Sept. 27, 2022



Getting jiggy on a bouncy castle ends in blood. Always.

Getting jiggy on a bouncy castle ends in blood, marshmallows aren't conducive to good sex, and metronomes aren't sex toys. Not even at 120bpm.

The last episode of Probably True in the current season and it's a quick and dirty affair, just as these things should be.


Stories of queer life and even queer-er sex. 

The repeatedly award-winning, slightly filthy storytelling project tackling LGBTQ issues in a fun and engaging way. Created to remind all of our queer siblings that we are none of us alone. 

Much like its creator, it’s a smutty-but-charming collection of personal misadventures working to make the world a better place, one silly, sexy story at a time.  

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I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my rhythm has been a bit off recently. 

I don’t mean during sexytimes, although I have found that memory foam mattresses are a pain to shag on. They’re lovely to fall asleep on, sure, but when it comes to the tender congress between two people who are very much in love, and three random horny strangers they found on the internet, memory foam isn’t great. There’s no bounce, no push-back. And everyone knows it’s not gay if you don’t push back.

Once I remember going on holiday and after plonking all my stuff in my room, going out and exploring whatever city I was in. Part of that exploring involved chatting up with a lovely young man in a bar nearby, who very kindly said he’d come back to the hotel and help me unpack. Or maybe it was ‘unload’. His English wasn’t very good, but it didn’t need to be. So we got back to the room, lots of passionate smooching and pulling off of clothes and general stumbling towards the bed, and then FLUMPF. It was like trying to make out on a marshmallow, which was kinda fun and very relaxing for the appetisers and amuse-bouche parts of the proceedings (and I do love amusing a bouche), but when we got around to the main course, it just got difficult. There was me, trying my best, but none of my moves were landing properly, because they’re all used to having some kind of rebound. It’s like playing basketball on a beach - doesn’t matter how fit and practised the players are, what tactics you use or how inflated the ball is, you’re not going to be able to make it dribble. 

<<PAUSE>> Thought I was going to make a gross joke there, didn’t you? Sometimes it’s just fun not to go for the low-hanging fruit. Although I do love a fruit who hangs low. 


You can’t get any kind of good rhythm going if the bed underneath you is designed to absorb all the momentum. This is actually a great excuse for being a crap shag - sorry I disappointed you in bed, but it’s not my fault, you clearly care more about getting a good night’s sleep than you do ten minutes of adequate dicking. So really this is on you.

Back when I was young and thought there was a possibility I might own my own house in the future, I used to say I’d have a lovely big soft bed for sleeping in, and another for the sexing-on. This also gets around the problem of someone having to sleep in the wet patch, which was another example of my younger self, assuming that someone else would stick around long enough to fall asleep. How naive I was! Ha ha haaa, I’m lonely.

Butt it’s a poor workman who blames his tools. If the bed’s no good, get on the sofa, or up against the wall, or invest in a sling if that’s your idea of a good time. Or a trampoline. Although be careful. If you get too carried away on a trampoline, there’s the very real possibility of, uh, bouncing away from each other at an inopportune moment and then not being able to stop yourself coming in too hot on re-entry. As it were. That was a fun trip to the hospital. 

I think it’s a general rule of life that more than one person on a trampoline or bouncy castle at a time is pretty much a guarantee of things ending with blood or at least severe bruising. 

Not that you need to stick to a single rhythm all the way through. “Hey baby, I’m feeling sexy, how about you slip into something sexy while I get the metronome going and we get down to some 100 beats per minute funtimes? 120? Oh, you saucy minx! 

Part of the fun can be changing up the speeds and intensity a bit. If you’re used to long, sexy sessions of sensual syncope, why not try something different like a fast fuck? Keeps your opponent on their toes. Make sure they’re paying attention and not sneakily trying to check their apple watch over your shoulder to see if they’ve got any new messages. Not that I’m bitter. 

Anyway. What was I talking about?

Oh! Ha! 

Off my rhythm a bit. I meant the podcast more than any jiggery-pokery. As always, I like to make sure I’m firing the thickest, gooiest, most flavourful ropes of audio-jizz into your waiting earholes, so I hope you won’t mind that some weeks it’s been a struggle to get one out. 

With that in mind, I just wanted to let you know that it’s time for the usual break between seasons, while I do the creative equivalent of rehydrating myself and opening another bottle of lube. I’ll be back in the new year with more of this, and in the meantime I’m working on another live show and some other bits and bobs, so stay tuned, follow me on the socials, sign up at Patreon, and all that other wank.

Until then, stay safe, don’t be a dick, and look after those around you. 

Fuckety-bye, I love you.