Girl on the Net

This post is just a random collection of lessons I learned in 2021, and if I’m honest it’s also partly a vehicle for me to share with you some of my favourite posts and images from the past year. I’m extremely lucky to get to work with Stuart Taylor, who draws fresh new art each week which brings this blog to life in ways that are not only extremely fucking sexy (here’s my favourite hot image from the year – unngh) but also cute and funny (here’s my favourite cute/funny one!). The image that illustrates this post, by the way, comes from one of the things I most enjoyed writing this year: an ode to the walk of shame. Anyway. The end of December is a good time for taking stock of what you’ve learned in the last year, for for what it’s worth here are some of my lessons from 2021.

The hardest part of a project is starting it

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor – originally from this post about moving house/starting again/being a Big Strong Girl

Whether selling a home that you love and can’t bear to leave or writing something Big that you’ve been putting off for ages because your brain is fucked, huge tasks always seem impossible when they’re sitting somewhere in the vague future. They grow talons and fangs and roar at you, giving you nightmares on the few occasions when you’re lucky enough to be able to fall asleep in the first place. But often once you’ve started the task, the whole thing seems a lot easier. At the very least, even five minutes in, you can tell yourself you’re five minutes ahead of where you were before.

Yesterday morning from 9am to 10 I sat in my living room staring at a huge pile of rubber panels that I was meant to be putting up to help soundproof (because I’m extremely dedicated to audio porn, innit). The panels were HEAVY and installing them would be HARD and every aspect of the task felt daunting and impossible. Fast-forward to midday and I had half the panels already up, then by 6pm I’d finished. What an absolute fool 9am-me looked in the face of evening-me’s competent success.

Moral of the story: start the thing.

Men don’t care if I clean my bathroom

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor – originally drawn for this post about a ridiculously fun time I had with a guy who traveled a long way to come and see me. And fuck me. And fuck me. He did not notice how clean my bathroom was.

On multiple occasions this year I have caught myself panic-rushing round the flat to pick up socks and knickers and hammer drills and twisted screws to make sure my place is tidy enough to bring a date back to. Those things are probably necessary: it’s common courtesy, after all, to ensure that the environment in which you shag someone isn’t going to give them tetanus. However, as I kneel on the floor by my bath scrubbing away at limescale with a scourer and a bottle of Cif, it has occasionally occurred to me that the guy I’m about to fuck is probably not going to decide whether he does so based on how clean my fucking bathroom is.

I have learned this lesson. I understand this lesson. And yet, I clean my bathroom anyway. Perhaps in 2022 I can chill the fuck out about this. Hope springs eternal.

…or shave my armpits

Image by the awesome Stuart F Taylor – originally drawn for this piece about getting fucked by a lovely guy who’d saved up all his spunk for the end of No Nut November (for me!). He didn’t seem to care that I don’t shave my armpits.

This one’s my favourite – men don’t seem to care whether I shave my armpits! I haven’t shaved them for well over a year, and the most attention they’ve had has been a double-take when I whip my top off, and one guy who occasionally stroked my (admittedly very soft and downy and nice) armpit hair while we were snuggling in bed. It may well be that some men have Opinions on my pits, but not a single one has actually said anything mean about them, and no one’s refused to fuck me just because I have a bit of extra hair. Chalking this one up as a huge win.

Exercise is easier if you actually enjoy it

Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor – originally written for this post about how much I love hating men who try to cut me up when I’m cycling.

Here’s one for anyone who has ‘be more active’ as a 2022 goal. I’ve spent a lot of my life being unhappy with my body, then finding a little bit of love for it in recent years. When I hated it, people would tell me to take up running. And I tried this, a few times, to no success. I like my exercise wheeled and purposeful: cycling across London to go and see someone, for instance, brings me tingles of happiness that I simply couldn’t get from a purposeless circular jog. Also, it doesn’t hurt my tits like running does.

What I’m saying is that I’ve learned it’s way easier to stick to new habits if you pick habits you actually enjoy: if you find an exercise you like doing, and keep reminding yourself that you like it, it becomes more of a ‘treat’ than a ‘chore’.

I’m never going to be a sex toy expert

Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor – originally drawn for this beautiful guest post about menopause horn and the sex surge, by Elena Bennett.

In previous years my go-to trick, whenever people asked me to review sex toys, was to crack them open ready for a long fucksesh with my ex, then write a hot story about the resulting playtime. It resulted in far better stories than just me having a wank and giving things marks out of ten, but it meant I’d never be as good at reviewing things as other more competent bloggers. Unfortunately, now I don’t have a regular person to fuck and experiment with, I’ve had to lean back on being funny in reviews rather than sexy. I sprinkle jokes on the shit I write because in the absence of an expert opinion, I might as well have an entertaining one.

Learning this lesson has been extremely useful because recognising you’re not good at something opens the door to finding someone who is good at it, and outsourcing. This year, Amy of Coffee and Kink has been my sex toy consultant – updating the sex toys page with new deals and products and generally advising me on how to do this stuff in a way that is infinitely better than my previous incompetent flailings. Huge thanks to Amy for bringing her awesome expertise and support to my 2021.

It’s worth asking for what I want

Image by the fabulous Stuart F Taylor – originally drawn for one of my favourite stories from this year: the tale of a pair of extremely hot and welcoming perverts who utterly and completely ruined me.

Whether whispering ‘please ruin me‘ in someone’s ear at a party or preparing a PowerPoint presentation on why someone should let me borrow their boyfriend, sometimes it’s worth giving voice to your desires – occasionally they’ll be met with a ‘yes.’ Likewise the other way round: this year a guy from my long-distant past popped up in my inbox to offer me a daytime hotel fuck. We had a fabulous time, and the fact that I said ‘yes’ meant I got to enjoy the rarely-sampled delights of sober sex.

This doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed success, of course, or that you should randomly ask people who barely know you if they fancy a fuck. It just means that, you know, sometimes the things we want aren’t always wildly out of reach, and the only thing stopping us from achieving them is a fear of failure.

I’ve felt like a huge failure at multiple points during 2021, and perhaps it’s this that’s given me the confidence to ask for some really cool shit: when you’re already feeling like the biggest loser in the pile, what harm can one more ‘no’ do?

I am lucky to be lonely sometimes

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor – originally drawn for this stunning guest blog on skin hunger.

I’ve always liked being alone. I get stuff done, potter around, keep myself occupied and occasionally have parties in my living room where I bounce around to Skinny Lister swigging cider and having a fabulous time. And this year I have also embraced loneliness.

Being alone doesn’t have to mean being lonely: I knew this long before 2021. But understanding where loneliness comes from has been useful, I think. I’m not lonely because I’m on my own, I’m lonely because I miss very specific people. Whether it’s not being able to hug my best friend because he’s isolating with Covid, or aching to see my Mum before Christmas, wanting to fuck this or that person, itching to go and visit a particular friend for beers or gossip or to see their new baby or even (yes, obviously) physically hurting with the desperate urge to hold my ex again, the loneliness I feel isn’t about being alone per se: it’s about not being able to see, hug or speak to the exact people I love.

Anyway. Loneliness can suck, but this year I’ve also embraced it a little – it’s a useful reminder of how lucky I am to know (and have known) so many amazing people. Big thanks to all the rock-solid heroes who have helped make my 2021 brighter, happier, sexier and more joyful.