Girl on the Net

This perfect restraints kit has lived rent-free in my head for a number of years. I’m a clumsy, eager fucker and when I engage in bondage, I do so in the same clumsy, eager way that I go about the rest of my fucks. I’m rubbish at knots, and can’t be bothered to learn, so the restraints that have won a permanent place in my bedroom are usually simple to use. Think cuffs with buckles, or ideally velcro. These door jam cuffs that I got many years ago were my favourite for a while. They’re so easy, and so effective: I love them. When asked what would be on my bucket list for the perfect restraints kit, I hankered after this Sportsheets under the bed restraints system for literally YEARS. Then finally I got one, and not long after I set it up, I broke up with my boyfriend. So I couldn’t actually use it. FFS.

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Before I get stuck in, a confession: I had a different blog post lined up for today. It was a silly piece expressing some frustration at horny men who ‘volunteer as tribute’. When I write about how much I love getting fucked, there’s often a random stranger ready to pop up in the comments offering to fulfil my sexual needs. ‘Volunteering as tribute’ to let me wank him off or whatever it might be. Raising his hand, like that’s all that’s ever required.

OMG I just read your blog post about how much you love sucking cock and – weird coincidence, bear with me – it turns out that I have a cock! And what’s more, I really love having it sucked! We should definitely meet up and I can help you out with your problem haha! You like sucking dick? I volunteer as tribute!

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I am monogamish. Monogamish like mostly monogamous. Monogamish like not polyamorous. Monogamish like ‘I’d love to have a boyfriend who loved and respected me enough that he was happy to share me around (and vice versa) while never making me feel like I’m second best.’ Monogamish: a manifesto. Let’s do this.

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You know what ‘the ick’ is, right? A feeling you get for someone based off a silly/cringe/weird thing they did or said or are, which torpedoes your burgeoning attraction for them. Little moments of disgust which, once noticed, mean you can no longer fancy that person. It is often understood that ‘the ick’ is both irrational and unavoidable. About a month ago (sorry I’m slow) Stefano Hatfield published an opinion piece in the I Paper about how terrible ‘the ick’ is as a concept, so it feels like a good time to dust off my rant about why I hate this phrase so very much.

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The next chapter of this story happens when I’m probably in the middle of a breakdown. Perhaps it’s the way my life has been lately – an agony of paranoia and mistrust – that’s causing me to make some dodgy decisions. But this particular decision led to something good, I think. As helpful as it can be to hear ‘I love you’ in times of hardship, ‘I trust you’ healed my heart right now.

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