It features Miss Annie Player, whose face I am smiling at, and one Mr. Nate whose hand is exactly where you think it is (unless you think it’s up my bum in which case it’s not exactly where you think it is. It’s on my willy.), and my naked bum.

This photo was taken by the supremely wonderful Holly Revell, who had designed a cowboy-themed photo shoot. Since I had not dressed particularly cowboyly (I was working that night and as such was dressed more like a waiter at a funeral), I thought it best to just be naked. Actually that’s not strictly true. I walked into the shoot half-pissed and very horny, and Holly said “you need to be naked,” and suddenly I was, without really comprehending how I’d moved so quickly from one state of affairs to the next.

Holly is the woman responsible for this shoot, and I’m keen to get myself in front of her lens at every available opportunity. She won an Erotic Award for Innovation that night – absolutely, thoroughly deserved.

Anyway, enjoy…

Very flattered that my bum is the dead centre of this photo.

Almost exactly a year ago I received a tweet from a young lady identifying herself as Annie Player. She explained that she was organising a few drinks for some erotic types – people like myself who write or do creative things in the adult “arena” – and asked if I’d like to tag along.

I hadn’t been in London long. It was the perfect opportunity for me, and over the last year, Erotic Meet and its founder and CEO Annie Player have become very important to me, and to many others.

What is Erotic Meet?

Erotic Meet is the world’s first enterprise solely designed to promote creative collaboration in erotic fields. In the year that it’s existed, many genuinely respectable artistic endeavours have come out of it, a lot of amazing connections have been made, and a lot of commercial success has been as a direct result of Erotic Meet collaborations (Annie herself was the voice of the Ann Summers Summer of Sex, for example, which came directly out of an Erotic Meet connection).

Many of its members have gained the confidence and prominence to earn awards and prestigious nominations, and some have been featured several times in the national press.

All this appeals to me. But perhaps what appeals to me more is what Erotic Meet is NOT. It’s not a munch. It’s not a play party. It’s not a kinky party. It’s not part of any “scene” and it’s not a self-help group. It really is a space where creative people who work closely with sex and sexuality can go and network with other likeminded folk. No pressure. No overt sexiness. But always with a sense of fun.

The Erotic Meet Birthday Party

Annie Player has a knack for poaching the most amazing performers. Check the poster below. I’ve seen or met everyone on the lineup over the last few months (thanks solely to Erotic Meet!) and they all blow me away.

But I literally cannot wait to see Eastend Cabaret again. I still sing their song Dangerwank to myself when I’m cycling.

Check out these videos. I shot these, but I was too busy enjoying the show to capture it accurately, so apologies for the shoddy filming. Hey, I’m a writer, not a cameraman.

And they were bloody lovely too. They’re recently back from a tour of that great big island to which we used to send naughty people (Austria, or whatever it’s called) where they won at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. That’s pretty major, yo. I can’t wait to buy them gin.

Here’s the lineup and some deets:

Tickets

You can buy tickets by following the links on this page, or you can buy them on the door. From me, as it happens, because I’ll be there waiting to greet you with a big smile on my face and a small lump in my throat, because I’m so happy this thing is till trucking on a year later, bigger and better than ever before.

A heart cushion. Awwww.

In my line of work, I’m frequently offered opportunities to which I have to say “no” for one reason or another. Sadly, I’ve become quite good at saying no to opportunities, and to turning down events and products by which I’m naturally tempted. But occasionally, just occasionally, an opportunity presents itself that I find impossible to refuse. Rebecca Lowrie’s Pleasure workshop was one such opportunity.

And that’s how I ended up spending a whole weekend locked in a bright and friendly little room last weekend, with 12 strangers and 1 girlfriend, exploring an entirely alien type of pleasure. A type of pleasure that involved none of my trademark biting and swearing and hurting. (Actually there was a little hurting, and we’ll come back to this.) I’d like to share my experiences with you, if you’ll indulge me.

Let’s start with some background to set the scene.

Rebecca Lowrie

Ah, Rebecca. She and I had long exchanged the occasional tweet, but to my eternal discredit and despite her being something of a superstar in certain circles close to mine, I had never met her in person before. All I really knew about her was that Annie Player (the aforementioned girlfriend) had only the nicest things to say about her, that she was very sexy, and that she was very bouncy and excitable. I like sexy, bouncy people, but I didn’t know just how much and how easily I would take to Rebecca.

