Thursday, 23 March 2017


For a while, I had an evening routine of lying on top of my bed.


This needs contextualising, since I imagine many people will have done the same thing. I had, for a long time, some things on my toes which were either verrucas, warts, corns or calluses. Not nice to look at, but unlike a blister, you couldn't just slice them open. For a while, of course, I did the British thing of ignoring them. But eventually, they became distracting, so my mother bought me some Bazuka.

And thus became my routine:

I would strip off completely - and, if I wanted to shower, I'd do it then. I'd prop a pillow up on the headboard and apply the Bazuka to the inside of my big toe, my second toe, and the irritating corn on the ball of my foot, and then wait for them to dry. As it turns out, this took a while to happen. So I had to fill my time with something.

I built a tower of fantasy books on my bedside table - things I'd bought or been given, but had never actually read before: Tamora Pearse, Angie Sage, Forgotten Realms stuff. I had a lot of these, and I added "reading the books" to my routine. So, effectively, I got to lose myself in a fantasy world while my toes healed.

And it continued nightly. Turn off computer. Strip. Turn up radiator. Prop pillow up. Apply cream to feet. Lean back. Relax. Read.

Before you ask, yes, I am aware that this could have gone in another direction. Naked boy lying on his back on the bed with the radiator turned up, nothing to do for half an hour? Naked boy who's a sex blogger, no less? Naked sex blogger boy who's just taken off all his clothes and powered everything down and now he has to wait half an hour before he can get into bed?

I don't know about you, dear reader, but I'd have a completely different idea about what he could do in that time.

Let's regard the time. I often went to bed at about 10 or 11, depending on how lazy I was. In those days, I set myself a nine o'clock watershed before I could do anything particularly sexual, let alone touch myself. This, too, became a routine. Just after nine, I'd have my trousers in a heap around my ankles, fingers wrapped around my shaft, working my foreskin up and down, often with something shiny and smutty on my screen. I'd take myself to the edge and tip over, falling into that orgasmic mess. A blur of colour and sound. Fade to white. Hold.


By the time I'd finished with all that, I was just about ready to go to bed (my lower half was undressed by that point, anyway - efficiency!). And so I did. Turn off computer. Strip. Turn up radiator. Prop pillow up. Apply cream to feet. Lean back. Relax. Read. Slightly post-orgasmic, maybe... but, in my state just after orgasm, I can't imagine a nicer place to be than on the top of a warm bed, head resting against the pillow with a good book.

Add hot chocolate and it's perfect.

And that's how I went from one fantasy to another... all by virtue of having to fix my feet. 

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