I was really unwell the other week with food poisoning (bad chicken) and, as you do when you’re feeling like total rubbish, I lay on the sofa like a sack of potatoes, cocooned myself in a blanket and watched back-to-back movies on Netflix. After a nostalgic viewing of The Breakfast Club (whatever happened to Judd Nelson?) and a failed attempt to sit through Drinking Buddies (don’t judge me, I was poorly), my eye was caught by a digital poster for a film titled Adore: four people lying side-by-side on a swimming pontoon adrift in a bright blue ocean.

A quick look at the film’s information listing revealed an intriguing synopsis:


In this seaside drama adapted from a novella by Nobel Prize winner Doris Lessing, two lifelong friends who fall in love with each other’s teenage sons must carry out their affairs in relative secrecy.


The trailer (above) was just as compelling.

I plumped up the pillows on the sofa and settled down to watch.

I am an absolute sucker for beautiful cinematography and on that score alone, I think I would have been inclined would have given Adore a thumbs up, however, I was gratified to find that I hadn’t selected a brainless, gratuitous sex drama. In addition to the film’s visual appeal, the actors were believable in their roles, Robin Wright in particular (although I’m not entirely sure Naomi Watts looked quite old enough to be the mother of a teenage boy), and the unconventional story utterly riveting.

But – and this is a big BUT – I was left feeling incredibly, incredibly confused and uncomfortable by my emotional reaction to it. Without giving away the ending, I found myself, rightly or wrongly, really hoping that one of the romances that developed over the course of the film would survive. Continue reading


Elust #60 Chintz header300
Photo courtesy of Chintz Curtain

Welcome to Elust #60 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #61? Start with the rules, come back August 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Shame Hurts

Of Cocks and Cunts: The Language of Erotica


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

I may never suck another cock, but I’m still

The sofa


~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Continue reading



Prompt #111: Masturbation Fodder

(Second related theme : selfies)

You take a pic. You angle it for your best assets to show. You write a short piece. It’s hot sweaty sticky and delicious. You make these public, you share. Do you care what the viewer or reader does with them? Does it turn you on to know that you stimulate? Do they ask you for permission bringing you into their pleasure? Does it humiliate you to be reduced to their masturbation fodder, you a merely specimen of the species?

Conversely, that picture, the light, the angles, something’s clicks. The words, the ideas, the movement of the story. Your body reacts. You save it for later. You know why. A private movement and moment. Do you value it less for it’s immediate function? Is it art or literature when you masturbate over it? Are they human or porn in that moment of pleasure? Do you read the words or stare intently at the picture, or use it just to get you going? Do you return to favourite pieces?

Sorry, folks. I know my header clip is beyond obvious but I adore this Divinyls song – excellent memories of dancing about to it at university with a dildo and a whole bunch of other girls for the visual pleasure of a single guy (long story) – and just couldn’t stop myself from including it here.

Before I start babbling, can I just say that this is a bloody awesome Wicked Wednesday prompt by @tigger_sub. It made me realise that in the entire two years of blogging here on Chintz that I’ve never done a post on masturbation, which is both extremely shameful (not the act of masturbation, the fact that I haven’t written anything about it) and incredibly ironic considering that of all the sexual acts I enjoy and partake in, it’s the one I engage in most frequently.

Before I get to the crux of Tigger’s prompt, a little background …

I stumbled upon this rather delicious form of sex at a relatively young age and quite by accident. I used to ride a lot as a child and although it’s something of a cliché, I invariably discovered that when I sat astride a pony and my bottom was connecting with the saddle in a certain way (generally at a walk) something bloody amazing happened:

I got this incredible feeling between my legs.

A feeling that, provided I maintained whatever friction and rhythm I had going on against the tack, invariably spread over my whole body before peaking and leaving me feeling unbelievably good. Cataclysmically good … although on occasion pursuing it almost made me fall sideways off my horse. Needless to say, it didn’t take me long to work out that I could recreate this very moreish sensation with my fingers, and the rest, as they say, is history. Continue reading


Best of Sinful Sunday 2013-14

Today, 3 July, marks the second official blogiversary of Behind the Chintz Curtain. I’ve actually managed to babble smutty stuff at you all for a full two years.


I’m not really going to say much in this post. Just thank all the awesome people who’ve supported me thus far (fellow bloggers, authors, writers, reviewers, friends, family) give you a little visual glimpse back over the past year’s worth of photographs (my favourite images taken for Molly’s Sinful Sunday – c.f. the collage at the top of this post), and leave you with the next little snippet from a story beginning I posted for last week’s Wicked Wednesday. This was the tale the majority of you wanted continued. And, of course, your wish is my command. :-)

Hope you enjoy.


xxx Continue reading


Alternatives to sexy-rules Twister, ‘good old-fashioned romance’, and lingerie bargains from Agent Provocateur  and Coco de Mer.



Sex games. More specifically, sex board games. Have you played one? Would you like to play one?