She is immediately likeable, with huge, deep, soft eyes and a smile that’s so infectious I grinned for an entire week after meeting her. You know when you hold a kitten that’s so adorable you can barely stop yourself from squeezing it? That’s how I feel about Rebecca. We had left it too long to share some personal space, and I’m richer from meeting her.

Her website is here.

Her twitter is here.

Seanifool

Sean was Rebecca’s assistant throughout the weekend. He’s an unusual chap in all the best and most interesting ways – he describes himself as a shamanic BDSM clown. It only takes a few seconds of conversation with him before you realise that he sees things a little differently from most people, and his company is extremely pleasurable. I’m not a believer in souls, but if I was, I would say without hesitation that Sean’s soul was inherently good. Since I’m not a believer of such things, I’ll simply say that he is an obviously and thoroughly good human being.

What’s more, watching him being so naturally at ease in this spiritual setting was as infectious as Rebecca’s smile, and while I can’t speak for any other attendees, he certainly helped me feel less self-conscious. For example, a lot of the activities involved looking into each other eyes – and this is not as easy for men as simply saying it makes it sound. More than four seconds of eye contact makes men uncomfortable, and aggression levels begin to instinctively rise. Eye contact is something that we actively practice in my martial arts classes, and it takes a lot of practice to look into another man’s eyes for an extended period. Not Sean though; he smiles with his eyes and he’s incredibly easy to make eye contact with.

His website is here.

His twitter is here.

Window.

The Location

The workshop was conducted in a comfortably sized, white walled room with big windows in a discreet corner of North London. It felt very private. The windows had ivy creeping through which was beautifully organic, and in a building opposite I could hear what sounded like a Chinese chorus group playing and chanting. It was a little surreal – but that only added to the dreamy atmosphere of the weekend.

The room was home to a capoeira school, so it dripped with energy and vitality. That suited the peaceful playfulness that we were bringing to it. I like the juxtaposition of the energetic martial dancing of the room’s usual occupants and the serene tantric sexuality that our group brought – the conflicting atmosphere was tangible.

The Workshop

The workshop itself was part of a wider series of workshops conducted by Rebecca, each one taking you further down the rabbit hole, each one adding a new level of sexual understanding and appreciation. The next one is intimacy, and I have no doubt that Rebecca will make something very special of that. This one, though, was Pleasure.

Our group consisted of a group of 12 strangers – or relative strangers, and throughout the week layers of reason motivation were stripped back  like old paint, each uncovered layer bringing to light a new piece of personal history, as we began to understand each other’s drives to be present. It was like an Agatha Christie novel or an episode of Poirot; we each dropped little hints about ourselves throughout the weekend, each of us slowly letting everyone else in word by word, phrase by phrase, smile by smile, until by the end of it there was a profound sense that we knew each other completely, and were part of each other completely.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you about my experience.

Ivy in the window.

My account of the Weekend

I wasn’t even slightly nervous as Annie and I made our merry way under London to the workshop. I tend to experience a little nervousness at any new experience, especially experiences with sexual undertones. (Unrelated: how can undertones and overtones be synonymous? English is confusing.) I’m only human after all, and I blush and stammer and can be clumsy when nervous like any of you reading this. But not for the Pleasure workshop. For this, I had a real sense of positivity – not a pseudo-spiritual sense of positivity, but a positivity I had cultivated. I wanted to enjoy this, I wanted to be excited by it, and I wanted to enjoy that excitement. I basically wanted a positive enjoyment excitement threesome, and lucky for me, Annie’s excitement was viral, so that’s exactly what I got.

We arrived at the venue. There were people milling slowly around, small talk and chit chat occurred. Annie spoke softly and respectfully, so I did too. I was once told that I sometimes speak to people I’ve never met as though I was already halfway through a conversation with them – which can be a bit full on, so I let Annie do all the warming up and I followed her cues shuffling around behind her as though she were my disclaimer.

Soon coffee, tea, biscuits and organic things were being consumed (the biscuits mainly by me), we slipped our shoes off and wandered into the room, inspecting it respectfully, as though we were meandering around a closed museum.  Given the familiarity I had with the martial arts environment, I relied on my instincts and started stretching. It felt good to stretch properly. Whenever I do it before a class or before a run, it feels hurried. But here I felt like I could take my time.

