My man has been keeping a diary this last year regarding what it is like living with a Sex Blogger. I haven’t read it yet! But he wrote this on the back of observing me and checking out a few other sex blogs within the community…

You can find more of his words on his new blog …

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It’s not a thing I pursue, but I know a few people who do. What follows, then, is no more than an opinion and certainly not a confession.

When my woman, May More, decided to open a sex blog I was happy to observe from a polite distance. To enjoy the various surprising consequences of her rapidly growing enthusiasm. However, if you live with a sex blogger it’s hard to avoid getting pulled in deeper. Pardon the expression. Indeed, this essay is proof of my own engagement.

I soon began to wonder what was driving May and her many colleagues to summon such massive reserves of energy for their output? For many years I was lucky enough to earn a living from writing. For me it was simply about the money, end of story. What’s really in it for a sex blogger? The answer, I now believe, is an f-word.

The F word

Let me explain. From the outside, sex blogging appeared to be a bit about ego, a lot about doubt and much about longing. But wherever I looked in the adult blogosphere I saw one particular light flashing on every post. Whatever the title, the subject or the object, it was always about FREEDOM. In fact it was all about freedom. Jagged sparks of freedom, struck from the stone walls of disapproval, blinking bright in the darkness where sex had been kept for so long, like a bad old dog on a chain. O lucky bloggers!

Of course, it wasn’t always like this. Those of us older than the internet can easily recall the black-and-white world. Back when sex was condemned to walk in the footprints of shame. What people did -what they really did- was mostly secret, extremely personal and never, ever discussed in front of the children.

Sex wasn’t a pastime or a pleasure, but a problem you sorted out while nobody else was looking.

The internet

For many pre-internet youngsters, the only visible evidence of real sexual activity was the sight of pregnant women or the guilty knowledge of pornography, which lurked on the the fringe of our timid society like a drug dealer in the pub toilet. Apart from the daring few, a great many people lived in a sexual pressure-cooker, lusting silently in fear of derision, exposure, rejection. Not much fun, in other words.

When the internet took the lid off, boiling geysers of filthy prose burst upon the world. Pooling as it cooled into a vast ocean of carnal desire in which everyone could, and would, swim. Anonymity – the glorious anonymity of the net – was the new armour, the erotic hazmat suit of total protection. Inspired and fearless, a fist-pumping army of naughty knights and dirty damsels grabbed their lap tops and shot, quite literally, from their hips.

Nothing is new

So far so good. Uninhibited sexual honesty can only be progress, right? But one slightly odd aspect of our brave new culture of 24/7 all-out erotica is its remarkably heavy reliance on tropes and themes that are not just old but downright ancient.

You don’t have to travel too deeply into the Egypt of the pyramid-builders or the sordid collapse of Rome to get your mitts on some seriously hard, kink-twist-queerfuck, free for all, have it your way wank fodder. Perhaps all that has changed was the scale of the smut-heap. And the very welcome addition of high quality do-it-yourself porn pics.

After all, with the obvious and honourable exception of sci-fi/robotica, it’s unusual to find any activity or scenario in the creative maelstrom of sex-blogging that wasn’t chiselled onto a rock two thousand years ago. But that’s a trite observation, and does not begin to address the one, truly amazing change in our collective circumstances. Because we -spoiled and pampered as only 21^st centurians can be- take our spectacular freedom so much for granted we have forgotten how miraculous it is.

TV titillations

It’s no accident that major soft-porn TV hits– Spartacus Blood and Sand, Game of Thrones, for example, invite the viewer into worlds of merciless control that we know too well from history. The oh-so familiar crack of leather on flesh, the dungeons and chains, the bondage -real and imagined- the masks and ropes, the sexual slavery and submission – the exercise of power – underpins these entertainments. The terribly modern Vampire Chronicles might be the ultimate turn-on for many teen Goth crowds, but Bram Stoker invented Dracula in 1880.

To the casual viewer, the overheated sexual indulgence littering these TV productions might seem to be the entire point of the shows. But there is nothing flippant about these titillations. The unspoken message of the sword and sorcery sex scene is as blunt as a sawn-off dildo – yes, it was always like this – this is the dirty stuff people always did -and always will do...if allowed.

‘If allowed’ being the big enchilada. Freedom, it is well known, erupts like a volcano. But for almost the entire span of human history, freedom was a precious luxury enjoyed by only a tiny, ruthless minority. None of whom were closely related to me – or you, I expect.

The leveller

Sex, however, was the ultimate leveller, the itch even emperors had to scratch. Sex was, and remains, the basic urge – hell, the prime motive – driving the existence of the lowest, poorest, least desirable people on earth. As well as all the rich, beautiful people the peasants secretly aspired to fuck. In the almost-reality of the internet, such unlikely liasons can seem – and perhaps are – closer to possible than ever before.

It’s all so Instagrammy. Online, a billionaire can pose as a pauper, a dole-prole can build the profile of a monarch. In the landscape of boundless porn, a cat may hook up a king.

But this explosion of expression -of freedom- happened once before, and not so very long ago either. Two hundred and fifty years ago, the industrialisation of the printing press transformed mute, ignorant people into thoughtful, challenging individuals. The consequences… ah, the consequences…were both wonderful and dreadful. The blood-soaked horror of the French revolution, the nightmarish cults of Stalin and Hitler, can all be traced back to the power of words set free, and their use as tools of indoctrination. But that was the price we paid for a post-monarchic society.

Yet the literature and philosophy that came in the wake of the pamphleteers and tyrants launched a psycho-sexual revolution that changed forever our collective ideas about morality and social norms. I think, therefore I am, said the philosopher Rene Descartes. Today, every brain with a forefinger attached declares, I blog, therefore I am.

The bloggers truth

Fact or fiction, biography or fantasy, every sex blog worth reading must be an expression of truth. Truth rides in the carriage of freedom. The honest sex blogger wrestles in public with their ego, doubts, their longings, and every variation thereof. Truth, I believe, is the only freedom, and we damn well know it when we read it.

How incredible then, that our very own information revolution – the rise of the digital human – has not yet resulted in a single world-consuming war. Have we at last outgrown our darkest urges? Is freedom, perhaps, the central component of the sexual urge itself? It’s a tempting idea. At the moment of ejaculation, a gazillion sperm burst into action, flinging themselves in desperation at an unknown target that almost none will find. But for a few fantastic milliseconds they are free. At the instant of conception, the womb frees its owner from the curse of individuality, bestowing the (mixed) blessing of replication, and the miraculous honour of gestation. Freedom indeed.

But now that our sexual activity is largely recreational, well, being animals we still get off on all the old bells and whistles: pass the rope, bend over, close your eyes and drift away…because satisfaction waits, like the calm after a storm.

Peace is being given a chance. Beats the hellout of joining the army, wouldn’t you say?

It matters

Freedom, you see, is not a matter of give and take. The astonishing freedoms we enjoy were bought with the blood of generations who woke up, smelled the coffee and demanded their liberty as a right.

Freedom was never-and never will be- a gift from the Master. Freedom of any kind must be chosen, seized, and held like a torch in the face of the control freaks – monarchs, governments, corporations and the monsters they serve.

So blog on, you sexual obsessive bloggers. It matters. Freedom matters and indeed – Sex Matters!

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