When EU Citizens Are Not Wanted

As the Brexit negotiations get underway, the rights of EU citizens living in the UK are beimg much discussed and the Government is, apparently, keen to give them the right to stay in the UK after Brexit,

Even  before Brexit, however, there are some EU citizens who are apparently not welcome. This statement from Wiltshire police describes the arrest of three Romanian women who had been selling sex from a property in Swindon. They were arrested and now face deportation.

You.will note that there is no evidence of trafficking or coercion. The ladies were working through choice, and quite openly advertising their services through Adultwork. They were, according to the law, running a brothel which is a criminal offence. In this case running a  brothel is simply women working together for their own safety like the Polish women in Bradford who were jailed in 2013..

If the women were not coerced what basis do the police have for saying this?

“This is a very positive outcome as the women are now safe and away from their clients and are no longer vulnerable to the risks of off street sex work.”

And what evidence is there to support this assertion?

“There are strong connections between the adult sex industry, human trafficking and modern slavery”

This is frequently said but major police inquiries like Operation Pentameter  failed to find any significant evidence of trafficking into sex work although there have been several recent cases of trafficking into farmwork and construction.

Such police stings do nothing to promote the safety and well being of sex workers and surely run counter to the good practice set out in  the Merseyside Model which is supposed to create the trust between sex workers and police that gives the sex workers the confidence to report indents of violence.

It is surely time to decriminalise sex work so that women can work together for their own safety  and so that citizens of out (still) fellow EU states can work in the way they choose without fearing the knock on the door.



Simply Clever

Unlike other participants I have been finishing a novella today rather writing directly for this blog but here is something inspired by a conversation earlier today. My first Smutathon 2017 post.

Not so many years ago Skoda cars were the butt of jokes like “Why do Skodas have heated rear windows?” Answer “To keep your hands warm when you’re pushing”

For Communist era Skodas were tinny affairs with noisy air cooled rear engines. They looked good…in comparison to Trabants   and Moskviches but not in comparison to ,ost western cars. They were cheap and cheerful, well cheap anyway, a kind of 1980s version  of the Proton.  Then Communism collapsed, Skoda Auto was acquired by VW and the rest is history. Skoda now make good cars, in fact better in many case than those of the parent company which has moved to restrict production of the Octavia

But I digress. The reason I  mention Skoda is that it is now public knowledge , thanks to a tweet by Coffee and Kink this afternoon, that I have had sex in three Skodas. All of these were nice modern Skodas, an old shape Fabia, a new shape Fabia and  an Octavia.

But why, you may ask, would I want to have sex in a car? I mean I live on my own, have a spacious double bed   (although the Octavia encounters took  place at a time when I didn’t) and, if you are not so near home, I could always find a cheap hotel. Thew answer is that, apart from saving money, sex in cars is fun.

It gives a real thrill because, even in the most secluded locations there is the risk of being caught. Steamed up windows and rocking are a bit of a give away. If this car sex is part of an illicit affair there is the risk of leaving a used condom, a  tissue paper reeking of come, or a stain on fabric upholstery that can’t be removed. There is the thrill of anticipation, the feeling of increasing horniness as you drive the dark lanes  looking for a suitable spot. The times when, you start to undress, then duck down as you see the headlights of a passing car.

You don’t have time  which makes the experience more intense. A minimum of foreplay and then  penetration. And the cramped conditions make  for an angle that allows deep penetration.  Car sex is quick and intense. And fun!

Car sex has enabled me to have sex in dogging sites in the Black Country, in the  car park of a medieval castle, down a lane in Oxfordshire under the embankment of the  M40 (this leaving stains on the seat), and down a number of farm tracks around Warwickhire.

And most of this sex in three little Skodas.

As they say in Czech “Simply clever”








An Appetite for Pleasure

When I was 11 and staying at a friend’s house, we stumbled upon her father’s porn stash. We spent the afternoon leafing through these well- thumbed copies of Men Only.  At this distance in time I don’t remember a great deal about them except being fascinated by a photospread of a guy eating bananas and cream off his partner’s lady parts. And so a connection between food and sex was established in my mind. A current male lover loves to lick various sweet treats off my feet and this is as good a pedicure as I have had in any salon and delightfully erotic.

I, in my time, have greedily licked yoghurt and honey off cock, I have drawn a Cadbury’s Flake out of a girlfriend with my teeth (and soaked in pussy juice a Flake is, well, something else) and I still shudder to think to think about the mess a lover and I made of a hotel bed with a steak and kidney pie.

