On Monday 16th March 2020 I went, as I usually do before caching a train home from London to the Great Nepalese on Eversholt Street for a curry, As usual I was first in when the restaurant opened. As usual I ordered a large glass of Malbec and then my favourite vegetable jheera. And there usual ended. It was after seven o’clock before anyone else came in. This restaurant is popular with commuters and usually very busy early evening. I would have been reflecting, as I had done exactly a year earlier, on a successful and enjoyable Eroticon (indeed I was scheduled to make my speaking debut at this one) but it had been cancelled as alarming news of a nee respiratory virus swept the country. London, to which I had travelled the day before for a work event on the Monday and also to see if any blogging friends were still about in Camden on the Sunday, had been eerily quiet. National lockdown was still a week away but it was already clear that our lives were about to change in a big way.
What I had would never have imagined was that they would still be mired in the pandemic nearly a year later. But here we are. We now have vaccines approved, and sufficient doses ordered for the whole population but the logistical challenge is huge and it will surely be many months into 2021 before life even begins to get back to normal.
2020 is a year I will be glad to see the back of and yet it had upsides. I have been working from home for nearly 10 months now and cannot imagine going back to the 2 hour daily commute. I can see what retirement will look like. I have slept better with a daily routine better suited to my body clock, I have eaten well, I have done plenty of running, plenty of walking and am fitter than ever. On the other hand there has been little sex and no kink.
There has, however, been plenty of writing, much of it with strong autobiographical elements, which has massively helped me to understand who I am. In addition, I have had a hugely enjoyable collaboration with Posy Churchgate, I have taken part in May More’s Fiction Relay and had my first story published by Frolic Me. This has been my best year for views and visits since 2013 when I was very active on my blog, and doubled my 2019 figure. Apart from the Delphine’s Schooldays posts, my most read post was this which was a very personal post.
Apart from blogging I had a couple of wonderful video chats with Eye whose calm intelligence and sense of proportion helped me to navigate the sometimes choppy seas of my year. She is my longest standing Eroticon friend and, although we very rarely meet face to face, it is a joy to have her in my life. Another highlight was finally meeting the wonderful Anna Sansom, if only, for now, via Zoom. But afternoon tea in a vintage frock will definitely happen in 2021.
And then there was Smutathon which, obviously, took place remotely this year. Maybe we will get to Scotland in 2021? Again, my writing for this was was quite autobiographical.
So, all in all, 2020 was a rubbish year that could have been a lot worse. My writing kept me sane, quite literally. I hope 2021 will also bring inspiration but I hope more that it will bring real life meetings with some lovely people I have really missed. You know who you are.
A post for Wicked Wednesday. Click here to see more reviews of the year.
I haven’t done a roundup for a couple of months as I have been away, been in quarantine (which gives you plenty of time to do things but sucks out the energy you need to do them) and have had other writing projects.But here are a few of the things I enjoyed this month.
There was something seasonal to enjoy in the month’s first Sinful Sunday, from Focussed and Filthy There was something seasonal to enjoy in the month’s first Sinful Sunday, from Focussed and Filthy and this from Exposing 40 really made me laugh.
BDSM can be an enjoyable activity in its own right. It can also spice up sex. Either way, it is essential that bth dom and sub are attentive to the needs of their partner. May More writes here about a scene that went wrong and what she and her partner learnt from it.
Foreplay…..well yes…..I think this is a problematic concept. It reeks of cisheternormativity but is a pervasive idea in a world that seems to think that PiV is the only proper sex. Missy gives her take here
And taking of seasonal pics from Sinful Sunday for the Third Sunday In Advent, known as Gaudete Sunday, I enjoyed this from Molly and this from Jer Bear
There is, of course, more to sex than PiV but, as Girl on the Net once said to me after I read a PiV (well actually failed PiV story) at Eroticon some years ago, “there are times when you need just need a good fucking”. This, by Floss, gives her take on fucking as a kink.
I guess there are those who think that those of is who blog about sex are immune to loss of libido and feelings of inadequacy but I think we have all been affected at one time or another. I thought this post by The Other Livvy was brilliant. It should inspire all those having struggles of their own.
I wrote about Christmas for the Quote Quest meme here. I enjoyed reading the thoughts of Coffee and KInk on lockdown Christmas here
And talking of Christmas I love a good festive story. Like this by Posy Churchgate with a sequel by Nero Black
The immediate post festive Sinful Sunday had more fun pics of which I particularly liked this by Focussed and Filthy and this by Modesty Ablaze.