Quickly we were all assembled in the room, all shoeless and in comfy clothing, and we sat in a wide circle on the floor and at Rebecca’s prompting, introduced ourselves. For some reason, I’m able to remember the introduction I gave myself almost verbatim. It was this:

“Hi, my name’s Stu, and I’ve been working and writing in the adult industry all my professional life. Until now I’ve found myself resistant to spirituality with regards to sexuality, but I’m here with a good attitude to see what this has to offer me.”

That was it. It felt sincere at the time, but on rethinking, it sounds a little false, especially since everyone preceding me had talked so candidly about their motives. This atheistic, humanistic, cynical hurdle of mine was something I would actively endeavour to overcome over the weekend, and to my astonishment, I would succeed.

Would you like me to speed this up? Ok. Let’s hit the highlights, otherwise I’ll write 15,000 words and you won’t read any of them.

Rebecca talked us through what to expect, and she did it flawlessly. She knew that there were some experienced spiritualists, and there were some experienced fleshists (which is a word I just made up to describe the opposite of a spiritualist. I rather like it.) like me, and she simply advised that if the framework for comprehension she was describing didn’t work for me, I build my own semiotic framework and make it work for me. So that’s what I did.

Rebecca had a phrase for the more intangible elements of her language: “woo woo”. This is the term she used to describe anything that she thought I would normally consider spiritual, and because I had mentioned my cynicism early on, she took it on board. She said “if anything sounds like woo woo, just apply it to something you understand and make it work for you.” That’s what I did.

Throughout the weekend there were more activities than I can reasonably list – and I wouldn’t if I could because it was private. But there was dancing. There was handholding. There was a huge amount of touching and arousal. There was discussion of subjects that my rationality convinced me were impossible – but very little, and the vast, vast majority was simply about human contact, personal interaction, intimacy and respect.

What Wasn’t It?

I feel at this point that I should mention a few things that the Pleasure workshop was NOT: it was not a play party. It was not an orgy. It was not a gropebox. There were no hammocks from which fornicating couples watch other fornicating couples fornicate. There was no pressure. There was no judgement. I was naked and blindfolded for some time, but I didn’t have to be if I didn’t want to be. (I just wanted to be.)

Early on, the boundaries were established in a way that really resonated with me, but not until I thought about it afterwards. We learned to control the way someone else touches us with the words “yes,” “no” and “maybe”. All very simple, but for one very important concept to which I can’t possibly do justice: to say no to somebody else is to say yes to yourself.

Yay. Another window.

I thought this was a little woo woo at the time, but it hit home somewhere in me and I’ve thought about it a lot since. It’s inescapably true: to assert a denial is inherently self-affirming. To refuse to acquiesce to a request is to confirm one’s own strength to refuse. Less flowery: to say no to another is to say yes to yourself. Like I said, I can’t really do this concept justice, but if you think about it, the inverted logic is very satisfying. I’m sure this is a common theme in yogic and tantric communities, but it was new to me. I even said it to my mum… in a rather different context of course.

The beauty of this was that it taught me something that I had long suspected: that for better or worse, I have no boundaries. I want to be touched. I tried saying no, but was disappointed to see my partner disengage and move away. Perhaps this means I am confident enough to be touched in any way. Perhaps it means I’m so insecure that I welcome all and every kind of physical contact. Perhaps I’m projecting more levels of complexity than necessary onto the fact that I enjoy being touched. Perhaps I simply enjoy being touched.

I really don’t want to go into specifics about what happened inside those thick white walls; that’s for me and the other attendees. That’s as private as our reasons for being there. But I just… I just can’t put into words how powerful it was. For a long time after the weekend, in my quieter moments, it was vertiginous. I struggled a little to come to terms with just how profoundly realigning it was. Once I had let go, once I had leaped the hurdle of cynicism and landed with both feet firmly planted and ready to run, I experienced some sensations that I can never, ever articulately transcribe.

There was one moment, for example, that only Annie Player and I will ever know about. I’m sincerely sorry for being secretive, I don’t mean to be, but I just can’t explain it in a way that I can make you understand, so I’m not going to try. All you need to know, reader, is that I underwent a very brief but utterly transcendent transformation. If you pull me aside sometime at an EroticMeet or any other event and ask me face to face what I’m talking about, I’ll tell you – quietly. But I can’t promise to make it eloquent. I’m writing this a month after the event and I’m STILL processing it.

