Second only to ‘fancy dress’, the two words that make me most nervous about a party invitation are ‘girls’ night.’ I used to think (when I was twenty years’ old, and an absolute shit) that this was because I didn’t get on with women. Most of my friends were men, ergo I wouldn’t enjoy a girls’ night, because what would I have in common with women anyway? Today, I’m still wary of girls’ nights, but for very different reasons.

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This week’s sex news is going to be partly election-focused, because hey! Some people who visit my blog come from California, and I’d kick myself if I didn’t mention Prop 60. The second part is a gorgeous blog post about a thing I really love that will give you the warm and fuzzies. And then a bonus for those who read all the way to the end.

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Today’s guest blog is by @Pervy_thoughts on Twitter – he’s here to share a deeply personal story about conception, pregnancy, and some of the complications involved. When he first got in touch with me, he focused on the difference between sex for recreation and sex to make a baby, so I was really moved when his story took a different turn. It’s by turns funny and deeply sad, and I’m grateful to him for sharing it here. Names have been changed with the consent of the other person in the story.

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When I was young, my best friend used to come and hug me from behind. He’d wrap his arms around my stomach, with his skinny forearms nestling just under my breasts. Ridiculously in love with him, I’d seize the opportunity to breathe in the smell of him, lean backwards into his chest and wonder: if I struggled, just a little … would he hold me tighter?

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