I’m excited to welcome Ariadne this week, who is here to talk to you about discovering her sexual self with an escort. Since the age of 18, Ariadne had a condition called vaginismus, where the vaginal muscles contract in reaction to any kind of penetration. It is estimated that it affects 2 in every 1000 people, although it is still not commonly discussed. Ariadne’s post is about how her time with an escort helped her to discover sex she truly loved. Although not on Twitter, she is keen to help spread awareness around Vaginismus and would like to direct anyone who’d like to know more to The Vaginismus Network.

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Just putting it out there: it is very cool and fun to date me. I promise. No, it’s not a total nightmare of reading posts about yourself and wondering whether you’ll get a good write-up, or listening to me bang on about butt plug brands until you’re entirely turned off butt plugs forever. It’s really cool and fun, and I am not in any way a total shambles.

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“Don’t call me ‘good girl’ unless you plan on fucking the Mario coins out of me.” Ever since I saw that excellent, excellent tweet, I’ve been thinking about hot new ways to ask someone to fuck me. Seriously: ‘Fuck the Mario coins out of me’ has to be up there as one of the best fuckbegs I’ve ever heard. Gold. I cannot promise to do quite as well as that (who could?!), but with big thanks to those on Twitter who chipped in, I’m aiming for quantity in lieu of quality. Here are 42 different ways to ask someone to fuck you.

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Every year I try to do a Christmas presents guide that points you not-so-subtly to cool products my sponsors sell in case you want to buy something awesome for the hot people in your life (one of whom, inevitably, is yourself: you deserve presents too!). I realised this year that I should probably get off my arse and do at least part of it sooner, because if I publish something today you can also take advantage of Black Friday deals where you get extra discounts and cool stuff. If you’re not in the market for sex toys it will be very boring, so feel free to skip over it and go wank to one of the filthy posts while everyone else does their shopping.

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Partway through a fuck, I realise something’s not quite right, and I mention it. BAM! I have killed the mood. I’m annoyed with myself and a little disappointed so I tell him. We stop shagging. We hug. We sweat. I say “sorry” a few more times, because “sorry” is the word I instinctively reach for when I have nothing else to say. “Stop saying sorry,” he tells me. “Stop saying you killed the mood.” But I can’t stop saying it, I’m stuck in a loop of it, and I don’t know how to escape. There are two paths open to him here…

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