The point for me is that food is sensual, sex is sensual. Eating oysters is quite a bit like sucking cock, it’s just that cock is even better when your lover comes in your mouth. And like all the sensual pleasures they are predicated on mortality. I was, therefore,  little surprised a while ago to talk to a sex positive lady (and part time sex worker)   describing the way in which she had lost weight, through one of the many faddish diets.

“I haven’t eaten for 48 hours”  she said with a smile. “And I’m nor even hungry.”

Well, yes, I thought but this is missing the point. Food is not an enemy it is a pleasure to be embraced like a lover. Eat well, eat regularly just not to excess. Deny yourself nothing. Yet so many people do. And they are surely blunting their sensual appetite more generally. Deny yourself dessert  and what are you going to lick off your lover before you fuck? And how can you get properly horny and have the energy for love making without steak or oysters or a glass of wine?

I have lost three and a half stone since the beginning of 2015. I am now dress size 12 to 14 where I was once a 22. Some of this was down to running but mainly it is down to making the decision to eat well and eat regularly. Three proper meals, no snacks. Oh and room for dessert, room for cheese, room for wine.  It was while visiting friends In France that I had this idea. My friends pointed out that there are far fewer overweight people in France than in England yet most French people eat well. I had to agree.

I really can’t imagine Catherine Deneuve going 48 hours without food and not feeling hungry, still less being happy about it. So I’m just off out to buy cheese and maybe a crème brulee. And then I will see where the evening takes me.

In The Family Way

I have written before about Eroticon and how those who attend regularly have become a kind of family. Writing can be an isolating experience and when your subject matter is sex, and particularly  when it is seen from the angle of unconventional and alternative sexualities, this isolation can be compounded by the stigma and lack of understanding that requires many bloggers and writers to write pseudonymously, in some cases, going to great lengths to protect their real names.  So it is really good to get together from time to time and chat, and drink , and eat and laugh with people like you, people who “get it”

Yesterday’s blogger meetup in Birmingham was  not a reprise of Eroticon ans several of the bloggers present have not yet been there (but surely will) but it was great to spend an afternoon with awesome people, new friends and old friends, the inevitable cigarette and swapping of gleeful reminiscences about election night with Girl on the Net, planning cocktails and cake for Smutathon next weekend, all this awesomeness, while just 50 yards away, the massed ranks of 20 Britain First supporters, ranted into a void.

We are going to do this again. I only hope the next ne doesn’t clash with rugby at Moseley…please! But I will be there anyway. You are family.

Huge thanks to Horny Geek Girl and Echo Explores for organising.


I was wondering what to do for Smutathon but have now decided to edit and finish off the novella that I began six years ago and have toyed with on and off over the years, even reading a chapter at the Eroticon slam in 2016. I will now finish it because it deserves to be finished.  It changed my life.

Those who have met me will know that, in addition to being into sex and smut, I have a deep love of vintage fashion, and particularly of 50s fashions. This came about through writing smut….really. I had an idea one day of writing a story about a young woman who loved the fashions and style of the 50s , to the extent of living the lifestyle 24/7. So I invented Claire, who is my absolute favourite person of those who have been born from my imagination. Claire is different, she is proud of being different, she finds vintage empowering. And she likes sex. Rough sex. Sex on the back seats of cars.  Sex where she sends a man home with a ripped shirt , bloodstained from running her fingernails down his back.

I actually had the idea watching a programme about a woman in her early 20s who lived in the 50s even to the extent of using a Vauxhall Wyvern Series E as her everyday transport. My parents were amazed at  the attention to detail with which she had furnished her house. I have no idea what her sex life was like but she inspired the vintage bit of Claire.  And the sex  bit? Well that came from a Ford publicity shot for the Mark 2 Zodiac. A simple shot of a woman behind the wheel, in a circle dress,,, wearing leather driving gloves.  I have a huge glove fetish and my imagination ran wild as I looked at the photograph. I was aroused.

In this way the pieces came together, vintage fashion, classic  50s car, and unbridled eroticism.  So, on July 1st, I will put a nice frock on, open the laptop and finally finish this novella.

Claire, I promise I will do you justice. This will be my love letter to you.


War Paint

I don’t know why this song suddenly came to me as I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in one of the big fluffy hotel towels. I sprayed on a little 4711 and settled down to wait for Steph.

“War paint war paint you don’t need war paint”

I knew that Steph would be made up immaculately, she always was, foundation, blush, mascara that picked out each lash individually, the glistening red of her lipstick countered perfectly against her lips. War paint war paint and it brought me to surrender every time.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I had chosen a biker jacket to go with jeans and boots. I had never quite dressed this was before but this was to be the last time. And the first. My husband had found out and I had made my choice. Steve was a great lover but I had never quite been able to see him as a long term partner. I was going to have to tell him.