As regards memes, some have come and gone this year and certain people are boycotting certain memes. My favourite new meme is Little Switch Bitch’s Quote Quest and this post lists all those who have contributed this year. This is a great initiative but numbers of posters have been quite low in some weeks so please think about supporting this in 2021.
And what have you done? Well, not much actually. 2020 has been a write off in so many respects. No kink and not much sex either which may be a good thing because I have been a very well behaved girl for Santa.Instead I have written a lot and I am sure that on the 25th I will be writing again because writing has replaced life. Which has not been entirely a bad thing. It has enabled me to spend more time reflecting on who I am, how I came to be this person, and make peace with most of my past. I am in many ways a happier person than I was a year ago. Above all, I have a much clearer idea of who my true friends are. There are a couple of people who were on the periphery of my life who I know will become close friends when we can actually see each other in real life more often. This is actually nothing to do with sex and one of the frustrations (no pun intended)of 2020 has been the online conversations that may, in a pre-Covid age, have led to the bedroom, but which have fizzled out because there was no prospect of actually meeting up beyond the Zoom screen. But, with new profiles on sites, and a better marketing strategy, I know that 2021 brings a measure of promise. I know my sexual self so much better now, and have the confidence to seek out what I want, and to say no to what I don’t.
So, this Christmas, I am in a better place than many people so I guess we are really not all in it together. I will be spending it mostly on my own but that is not a problem. I have a rich inner life and I have friends I will reconnect with in 2021 as soon as we are allowed out to play again. But I will think of those who are unable to be with friends and family when they want to be, the LGBT people forced into the miserable straitjacket of hiding their true selves from their families,and all those screaming to get out after the turkey stuffed house arrest as Uncle Derek starts to bang on about what a good thing Brexit is and how he has nothing against black people but…… I guess quite a few of us have relatives like that and biting your tongue all day can be a strain. And if you get the question
“This blog of yours what’s it all about?”
Well let’s not go there, at least not before the fourth glass of port. So actually, a solo Christmas can be the least bad option. I will do some traditional things, I will have a bird (a guinea fowl actually) and a pudding, I will have wine, and, yes, I will have port. You know, I am actually quite looking forward to it.
To all of you reading this, I wish you as happy a Christmas as you can have and a 2021 filled with all the consensual sex and kink you want. And if that is none, that is cool too. Above all, let’s be kind to each other.
A post for Quote Quest . Click on the badge below for other thoughts on Christmas
They call it hubris and it is always followed by a fall. Catherine Spencer-Harrington, in her insufferable arrogance, assumed that she was untouchable. She was, after all, the wealthy and privileged elder daughter of a Conservative MP and landowner. What she failed to consider was the thing that compromised that privilege. That she is a woman and that, when the reputation of powerful men is at stake, women are expendable.
The last time that she was seen in public was when she was driven away from the Old Bailey in a back Wolseley, wedged between two stern, unsmiling prison officers. Earlier she had collapsed in the dock as the sentence of two years’ hard labour was passed. By the time she left the court building she had regained her composure and looked angry and defiant. I had no doubt that the regime of Her Majesty’s Prison Holloway would knock the defiance out of her. For a woman who was accustomed to wearing the haute couture dresses of Norman Hartnell and Christan Dior, it could only be traumatic to put on the prison garb of huge grey knickers, a rough, grubby, ill fitting bra, and a shapeless blue dress. And a few days on her knees polishing floors should serve to cure her haughtiness. I have to say the thought of it rather excited me and I felt myself getting wet as I sat at my desk thinking about it.
I had, too, school business that was occasioning arousal. As instructed, Belinda Coningsby-Firth had left her notebook in my pigeon hole and I had lain in bed reading about her erotic exploits in the bathroom with the French girl. This morning they were both instructed to come to study at four o’clock dressed in their PT kit of aertex blouse, green, pleated skirt, grey socks and plimsolls. They, too, were to be humiliated, particularly Lotbinere. It is only right that the arrogant are brought low. “He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts” as we pray in chapel every Sunday. It was a pity that a number of past and present girls had been insufficiently attentive at Evensong.
They stood before me, heads bowed, as I read aloud from the book of shame.
“Did you enjoy being touched Lotbiniere?”
“No Mademoiselle” she said quietly, a slight tremor in her voice,
“And you, Coningsby-Firth? Why did you think these were appropriate things to do?”
“Please Miss Ranson, I love Bin with all my heart. I told you and you said..”
“And what did I say?”