I will give one brief example of how stunningly considerate the other attendees were though. At one point, towards the second half of the second day, there was an exercise that Annie and I had decided we wanted to share together, rather than revolving with the other attendees. (I should have pointed out earlier that Annie and I were the only couple there, but had decided to be independent for as much as of the event as possible. For this particular exercise though, we wanted to be together.) We were truly concerned how the other attendees would react; it was after all a communal event and our splitting away could easily have been seen as…. I don’t know… a rejection of the intimacy that we had previously shared with everyone else. But just before the exercise began, one of the other members, a tiny and ravishingly gorgeous woman, said “Can I just say to Annie and Stu, I really hope you enjoy this together.”

Don’t tell anyone this, but I welled up a tiny bit and only for a moment. I thanked her privately afterwards for saying such a lovely and considerate thing.

So thank you Annie Player, Seanifool and the other attendees who might be reading this. But thank you to Rebecca Lowrie first and foremost for an unforgettably brilliant weekend. Like I said as I with my closing words to the group, “I trade words for a living, and yet in situations like these, when words really matter, I have none.”

Highlight: bumping into the irrepressible Rubyyy Jones. I still need to save her.

Burlesque performers love my bum. Fact.

So a sunny, amazing, hilarious and busy day draws to an end, as I sit here in a hotel room in Gateshead, trying hard to upload photos from an iPad to facebook – which, it turns out, is harder than pushing a hippo through a letterbox with no lube. It was the first day of the Ann Summers I Scream tour, and I have no hesitation in saying that Newcastle is one of the loveliest, most welcoming and most energetic cities I’ve ever had the pleasure to give sex toys out in.

I arrived early at the meeting point so I could get my bearings, and wondered into the local Ann Summers store. The shop staff were fantastic, I overheard a conversation one was having with a customer and was immediately impressed. Here’s me and a couple of the shop staff.

The store staff and the shop itself were great. The store manager on the far left is the kind of girl that makes it a little bit of easier to be proud of working for Ann Summers. Also, note the position of my tape measure.

One of the young ladies there (not pictured) is a rather accomplished sex blogger, but I need her permission before I share a link with you. I am seeking it now. Tangent: Ann Summers is often received with a little bit of distaste from guys like you, who are more knowledgeable than most in matters of sex and sexuality. But I challenge you to forget everything you know about kink, go back to your beginnings and walk into a store like this one in Newcastle. You will be impressed by how good the staff are – how understanding, patient, polite, easy to talk to. Sometimes I find myself wondering whether, given my personal attraction to kinkier avenues, Ann Summers is the right company for me. The store manager in Newcastle is one of the girls that reminds me what I’m doing is good, that Ann Summers genuinely does offer something that no other company in the UK offers, and makes me proud to be a part of it. But this subject is a blog post in its own right, and it’s not for now.

The shop is beautiful:

The Screaming O stand; the official partners of the I Scream Tour.

The We Vibe case. Very boutiquey.

I grabbed a coffee from a funky little indoor market (sorry I didn’t snatch any photos of that) and waited for the I Scream van to arrive. This was my first view of it when it did, and I could barely hold my camera still from excitement.

I know. Bins in the foreground. Not glamorous, but this was genuinely my view the first time I saw the van, and I wanted to capture it.

Sexy, huh?

This is the road-facing side of the van.

I didn’t write this line and didn’t sign it off because it’s a little Carry On for my taste, so I’m not sure where it came from, but I learned to like it. It was a conversation piece.

I definitely did write this line. I heart syntactic parallelism.

That’s no exaggeration about my excitement by the way; I was literally hopping around and making strange little “squeeeee” noises – I had seen the photos of the van, but in person it looked a LOT better than I had expected it to during the development process. It looked suspiciously like… well… an ice cream van.

From the moment it pulled up outside the local Ann summers store, it began getting attention. People took photos and were asking for ice cream before we even opened the window to start serving – and from the moment we started to the moment we finished, we never failed to have an eager and excited crowd around us. Including the police.

The police in Newcastle were brilliant. (They would get more brilliant in Liverpool, but I’ll save that for a later post.

We gave out so much free ice cream and flavoured lube toppings that I was concerned we might actually run out, but no. And the guys who were actually owned and ran the van never even broke into a sweat as the demand grew and grew.

