People often ask me for sex toy recommendations, so in this wildly boring but nevertheless helpful post, I’m going to tell you the top sex toys I’d save if my house was burning down and I only had time to grab a few. The main reason for me writing this post is because I am short of both content and cash, but I appreciate that sex toy recommendations are far less interesting than stories about having dildo orgies or watching my other half do a sexy genderfuck striptease. So here’s my offer: I will tell you about the best sex toys I own (i.e. the ones I use most often), you go buy them if you want, I’ll get some money, and then on Sunday I’ll publish some Halloween erotica story that isn’t trying to sell you anything at all. Deal? OK.

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A few years ago I went to a PR launch for a sex thing. Alongside the free champagne (woo!) there was a discussion about ‘obligation sex’ – whether you should make yourself shag sometimes even when you’re not in the mood, to keep the spark alive in your relationship. A sex blogger who I respected a lot was there (she, along with the free champagne, was what tempted me out of the house), and during the discussion she argued that you should have obligation sex. That making yourself shag could be the glue that held your relationship together even when other things were falling apart. I remember being shocked by her answer, because my gut instinct was to disagree. But I really liked her, and there’d been a lot of free champagne, so all I left with was a fuzzy head and a vague feeling that ‘obligation sex’ didn’t sound like much fun at all.

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Picture the scene: a delightful sexy person has either sent you a nude selfie, or allowed you to take nude photos of them. You, proud that you own such a blessed image, are boasting to your pals about its hotness, which is so intense it’s practically burning a hole in your phone. Your mates ask for a quick peek of the treasured pic. Are you allowed to show them?

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I have two questions for you. First one: if there was a dodgy step on the staircase in your house, how long would it take you to fix it? Let’s say that the step itself is mostly irritating, but occasionally dangerous. You have to remember to jump over it every time you go up or down stairs, but sometimes you forget and your foot just plunges straight through, causing you to twist your ankle, or worse. When close friends and lovers come round to visit you, they often get trapped by your dodgy step, then extract themselves and help you patch it up. Most of them recommend you call a carpenter. So, first question is: how long would it take you to get it fixed? Question two: how’s your mental health lately?

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In romantic contexts, I’ve often heard people say thank you to their lovers for teaching them what ‘love’ really means. Today, I want to thank the man who taught me the true meaning of ‘fuck buddy.’

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