‘It’s the virginity thing,’ one of my best friends says, when I tell her I’m writing the intro to #KOTW and the kink is brutalism and/or concrete, and although they undoubtedly turn me on, I have no idea what’s behind this kink.
And she’s probably right. After all, nearly fifteen years on I still conjure up the vision of my French Connection cotton halter dress round my waist and the smell of metal railings on my hands when I need a fantasy to make me come.
So it’s a kink fuelled by something known, by a memory, but also, I think, fuelled just as much by the unknown, the unfamiliar. The most common concrete structures are, after all, shopping centres, train stations, blocks of flats. I’ve spent most of my life in the countryside, so those things just aren’t part of my everyday life: they’re the geography of fantasy, the landscape of sexual escapism.
Which isn’t to say you can’t combine the known and the unknown. More often than not, when I summon the mental image of the stranger I lost my virginity to, it’s that same car park, those same smells, same noises. But recently, I was on a train, and it sped past a bleak grey high rise, concrete balconies high above the ground. And since then, I dream that instead: a hand in the small of my back and another in my hair. I dream of being forced and the background is almost always concrete.
Sex blog (of sorts) 
I’m not sure how I should be reading this. Whether you are disappointed with your memories of your first time or actually enjoyed its less than romantic setting. My own should have been perfect – planned in detail, but the fucking idiot only had one condom and he only lasted seconds so ended up in a huge row! So mixed feelings, but still, overall, good and I’m married to him now. LOL.
Oh no, I loved it – my first time was great!
Beautiful…. I love how the unknown and the known have combined to create something very erotic for you. As for the high rise, can you image being out on one of those balconies, the city lights below, the rough concrete beneath your hands as you grip the edge and the rough man to go with it…. Oh yes, I can image that all right!
mollyxxx
The scratch of the rough surface beneath your hands, your knees. It tears your skin a bit, leaving you with the lasting reminder. Scuffs your shoes. The smell of the concrete, the tang of the metal, all adding to a rough, hot memory. And of course the tingle of exhibitionistic naughtiness, the unknown of who is out there, can anyone see, who might go by – are all those faces in that train zooming by looking out to watch, and see me being taken?
I love that fear of not knowing what is coming, the anticipation making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. That alongside the dangers of the back streets of the city at night makes a perfect fantasy setting.