“You said, Miss, that the love of a girl for a girl is beautiful, that I should not be ashamed of it and that….”
“I sad no such thing.”
“Miss, you touched my little bud and you told me”
“That is an outrageous lie Coningsby-Firth! I said no such things. If you repeat them you will back here for a mouth soaping. And you know that is one of the cruellest punishments in the school don’t you?”
She shuddered, no doubt at the memory of her classmate Lucinda Forbes-Lester who had been made to eat a bar of Wright’s Coal Tar soap every evening for a week after being overheard referring to me as a lesbian bitch. I understand the sounds she made in the bathroom where she spent most of the night had the salutary effect on the other girls that I desired. Forbes-Lester herself is now a most obedient girl, always eager to carry my bags and perform errands. Fear truly is the best teacher.
“So what did I say?” I asked.
Coningsby-Firth said nothing, went even redder and was clearly struggling to hold back tears.
“I said that God made man and woman for the purposes of procreation and that any unclean behaviour between those of the same sex is an unnatural perversion and quite contrary to His will, did I not Coningsby-Firth?”
“And you, Lotbiniere, you are from a country where such depravity is seen as entirely natural, even praiseworthy, are you not?”
“Mademoiselle, I am from a country that sees the beauty of humanity in all its forms and prize the aesthetic in the erotic expression of our humanity.”
“And who taught you those ridiculous words?”
“My father Mademoiselle. He is a man of the world.”
“He is a man of filth and depravity, an adulterer and philanderer whose infamy reaches even to these shores.”
“Mademoiselle, he says that English women are cold and frigid and that I should never sleep with an Englishman.”
“Did he? He obviously prefers that you wallow in the cesspit of filth and depravity that is the sex life of the French? One hesitates to say marital as the French evidently do not see being married to someone as a necessary precondition of indulging in carnal passions of the most repellent kind. Do they Lotbiniere? “
“No Mademoiselle, in our country we..”
“Shut up girl! I have had quite enough of your insolence. Both of you, take your knickers off and leave them on the desk.”
They both looked shocked and did not react.
“Just do it and when you have, you will run five laps of the playing field.”
“Miss we..” began Coningsby-Firth
“You will do as you are told. Any further questioning of my authority and you will both have a week’s mouth soaping!”
“Sorry Miss “ they both mumbled, took their knickers off and left to run round the field.
I went through to my sitting room and stood at the window to watch. I had my binoculars and watched them closely. I placed Coningsby-Firth’s knickers over my head with the crotch over my nose to take in the smell of her juicy cunt. Lotbiniere’s knickers I put down my front and rubbed my clit with them, thinking of how I would order her to wash me, sponge my back, run her hands over my breasts, soap in hand, use the loofah to make me come. I watched them closely. I could see the expressions on their faces, exchanges of words, no doubt of the kind that would earn them a mouth soaping. As they rounded the lacrosse pitch for the third time, now visibly tiring, a gust of wind lifted their skirts and their cunts and bottoms were exposed to the school, for I knew that many of the girls would be looking up from the tedium of their prep to take in the spectacle, fascinated and afraid. At the sight of this I rubbed myself harder with Lotbiniere’s knickers and came. I sank onto my sofa as the orgasm exploded through me, and , to my horror, heard myself shouting
“Lotbiniere, Lotbiniere I am yours . I am yours! Use me you French slut! Use me!”
I started in horror. I rearranged my clothing and went back to the study. No one had heard.
I laid the two pairs of knickers on the desk and heard a knock at the door.
The two girls entered, red faced, panting and sweaty,
“Mens sana in corpore sano” I said. “Hard physical exercise is the guarantee of moral cleanliness, is it not?”
They said nothing, still clearly trying to recover their breath.
“Is it not?” I shouted.
“Both of you get on the floor and give me twenty press-ups. “
Lotbiniere flashed me an angry look and pouted as she sank to the hard, polished wood of the floor for her latest humiliation. When they had finished I sent them away and returned to thoughts of Catherine Spencer-Harrington. I wrote a short letter and put it in an envelope on which I wrote the address
Miss Sarah Holliday,
Her Majesty’s Prison,
I sealed the envelope with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. I was feeling aroused and needed to go to my room. I looked for a postage stamp in my top drawer and realised to my horror that the papers I had been so careful to have recovered from Spencer- Harrington’s office had gone. I had to find the culprit quickly. I ordered an immediate search of the dormitories.
Posy will continue the story soon.
A post for Wicked Wednesday. For more wickedness click here,