All Posts – Page 54
The joy of getting my period
My period is extremely unpredictable. I am not angry with it for being so – it more than makes up for its unpredictability by being relatively swift. Although I almost never know when I’m about to start bleeding, I do at least know that once it’s started I’ll be blood-free in about four days. What’s more, I usually only have one day of absolute agony (the day after I come on, if you must know), and although it’s absolute hell trying to sit at a desk and knock out erotica while my lower back is screaming for mercy, as soon as the pain is over I’m usually rewarded with a period horn so powerful I could milk a whole rugby team in under thirty minutes.
Having children: did I change my mind?
This week, an egregiously terrible advert by Crown Paint has attracted criticism for peddling the narrative that women who don’t want to have children will probably change their minds one day. As a woman who has been very open about the fact that I don’t want kids, and is now rapidly approaching a point where that choice stops being a choice and becomes an inevitability, I thought I’d weigh in.
If you’re keen on having children and are currently struggling with your own fertility journey, you might find this post upsetting.
Guest blog: It turns out I’m not lust-proof
This week’s guest blogger has a happy story. One of those stories which makes me want to hug myself because a stranger found their joy. I’m really delighted to welcome Eddie to the blog, as he tells you how a Twitter crush taught him that – despite the bollocks he’s been fed by society about what might count as ‘desirable’ – he isn’t lust-proof after all.
I don’t know you well enough to be fragile in front of you
I’d love to come out with you tonight. You’re fun and funny and sweet and sexy and so many things that I like in a man. But I have to cancel, I’m afraid, because I don’t know you well enough to have a breakdown in your presence. Come back to me next week, when I’ll have finished crumbling. Come next month, when I’ll be well. In three months’ time, when we know each other better, and this stuff doesn’t seem quite so weird. For now, though, I don’t have the energy to be the sexy fun girl you’ve enjoyed on previous dates. Leave me alone for a minute. I need to be fragile in peace.
Sometimes intimacy means taking risks (and accepting them)
It’s late in the evening, and we’ve already shagged once. The kind of sex that left my legs so trembly I felt it in my thighs as we walked down the street to get dinner. Idly wondering, as we made our way there, if passers-by could tell by my messy hair and unsteady gait that I’d just been thoroughly fucked. We went for pints and food. Played pub Jenga on a table outside. I sipped my cider and perved on him shamelessly: enjoying the view of his steady hands carefully pulling bricks from the rickety tower, the way his t-shirt stretched against his taut arms as he reached up to place them on top. Fixating on how the collar opened slightly to flash of the edge of his sexy tattoo.