that in some way. I never understood exactly why until I met my Master. I always thought John’s kink was the watersports and that his actions suggested some shame about it from not letting me see him to cleaning it up.

But ultimately it was work for me so I never thought about the feelings it would provoke in me from my point of view, only his. Then I started to have the same calm content energised feeling when my Master would get me to kneel for him and the penny dropped.

John hadn’t been paying me for my skills at drinking cheap white wine at book launches but my innate submissiveness instead. He wasn’t ashamed of his kink which was domination more than anything else, he just wanted someone who would actually interact rather than stare at the clock and count the cash.

I’d love to tell him I finally worked out my submissiveness. I think he’d probably work out I was an incredibly slow learner himself…

Revisiting