For some reason I worry that it might be offensive to admit this. Apologies if it is, I sincerely hope it isn’t: it’s a very real fear and I think I need to talk about it. Like the best horror films, I think this fear comes from the unknown. Or – worse – the partially known. I understand that menopause can give you vaginal dryness and hot flushes. I know that other changes happen as well, in your body and to your… I actually find it hard to write this down, so great is my terror at the potential loss of it… libido. I know enough about the menopause to understand that I definitely do not ever want it to happen to me. But I also know that it’s a privilege to go through. Ageing is a gift: it means I’m not dead yet. Bodies change all the time so we shouldn’t be frightened of change and… oh fuck. Sorry. Yeah. I can’t sugar-coat this, really: I am absolutely terrified of the menopause.

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I’ve got a bunch of Godemiche wand heads that I’ve been meaning to write about for a while. Don’t ask me how long, it’s genuinely embarrassing how much time it has taken me to write up this not-a-review. I’ve had a pack of colourful heads sitting on my bedroom floor just itching to be opened and used, but because I had a selection of different types and textures, I wanted to have a go at using all of them a few times so I could work out how best to describe what exactly they do. It’s complicated, fun, and requires a little (OK, a lot) of explanation about different types of clitoral stimulation.

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I saw something the other day that really tickled me: a screenshot of a message from a guy on an app which promised to make a woman come ‘harder than she ever had before.’ That’s quite the promise, especially from a complete stranger. On every level it’s a silly thing to say to someone who you haven’t even met in the flesh: what if you don’t have compatible chemistry when you actually meet up? What if she struggles with anorgasmia? What if she’s never had an orgasm at all? You’re making so many assumptions, not to mention writing a sex cheque so large that you just don’t stand a hope in hell of cashing it, thus guaranteeing yourself the most awkward morning after of your entire life. The guy sending her a message has to believe not only that he’s better than any other lover she might have had (including those with whom she’d had loads of sex, and therefore loads of practice learning each other’s bodies), but also that he’s better than every single wank she’s had as well. As I say, it tickled me. But rather than write a long post about the follies of being One Of These Guys, I thought I’d have a go at illustrating by example why this is such a silly claim, because last night I had an incredibly powerful orgasm myself, and while lying in the afterglow of that formidable release it occurred to me just how many things had to align in order for such a fiercely brilliant climax to occur. Here’s how to make me come harder than I ever have before.

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I have a habit of staring. Not at strangers – that’s too creepy, even for me. I have a habit of staring at my boyfriend. He’s astonishingly beautiful, and I like to look at beautiful men during moments of downtime. When they’re not deliberately making an effort to be sexy, just going about their daily lives with no idea how stunning they actually are. Sometimes they catch me doing this.

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When I was young I used to get really pissed off at family events when older relatives would coo “ooh, haven’t you GROWN!”. Yes, Auntie Karen, of COURSE I’ve grown. I was a toddler last time you saw me and now I can read and write and reach the kitchen knives! But now that I’m an adult myself, I understand why grown-ups used to say this. Occasionally someone (or something) will drift out of your life, then return years later in a form so entirely different you simply have to remark upon it. Exclaim: “wow! What the fuck?! How have you changed so much when I am essentially still the same person?!” Let’s talk about the Hot Octopuss Pulse Queen.

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