I opened the door. She came inside. I could have dropped to my knees and worshipped her.


I looked at him. I told him the news. Then I added

‘It’s my poorly day….I’m sorry.’

I thought that would be that. The fact is that men are disgusted by women in their elemental messiness. And most men I had ever had sex with never wanted it during my days.

But I wanted him. I wanted him so fucking much. I wanted to see his bell end covered in my blood. I felt my clit swell and brush against my panties. I put a finger inside and felt how wet I was getting. I saw deep submissiveness in his eyes. He would deny me nothing.

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Give me something to remember.”



Steph had shocked me when she told me she was finishing with me. But I wanted her and I knew I wanted to needed to fuck her one last time and I had for the first time that feeling that I craved her blood. She undressed and removed her panties which were stained red, and her tampon and placed them on the bedside table.

I pushed in. there was a certain resistance, Steph wasn’t as dilated as normal but the abrasion of my initial penetration gave way to the warm and softness as her vagina wrapped around my raw and exposed bellend. I felt further stiffening as I began to pump.

She moaned

“oh baby baby….give it to me.”

Six thrusts and a final deep violent push and she came with a scream as I felt my ejaculation pushing out into the wider waters. I remained there for a few moments before pulling gently out. My prick glistened with a mixture of come and menstrual blood which dripped onto the white sheets on which I would be sleeping later as Steph drove home through the night.


This was quick sex, but I was so horny I had no need for foreplay. I just wanted Steve’s cock inside me for the last time. I wanted him to be quick and brutal. He withdrew and rolled over, spent. We were both dripping onto the bedclothes, come, ejaculate and blood. I thought it looked beautiful.

I took my stained panties from the bedside table and pushed it into face, pressing hard to make him struggle for breath. I began to rub and grind. I ordered him to wank but he almost didn’t need to. I rubbed my fingers on the sheet and turned his face red as he came in creamy glugs. I took some of his come in my hand, rubbed it with the blood and thought.

“Wank again and come over my tits. “

He kneeled up and after a few brisk movements was squirting come over me before licjing my breasts. I was covered in come and Steve in my blood. I remembered a line from a poem

“Whatever dies was not mixed equally.”

We were bound together in our mixed fluids. It was smelly, it was dirty, it was beautiful. I wanted more.


“We are bound together in love, bound together in blood” shouted Steph. I had come once inside her, twice over her, and she wanted to be fucked again.  I picked up her boots.

“Put these on “

She pulled them on and pushed a sole into my face. I licked and licked feeling myself become hard before she slid down the bed to take me in her mouth, bringing me to the edge again before turning round so that I could take her from behind.


And that was it. I was sated. I was a mess. I stank of sex. I guess Steve was disappointed that I didn’t stay for a final shower with him but I had to enjoy this on the drive home. Besides my husband was out, so a shower could wait.


She left closing the door softly behind her. I looked at myself in the mirror. I took some more blood and painted two lines, one on each cheek. We may never see each other again but I was no longer ashamed of this.

I left the room and headed for the lift. I began to sing out loud

“War paint, war paint, you don’t need…..”

But I so did.


Five weeks after my third half-marathon, in Manchester, I am taking on a new challenge, a writing marathon, the first Smutathon.  Now In have never written anywhere near as much smut as I would have liked and I see in this an opportunity to catch up, spending 12 hours writing filth. This will be in London in the company of other members of the Eroticon family   so it will be fun and very sociable, particularly if I take a couple of bottles of gin 🙂

This is filth with a purpose as we aim to raise money for two worthy causes, Rape Crisis and Backlash which campaigns against censorship and for sexual freedom.

This may seem to some an odd pairing. There are, after all, those who see censorship as a necessary step towards reducing the incidence of rape and sexual assault. Only recently I read Julie Bindel (who else) going on about porn culture and its role in the oppression of women as if she was unaware that women are both producers and consumers of porn, and that the often niche porn (BDSM for example) that women produce is most at risk from the puritanical urges of our politicians.

I think I can speak from all my fellow participants when I say that we reject this view. The full and free expression of human sexuality is joyful and life enhancing.  And I emphasise free. This means consent at all times. Our choices are ours and ours alone. Politicians (and Julie Bindel) need to remember this too.

I hope you are able to support us. You can sponsor us here

Oh and huge thanks to the wonderful Coffee and Kink who had the idea and the energy to bring it about. You can follow her blog here

As for me I really can’t wait until July 1st.