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wicked wednesday

50 Ways To Fuck Each Other – Wicked Wednesday #247

I heard a song a while ago,

“50 Ways To Leave Your Lover.”

With a tip of hat

I wrote a poem like that,

Called “50 Ways To Fuck Each Other”.


Starting in the bedroom,

You can call it ‘Making Love’.

That’s far enough for many

But if you grow out of


It, try to call it ‘Shagging’,

‘Screwing’ or a ‘Fuck’.

Call it ‘Hide The Sausage”,

Though I doubt you’ll get much luck.


You can move it to the kitchen,

The living room or hall.

You can do it on the stairs

Just be careful not to fall.


You can fuck each other twice.

You can fuck each other thrice.

Go all day long,

If fit and strong,

And add a little spice.


Dress each other up.

Dress each other down.

Try dressing as a nurse,

A teacher or a clown.


Don’t just use your cunt.

Don’t just use your cock.

Fingers, lips,

Tongues and tits.

Make your partner rock.


You can do it in the dark.

With a stranger. In the park!

You can turn the lights on bright

Or hide behind a mask.


Then there are the toys!

Oh, the many joys.


Dildos, plugs, beads and chains,

Ropes, rings – paddles for pain.


Become a Dom, become a Daddy.

Become a sub or a saddy.


Let pain and pleasure

Merge as one

As masochist, or as some


Tease each other wearing lace,

Stockings, boots, and in case


That’s not enough there’s lots to learn

About the words to make them squirm.


Choke your partner.

Share their pleasure:

Swinging, dogging,

There’s no measure.


Threesomes, gangs,

There’s even cucking.

Let others watch

As you get fucking.


Screw each other senseless.

Screw what others think!

It’s too much fun,

Making others cum,

No matter what your kink.

See who else is taking part

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Roses – Wicked Wednesday

Of course this week sees the arrival of that most “romantic” day of celebration – in which people with no imagination send tacky merchandise to each other and others beg for cheap attention on Twitter – Valentine’s Day.

I’m not a fan at the best of times so I worked on creating this alternative (and rather tragic) card instead. Continue reading “Roses – Wicked Wednesday”

The Secret Diary of Barnum Hornwaffle (aged 33 1/4) – Wicked Wednesday #222

There seems to be a running theme within my last few posts – books. All of them have referenced or used them in some form or another and, as a massive Book Geek, I’m proud to say this one won’t be any different.

I don’t keep a diary these days, although it’s not because I look down on them or believe them to be self-indulgent or anything even remotely negative. I kept one for many years and would frequently write essays on scraps of A4 then stuff them into a folder tucked between the bed and my secret stash of porn mags. Sex and words have always been closely related in my world.

And yet my diary was never sexy, despite the two biggest sources of inspiration for such entries being forever lodged in my brain in a sexy way.

Continue reading “The Secret Diary of Barnum Hornwaffle (aged 33 1/4) – Wicked Wednesday #222”

Silence – Wicked Wednesday Prompt #221

I’m a bit annoyed with myself for embellishing so much that I was unable to write what I wanted within the word count but – alas – that’s how I roll. I intend to finish the story soon enough so consider this merely an introduction…

The library card had three pieces of information on it – a time, an aisle number, and a single word – “Silence”

To the casual eye it would have appeared innocent enough – a note left by one librarian to another, perhaps – but Jonathan had felt certain its intentions would be understood by the intended recipient and, when he saw Alice appear on the stairs at 6 O’clock, the little slip of card poking from the pages of the book she held, he knew he’d been right.

Continue reading “Silence – Wicked Wednesday Prompt #221”

Random Body Boasts – Wicked Wednesday Prompt #220

I’m not sporty. I’ve never played sportsball or supported a sportsball team so I’m probably cheating a little by bending this week’s Wicked Wednesday to the gym, but they’re both kinda healthy so I hope it’s alright.

Gyms seem like weird places to me – where else is it acceptable to grunt, sweat and pant in front of strangers for an hour or two?

On second thought, don’t answer that.

It’s not that I’m anti-gym – in fact I’ve slowly come to love them again – it’s just that, between the clanking, judgemental machines and the people I see using them – all of whom I secretly decide are better than me – I tend to shuffle around with my head down, feeling more body conscious than ever.

Continue reading “Random Body Boasts – Wicked Wednesday Prompt #220”

Boozey Blunders

Alcohol is responsible for many memories. It’s the cause of torn coat sleeves, the reason I once fell through a fence and explains why I woke on a friend’s bed rambling about “rusty Volkswagen catalogues”.

It’s also added a lot of fun to sex. And a lot of obstacles.

Picture the scene – Cheryl (my new sexual experimenter and spunk analyst) had a night off and we were all going out. 8 students, crammed onto a table in a pub with suspiciously high ceilings and carpets which absorbed stains with unnatural ease.

Sat side by side, it didn’t take long before my leg brushed against Cheryl’s and felt her gently nudge back in response. Since we’d downplayed any involvement to the others we silently agreed to carry on drinking and enjoying ourselves, all the while secretly pressing and rubbing against one another. Above the table all was normal; below the table a friction began to build.

Between rounds of drinks my hand slipped beneath to stroke Cheryl’s thigh, peeking out so beautifully from the hem of her dark green dress. When we slid to the next bar I made sure to stand behind her, pushing her arse through the door with a firm grip and smirked at the cheeky grin she flashed me in return. Under dim lights and trashy music we snuck in further moments, sometimes simply letting our fingers touch while standing in close proximity, sometimes pretending to lean in to speak and instead softly brushing the other’s ear with our lips, and sometimes we’d lead ourselves to dark corners for covert kisses which tasted of sambuca and cigarette smoke. Continue reading “Boozey Blunders”

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