The first shag you have with someone is, technically, rubbish.

You’re both excited, and happy that you’ve managed to ensnare someone hot, but despite your enthusiasm for that first shag you will probably fuck it up. Of course you will – you have almost no idea what they actually like.

Your ideas about their preferences will be based on casual conversations that you’ve had when (let’s be honest) you’re quite pissed. You know from pub chat that they like blow jobs/spanking/being pissed on/that bit where you stick your fingers in their ass just before they come/etc. But you haven’t a sodding clue about the nuanced things that give them that kick-in-the-gut drooling lust that’s so crucial in a spectacular fuck.

The first time you see them naked might be a disappointment, and you’ll probably be a disappointment to them. People are prettier with clothes on – we use clothes to carefully hide the bits we’re less happy with, to enhance our curves and cover our scars.

New people, be they male or female, will make noises that you’re not used to, say things that you aren’t familiar or comfortable with or – even worse – conduct the whole thing in a stony silence that leaves you wondering if they’d rather be chewing broken glass.

They might have problems getting hard or wet. They might be less energetic than you’re used to, or they might try to twist you into acrobatic positions that you’re unable to do because you don’t have the same yoga background as their ex.

How awful. Why on earth do people do it?

Well, because it’s spectacularly fun, that’s why. Despite the technical failings the overall experience is usually enjoyable. And more importantly, it is usually worth putting in the groundwork to establish something that could be spectacular.

Unless your life consists of a string of meaningless, nameless fucks, there’ll almost certainly be some stuff in that first time shag that you can work with.

OK, so he didn’t really get that bit quite how you like it, and he asked you to stop blowing him because you were ‘overenthusiastic’, but he probably also did some stuff that blew your mind, or at the very least made you go ‘oooh’. And that’s the point.

I’m extremely good in bed with some of my boys. With others I’m less good, and we’re still stumbling through a few things that need to be refined, improved upon or scrapped altogether. We’re working on an early iteration of the brilliant sex that we’ll eventually have when we’ve had some more goes at it.

With guys I’m with for the first time, I am an utter amateur. I can give them all the special moves I like but without any frame of reference it’s always going to be a bit poor. Especially because in those very early stages people are reluctant to give feedback that could be construed as criticism. So we stumble awkwardly through the jungle of sexual adventure until we… erm… discover the hidden temple of ‘how to do things properly’.

Laboured metaphor, but you get the gist.

What I’m saying is that you’re rubbish in bed. And so am I. We’re awful, awkward and inept, and anyone watching would shake their heads sadly at our mutual incompetence. But rather than lament the fact that the first time didn’t make the earth move, let’s accept that that’s always the case, and stick a date in the diary for a bit more practise.

Language is a beautiful and ever evolving concept. There are some sexy things that are beautiful to say, some sexy language that can be hilarious, and some that can just be satisfying and brilliant in conversation down the pub. But why does so much sexy language have to be completely unrepresentative of the act that it purports to describe?

Lick her out

Hi, teenaged boys. When you generously give head to a lady it is extremely unlikely that you are actually going to be licking her out. Hopefully you’ll be moving your tongue around with varying degrees of pressure in the vague arena of her clitoris.

But if you are actually ‘licking her out’ that sort of implies that you are scooping unwanted gunge from the depths of her ladyspout, which is not only odd but will probably make the sexual experience drier and therefore less enjoyable.

Blow job

Spread word throughout the land to all inexperienced teenage girls: you do not blow on it. In fact, I think we should make it a national priority to rename the damn thing a ‘suck job’.

Because (and do correct me if I’m wrong) I believe you actually suck on it.

Fingering

Wow. Your finger looks nice and thick and satisfying. Almost as satisfying as a cock. Except of course it doesn’t unless you happen to be a genetic freak with gigantic cock-sized fingers who should definitely drop me an email.

‘Fingering’ implies that you only use one of them. It also sort of implies that the fingers are the most important part, which of course they’re not.

Any self-respecting pervert knows that what this should really be called is ‘using your hands to fuck me and generally mess around with my genitals in a variety of interesting ways until I squeal and bite through your shoulder.’ Although I guess that has the downside of being impossible to contain within a tweet or sexy text message.

Smash her back doors in

If there are breaky noises then you are definitely doing it wrong.

While we’re on the subject you might ‘get laid’, but you never ever ‘smash it.’ No matter how you generally rate a good fuck (based on romance, enthusiasm, inventiveness, or simply the ability to remain erect despite having a decent view of my face with the top light on), I don’t think anyone alive enjoys it more if it’s accompanied by the sound of a shattering pelvis.

I usually rock up to dates in jeans. Jeans say ‘I’m not necessarily going to fuck you’. This might come as a surprise given that apparently I’m the sort of slapper who would solicit pictures of erect cocks via a mediocre sex blog.