I should also mention the two girls who, for the sake of their dignity and anonymity, I will simply refer to as the Screaming O girls, because they’re both a little bit classier than this blog is, so I don’t want to sully their good names. (Incidentally, I’m now editing this on the train the following morning, and the Screaming O girls are sleeping next to me and making contented little purring noises. Awwww.) Did I mention they’re both really, really hot? Well they’re both really, really hot. And friendly. And lovely. And hot. I have photos to share later.

In case you missed the premise of the I scream van, let me just run it by you. Basically, the Screaming O Girls (they’re really hot) move around handing out leaflets and directing passers by to the van, where they can get a free ice cream. While they’re there, I take their email addresses (if they want) so they can stand a chance of winning a week’s worth of summer holiday for two. However, we’re also giving away goodie bags with a few naughty bits and pieces inside, and to receive one of those, you have to pull your best, funniest, most authentic or most ridiculous orgasm face, and let us put it on Ann Summers’ Facebook page. Once it’s there, the one that gets the most likes will win £200 worth of Screaming O sexiness!

I had worried about how to approach asking people to do this. I started out being really polite about it, and the responses were mixed. So I started being outright filthy, and suddenly everyone wanted to do it. I can’t believe how many lovely Geordies were game for this.

A random cyclist, a random face.

The guy in the middle kills me. He was really funny.

These two were giggly and fun.

Seriously fancied the one on the left. And the one on the right.

I liked this guy because he was really macho and “straight”, and then he threw some cream on his face just before I took the shot.

I know how juvenile this is, but it makes me chuckle. I think this is winning on facebook right now.

This is probably the most authentic orgasm face I shot in Newcastle, and he was winning for a while.

These two were SO. MUCH. FUN. This picture, although brilliant, doesn’t do justice to how much fun they were.

This young lady was the hottest girl I met on the tour. Don’t judge me for being superficial; she was also funny and smelled nice and had the first orgasm face that made me swoon. And I have her email address. MWahahahahaha… no, must be professional…

Here are a few of my absolute favourites, though I have to say that everyone who took part was rather brilliant.

So there we have it. Newcastle has been thoroughly I Screamed.

Next stop: LONDON BABY!

Follow me on twitter for live updates and locations.

Check out more O faces on Facebook here.

I AM MR. WHIPPY. Anyone for a 69?

Today is the first day off the Ann Summers I Scream van tour, in which I will be popping up in towns all over the UK bringing a ray of sexy sunshine amongst the rainy gloom.

Here’s where I’ll be, and keep an eye on my twitter for updates and specifics:

5^th: Newcastle

6^th: Manchester

7^th: Liverpool

10^th: London

11^th Birmingham

Here’s what you can win and stuff.

FREE I SCREAM!

Everyone who rocks up to the I Scream van gets free ice cream – while we still have some left. Oh yeah, and, flavoured lube toppings.

A FREE NAUGHTY BAG!

A bag of naughty things for everyone who pulls their best “O face” and lets us Facebook it!

£200 OF SCREAMING O SEXINESS!

If Facebook decides your O face is the best, you’ll win £200 worth of very hot Screaming O toys, lubes and general naughtiness.

A FREE HOLIDAY!

Sign up for our emails to win an unforgettable 7-day summer holiday for two including flights and accommodation. Boom.

A FREE SWIM SET

Turn up to the van in just your bikini, we’ll give you a brand new and exclusive Ann Summers swim set absolutely free.

And if any of you guys turn up and mention my blog or my twitter name Hungry Joe, I’ll kiss your face off.

Seriously, this is a great opportunity for me to meet some of you guys in all the flesh, so come and see me and give me some moral support, because I’m going to be knackered.

COME AND SEE ME, AND HELP KICKSTART THE SUMMER!

More Deets Here.

Thanks to the wonderful Screaming O for being bloody lovely.

Holly, busy at work.

Holly Revell

DARKROOM is an erotic, artistic style of photography developed and used to great effect by the rather gorgeous Holly Revell. Holly is a sweet, generous and very funny – not to mention unshockable – woman, and a talented photographer. I mean, she teaches photography, which means she teaches talented people how to get the best from their talent, which means she’s more talented than the average talented person. So there.Her site is filled with beautiful and provocative images, and you can check it out here. You can follow her on twitter here. (The photo on the right was taken from this gallery.)

