I have very little truck with entertainment that simply makes me think – I want to read, watch and listen to stuff that makes me fucking feel. And few genres on this planet are more effective at making people feel stuff than porn. Direct, intense, powerful: compelling people to touch themselves, revelling in the sensation of their crotch thudding hot and warm with blood. I adore porn, and in fact I will happily recommend you some fabulous sites if you’d like to buy a sub to get your rocks off (click the ads! And if you can’t see any porn ads, hit refresh until you do!). I don’t actually watch porn while I’m wanking, though, and every now and then I have a conversation with someone in which they look at me like I’m weird when I tell them I can (and usually do) get off without porn. I’m a sex blogger who has access to a lifetime’s worth of free porn! Why aren’t I watching it all the time?! It’s like they feel sorry for me, having to make do with just the thoughts in my head instead of the magic on screen. All the while, I’m feeling sorry for them, because they don’t have access to the kind of content that plays in my own private cinema.

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Note: references to grief, death and eating. Also, this is honestly not my best. Better Halloween erotica is available on the blog tag.

I feed off your dreams. You knew that, right? But did you know that each dream tastes different? The happy ones are bland and shining. Joy tastes like ashes in my mouth – the bad dreams are where it’s at. The giant spiders chasing you through Covent Garden. Infinite, unwakeable scenes of drowning. Delicious.

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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.

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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. 

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