All Posts – Page 254
Opening condom packets quietly
He used to try and open condom packets quietly.
Not sneakily, like he was going to slip one on without me knowing. Just quietly – like he didn’t want to disturb the moment.
We’d be lying on my bed, or his bed, or a bundle of cushions placed haphazardly on the floor. Or sometimes we’d be curled up together on an armchair, duvet covering us for privacy while our friends drank and smoked nearby. Occasionally scrunched in a dark corner at a party, my back cold against the rough carpet, his knees pushing my legs wider while we snogged.
He used to try and open the packet quietly.
Two things: sex numbers and casual fucking
This week: bullshit PR puff pieces in not-even-a-very-good-disguise, and some amazing tips on keeping your casual sex casual.
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First time anal sex: how not to do it
Someone found my blog the other day by searching ‘first time anal.’ It’s quite common, this ‘first time’ thing, and it comes up a lot in search. ‘My first anal’ or ‘her first facefuck’, like someone’s researching an incredibly explicit series of picture books. Anyway, the search prompted me to think about first times, and it occurred to me that while there are a few first times in my book, I’ve not actually written about ‘my first anal fuck’ before. Mainly because… well… it wasn’t particularly sexy.
The first time I had anal sex was down to 50% curiosity (me) and 50% ‘you’re on your period so how about we…?’ (him). Please forgive him for this – we were both young and silly, and he was still getting over the slight horror that came from discovering that menstrual blood sometimes has chunks in. If I met a guy these days who assumed that buttsex was the only possible option while I was bleeding, I would kick him out on his arse, but back then it was not considered weird for him to ask, and I think he was bored of me practising blow jobs.
Besides, I was very keen on the idea. I was still in the kid-in-a-sweetshop phase of sex, wanting to try every new thing I’d heard of to see if it worked for me.
It didn’t.
Just writing that seems a bit strange, because now anal is one of my favourite things. So what went wrong?
Diary extract: Utterly exhausting love
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve learned anything since I was at school, when I used to fall madly in love with any guy who showed a vague interest, before desperately wishing I knew how to act on it.
Then I remember how it was, and that being young was difficult, stressful, and quite, quite absurd.
I haven’t arranged a guest blog for this week – sorry about that. In lieu, please enjoy this extract from my own diary, circa 1998. In it, I am trying to explain the complex emotional dynamic in my group of slightly nerdy, oh-so-romantic friends.
Something better than a ‘Fuck off fund’
“Every woman should have a ‘Fuck off’ fund!” the article says. Save a sum of money that you can live on for a few months, in case you’re ever in financial hardship, and your lack of funds means you end up stuck in a shit situation.
I’m sure many of us have been there – you accept things you’d otherwise reject because you don’t have the cash to tell people to fuck off. A job with a skeezy boss. A partner who hurts you. Things which, by all rights, you should never have to put up with. But you look at your bank balance and go ‘huh, I do not have the resources to get by if I leave my job right now.’ Or you want to leave your partner because they’ve done something unforgivable, but you know you can’t make the rent on your own.
Sometimes you put up with staying because you don’t have the money to leave.
Financial independence is an incredibly valuable thing. I learned this lesson fairly early in life. Financial independence, as well as being a ticket into somewhere good, is also a handy ticket out of a bad situation.
But.