This is a post written for Masturbation Monday, inspired by the lovely image above from Floss Does Life. I am terrible at taking part in blogging memes, but I’ve wanted to do Masturbation Monday for a while because I really enjoy reading the hot entries people contribute each week. This week I spotted this photo and it gave me an instant idea for this woman, and this quick story.

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I like it when he wears my knickers. I like it when he wears short silk shorts, too – the kind he’s bought for me but that look too good on him for us not to share the pleasure. Given my love of seeing him wearing my clothes, it’s inevitable that one night I suggest to him: “Let’s swap clothes.”

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I almost didn’t publish this blog post, because I wondered if it was a bit too harsh. It’s sat in my drafts for a while, getting edited and tweaked in an attempt to soften some of the blows. But this morning I read an article in Metro about men refusing to believe the evidence of women’s experience, and I figured ‘fuck it: why not?’ Let’s talk about Schroedinger’s Twat.

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When the fuck is done, he doesn’t ask why I’m crying. Even though this is make up sex, and this weeping is more intense than any that’s come before. He doesn’t ask why, he just holds me. Kneeling on the floor, with my arms wrapped round his neck, and his spunk rapidly cooling on the inside of my thighs, I sob and sob and sob. And he doesn’t ask me why.

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Recently I’ve been writing about being sad. And while it may make me seem a little mercenary, I have to tell you that sadness makes good content. More than that: sometimes it’s the only content I can produce. Yet when I write about being sad, people often message me to ask “are you OK? Do you want to talk about it? Is there anything I can do?” to which the answers are, respectively, yes, no and yes. For those who might be interested in the minutiae of what it’s like writing a sex blog, here’s a longer answer…

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