Once I stayed in a hotel so ‘intimate’ that if your lover was lying in bed, you could technically look them in the eye while you had your morning shit. Upon arrival in this hell-hole, I realised there wasn’t a loud enough megaphone in the world to adequately amplify the force of my ‘Fuck no!’, but luckily for me my partner is understanding, and equally reluctant for me to see his dump face. We established a toilet etiquette system, so neither of us would be forced to see things we would never be able to unsee.

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It’s been five years since I started this blog. Which is fucking bizarre when I sit down and think about it. Five entire years of my life – that’s nearly 16% of my time on this planet – has been spent sex blogging. For nearly three of those years being ‘Girl on the Net’ has been my full-time job.

So this post might be a bit meta and involved for some of you, but for others who are either sex blogging already or thinking of setting out, I wanted to give you as honest an overview as I can of what 5 years’ of sex blogging looks like. The numbers, the lessons learned, the mistakes and the occasional successes. Here goes.

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Point-missing app developers SaSie have come up with a new ‘affirmative consent app’ – one of many sexual consent apps that fundamentally misunderstand the nature of consent, or the ways in which humans work. That fills the ‘bad news’ column in this week’s ‘Two things‘, but if you’re after some much better news, scroll down to the bottom for some hardcore panda sex.

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I don’t want to be naked when we start to fuck: I want you to undress me. I want frotting and cotton – want to rub up against you with a barrier between us. I want to be able to slip a hand inside your t-shirt and feel the soft hair in the small of your back with my palm. I want to feel like we’re going somewhere.

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I hate my sofas. I hate them with every single fibre of my being. I hate them more because I should have anticipated the problems I have had with them, and left them to rot in Marks and Spencer where they belonged. With their shitty sleek design and their evil spindly legs. And their squeaky, ill-placed, uncomfortable cushions.

I cannot fuck on my sofa. And although this might sound like an entitled whine (it is), I want you to be able to learn from my mistakes if you can. Never ever ever buy a sofa you cannot fuck on.

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