In contrast to some of my longer and ramblier blog posts, this one’s short and sweet. Not quite a love letter, but a kiss blown from across the room. A casual ‘fuck yeah’ when someone suggests something horny or the brief, swift kick you get in the pit of your stomach when something you weren’t expecting turns you on. Today I want to write about the junk tuck.

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I’m not the kind of woman you’d describe as ‘petite.’ Or ‘dainty’ or ‘pretty’ or ‘feminine.’ In fact, I’m a little bit sensitive to the idea of being ‘feminine’, and any suggestion from helpful friends and family if they recommend I get my hair cut more often or try on a pretty dress: it’s not just that I don’t want to be feminine, it’s that I truly don’t think that I can. What came first: my refusal to perform femininity, or the knowledge that I’ll never be able to?

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Bend over. Put your face in the pillow. Stick your ass out. Spread your cheeks. I want to get my dick as far inside you as it will go: all the way in. 

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Join me on a journey of self-discovery, which begins with a spiteful commenter calling me a narcissist and ends with me explaining why personal sex stories are awesome and this commenter can suck on my hugely-inflated ego.

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I’m excited to welcome today’s guest blogger – the fabulous Quinn Rhodes from On Queer Street (who you can support on Patreon here!). Ze’s a fantastic sex blogger, who has written a beautiful guest blog for me here before on discovering hir sexuality. Today ze’s back with a new discovery or three. Do you remember your first time in a sex shop? Quinn’s here to tell you about hirs, and how visiting a Glasgow sex shop led hir to discover hir love for a few new things…

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