The Green Carnation, Soho

The Location

The shoot was in the lower floor of the Green Carnation in Soho, which is fast becoming my home from home and I’m happy about that. It’s a beautiful venue and the staff are unanimously brilliant people. I’m familiar with this basement for a number of reasons, some more interesting than others.

My Account…

I arrived after most, (apart from Josh Brandon, whose lateness was as fashionable as his outfit), made my way downstairs and immediately bumped into Holly.

“Hi”, I offered.

“Hi. Are you here for the shoot?” she asked.

“I am indeed”.

Holly looked me up and down.

“…hmm… good” she said, approvingly.

This little compliment immediately put me at ease, and I smiled.

I looked around the makeshift changing room into which I had wandered, and was surrounded by beautiful, semi-naked people, and then my co-model, Miss Annie Player, emerged in her underwear. My smile got broader. My trousers got tighter.

I opened my bag and unloaded a selection of “props” I had brought from under my bed, and a few more that I had purchased en route including a dog lead I had bought from Pet World. I hadn’t been expecting to wear it myself, but as you’ll see later, I ended up wearing it most of the day –and in public.

A small selection of the sexy things I brought to the shoot.

Us. In a circle. Obviously. This caption is rubbish.

Holly gathered us up and sat us in a circle to talk us through the process. We were introduced to some of her regular models, Nate and Martin, and the spirit was high. We joked (well, I joked, rather a lot) and we looked through examples of Holly’s work. She was modest; there was one really striking image and everyone cooed and gasped and muttered “that’s beautiful”, and she responded “oh yeah, I got that one by accident, before I knew what I was doing.”

Then magic happened. She gave us a demonstration of what to expect. Nate stripped and posed in a corner, and Holly instructed Nick to kill the lights. We were plunged into blackness.

We fell absolutely dead silent, the only noise was Holly opening the shutter on her camera. We were hypnotised as Holly approached Nate and flicked on a torch and we watched, afraid to breathe in case we somehow interfered with the composition, as she painted him with light. Slowly, she highlighted his muscles and illuminated walls and furniture around him.

After what felt like an eternity, Holly flicked off the torch and said cheerfully “ok, we’re done” and the lights were turned back on. We let out a collective held breath and laughed at ourselves for being so involved in the process. But it was hard to get an indication of what the finished result would be of what we had seen, so we crowded round the LCD screen of Holly’s camera and could barely believe what we saw. From the darkness, with that tiny torch, Holly had produced this:

It goes without saying that Miss Player and I were excited to get in front of the camera and have a couple of private shots taken. So I’m going to stop the prose in this post ans switch to photos. Read the captions for amusing accounts of what happened. (I haven’t written the captions yet, so I can’t guarantee amusement.) While there were a lot of pictures taken that day, I’m only including those featuring me, because this is my blog, so… err… shut up.

This dark little corner would soon feature a large amount of nakedness, and Annie Player's wiggly little backside.

The camera, full of potential energy.

Here you can see the cuffs and my lead a little clearer. But don't tell anyone. I'm not used to wearing these things.

Annie, Holly and I experiment with the mise en scene, which is just a way for me to show off the fact I know what mise en scene is.

A clearer shot of the gorgeous brown leather collar I was wearing. The cuffs matched, of course. I can't be seen with mismatching collar and cuffs.

I get murdered by a burlesque dancer, and die happy.

Me. Naked, collared, and wined.

Collared Dom

I love this photo, though I recognise we didn’t make the most of Holly’s photographic technique. Instead of being clever with the image, Annie and I – as rather poetic and subversive types – decided to be clever with the content. I’ve kind of established myself reluctantly as a “Dom”, though it pains me to refer to myself as such. So it was fun to be collared, and my lead held by someone in a submissive position. I like the inversion – though I really, really didn’t like wearing that collar and lead out onto the street at Annie’s command.

A threesome with two people.

I love this photo mainly because it gives the hallucinatory impression that I’m spit-roasting Miss Player on my own. But more importantly, I like it because of those little French knickers….

Here are the rest of the finished photos featuring me. Yeah.

I'm at the back, while my rather wayward hand is creeping round the front...

My face is rather obscured in this one. Fortunately. Everyone else was prettier than me.

I lick cream from a man's backside.

However much fun you think these pictures look, I can promise the experience of taking them far exceeded the end result. Thank you to everyone involved.