Things have come a long way since spin-the-bottle and strip poker – although that’s not to say that those aren’t still great fun – and Lovehoney U.K., Lovehoney U.S. and Lovehoney Australia are all currently running ‘three for*’ promotions, which include a selection of sex-focussed board games for couples and groups. NB: there are other items in this offer as well, such as dildos and vibrators, so don’t just have to purchase games to take advantage of it.

Monogamy: A Hot Affair Game

“Perfect for a naughty night in or a boring Sunday afternoon, Monogamy is the game to spice things up between you and your partner, encouraging you to try new things together and reignite the passion you felt the first time you set eyes on each other.

With over 400 ideas at three levels of play, you can make this best-selling game as sweet or as sexy as you want.”

Buy links:


Tie & Tease Sex Game for Couples

“Using the die to work your way around the Tie & Tease board, travel through a range of bondage and S&M fantasies, including light spanking, blindfold play, bondage and more. With an hour’s worth of playing ahead of you, get ready for some serious stimulation!” Continue reading


Fountain Pen

Image: MAKY. OREL via Wikimedia Commons

There’s nothing quite like penning the first few lines of a new story. Realising a new character, allowing them to step out of your head and onto the page; setting a scene and creating a world for them to walk about in. In fact, I think I may have a slight addiction to beginnings because I’m particularly good at writing these as opposed to middles and ends! Looking in my Drafts folder, I’m greeted by a veritable wash of documents containing snippets of text – monuments to ideas that I absolutely had to get down before they disappeared into the black hole of lost thoughts and then, after typing those critical words, promptly did nothing with.

It’s not that I consciously abandon creative flashes, rather that I an idea strikes and nine times out of ten I’m working on something else that means I can’t give it my undivided attention. Inevitably, by the time I have the breathing room to explore it, the urgent creative outpouring I initially experienced has ebbed or I’ve forgotten that I had the idea in the first place. There have been quite a few occasions when I’ve gone to open a document up, seen a file I have no recollection of creating, opened it, and gone “Oh, yeah! Why didn’t I keep going with that?”

So, I need your help, my lovelies. Below, are snippets from three stories I started writing and failed to continue with. There is one that stands out more than the others to me but I thought it would be fun to see which introduction is most appealing to you.

Given the choice, which story should I continue to write? Which would you most like to read?



“What do you think you’re doing?”

I shriek, spinning around as I do so. Almost slip on the wet, soapy tiles.

He’s standing right next to the glass door of the shower cubicle, completely naked, a grim look on his face.


My face flames and I drop my guilty hands to my sides, the hot shower spray washing the last of the frothy suds from my belly and between my legs, sending them swirling down the drain.

There’s nothing I can say.

We both know that I’ve broken my promise.

I’d hardly say that I’m a neat freak. I’m not the sort of girl who folds up her clothes after wearing them, who makes her bed neatly every morning before skipping merrily off to work. No, more the kind who leaves the washing in the dryer for as long as possible rather than putting it away. Leaves flowers in vases until the blooms have long dried up, withered and crumbled into dust.

In fact, I’m not really tidy at all.

But when it comes to cleanliness? Well, you know that old mantra. It really is next to Godliness in my book. Especially when it comes to my body. I shower at least twice a day, every day – and always, always after sex.

The drip and trickle of rapidly cooling semen coating my pussy and legs?

The sticky smear of my own arousal?

The urge to wash both from me pounces within seconds of him pulling out.

I know it’s irrational. I do. And he hates that I’m so eager to wash the evidence of his possession off of me, his disappointment seeping into me like a cold, dismal damp. I think we both knew that my promise to try and accept the mess of our joinings was a hollow one but to have my lack of commitment to our agreement confirmed is worse than I imagined.

His gaze bores into mine.

 “Get out of the shower. Go and lie on the bed.” Continue reading


The other week, in my The Times They Are a-Changin’ post, I referenced my growing interest in self-portraiture. As someone who always used to run in the opposite direction when a camera came out, my desire to take pictures of myself – often without my kit on – may, to many, seem a little odd.

I am a very average woman, unexceptional in almost every respect.

I’m not beautiful.

I’m not Frankenstein (well, maybe first thing in the morning).

I just am.

The other week, I saw a comment on fellow sex blogger’s post that literally made me do a double take.

Emma (the very same one who wrote the recent guest post on Femininity) posted a picture of herself on her site, Dirty Little Whispersas part of Curvaceous Dee’s Scavenger Hunt meme and had her image criticised by a certain commenter. He expressed ‘concern’ over her body shape, the specifics of which I won’t go into (if you want find out more, you can click here), and basically implied that she needed to change herself to fit his idea of the perfect female.

Many of us profess to know that the bodies (and faces) we see in magazines, on television, in porn films, aren’t real. Yet we persist in using the images that bombard us on a daily basis as yardsticks to measure Janet and John on the street. Despite our awareness of the smoke and mirrors employed by commercial entities, we wilfully disconnect ourselves from reality, on the one hand saying ‘Oh, she’s definitely been airbrushed’ and on the other ‘I don’t measure up because I’m short a size zero waist and a set of double-D breasts’.

Some time back, a friend shared this image with me via social media:

The Dream Team

Continue reading