But I don’t shag everyone – I’ll only sleep with guys I actually fancy. Wearing jeans as opposed to short skirts and hooker boots helps to reinforce the idea that we’re having a casual drink which might lead to sex rather than a swift half-pint and hello as a prelude to guaranteed sex.

But once the initial introductions and the first few shags are out of the way, it’s fun to surprise someone by changing from a scruffy, chubby, late-twenties goth figure into a stunning hellcat beamed in from the alternative sex dimension. Or a poor man’s version of it, at any rate.

Here are some clothes that are sexy:

Stockings

And not fucking silky ones with suspenders either. Proper massive old wooly stockings (see fig. 1), that you can roll right up to the crack of your butt-cheeks and get on and off in less than 7 seconds. Stockings you can tear at without them falling to bits. Stockings you never need to worry about ruining.

Frilly/colourful pants

Proper pants as opposed to insubstantial bits of string. Burlesque-y. Lacy. Frilly. Pink. YES I SAID PINK. On the outside I’m grey and black and beige and denim and drab. But underneath my pants will usually be brilliant, with little pink hearts or turquoise stripes and bows and bells and whistles.

OK, maybe not whistles.

Necklaces

They frame the neck nicely, decorate my décolletage, make me look feminine and gentle. They also give you something to aim for when you’re jizzing on my tits.

Massive fuckoff boots

Look at me! I am gigantic, and my legs look shapely and brilliant! I will crush you beneath the heels unless you do me this instant! Boots rock. If you let me keep them on I’ll let you stick it wherever you like.

Fishnets

Tights, I mean – they make my arse look spectacular. These you can rip to your heart’s content because they never last long anyway. Reach up into the crotch, tear a hole in them and then slide my knickers to one side so you can touch my cunt. Mmm. Fishnets.

Corsets

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. You know how it’s lovely when you squeeze my tits? A corset does exactly the same thing, but harder, and more permanently. If I’m alone sometimes I’ll put one on, tie it nice and tight, and fuck whatever I have to hand until I reach sweating, writhing, deliciously restricted orgasm.

As an aside – gents – if I’m wearing a corset it’s because (brace yourselves) I want you to fuck me in it. It’s always a bit disappointing if I’ve got all dressed up and a guy wants to take it off – my slightly disappointing naked torso is never worth removing a beautiful corset for. So bend me over, grab hold of the laces, and fuck me like an 18th century chambermaid.

When I was at school boys would occasionally, very occasionally, ask me out. Let’s say there were around 10 times this happened. On 8 out of those 10 occasions, they were joking.

Of course we grown-ups can tut and sigh and shake our heads at the cruelty of children, but what’s much better is to recognise what we can learn from it. And like all the best lessons in life, this one could help you get laid. Get your notebooks out, face front and keep your eyes on the fucking blackboard…

Understanding insecurity gives you a way into someone’s pants, because you can push the buttons that make them feel good.

It’s been years since a boy jokingly asked me out, and life’s a bit different now. I’m no longer fat and fourteen and in love with any boy who was willing to put his hand up my skirt during maths lessons, but I’m still a child really. That fourteen year old is just a bit bigger, and is gobsmacked that she has a job, a flat, and the legal right to drink herself insensible whilst livetweeting the Apprentice.

So despite my external grown-up-ness, the memory of these joke-proposals stays with me, as I imagine it stays with any girl who’s ever been shy, covered in acne, or good at science. Now that we’re grown-ups, no matter how hot we’ve become or how confident we are, there’s always a little something that makes us wonder if you’re joking when you ask.

A casual, throwaway, “Fancy a shag?” opens up the mental fight between confidence: “Say yes, say yes, he’s beautiful.” and the insecurity still nurtured by that 14 year old: “He’s joking. Say no. Then run away and cry behind the gym.”

If you ask this question of a lady and you don’t look serious, my money’s on the fact that you’ll probably get a no.

But God, GOD. In the situations where you really want it, and tell me you really want it, it’ll be the hardest thing I ever do to turn you down. There is nothing in this life more attractive than a man who is panting for you. Dripping for you. So desperate to get within 20 feet of you that he’d happily fuck a letterbox if you shouted words of encouragement.

And so, gents. When you’re looking at a lovely lady, and you think she might be out of your league, remember that one day she was probably fat and fourteen. She still wakes up most mornings and winces at her reflection in a mirror. She might worry that she’s got cellulite, or that her tits are slightly uneven, that her hands look old or her eyebrows unplucked or her feet too big for her awkward, stumbling body.

Approaching women is hard, of course. But if you can be the one who strides over with confidence, and says: “You know what? You’re fucking spectacular” then you win. You win so hard your friends will wonder what your secret is. You’ve just made someone’s day, and you could be the one screwing her twelve shades of happy by the time that day is done.