Category Archives: Ranty ones
The ‘Party of Women’ ain’t partying today
This UK election has been one of massive schaudenfreude. There are so many moments of knicker-wetting hilarity; Jacob Rees-Mogg lost his seat! Liz Truss got record-breakingly shamed! Michael Green Sebastian Fox Corinne Stockheath Grant Shapps got the boot! The BBC told Steve Baker – live on air! – that he was toast! Lol. Lmao. Hahaha fucking ha. Pure joy. But while it’s healing and delicious to luxuriate in the news that the Conservative Party has lost more seats than it retained (seriously, lol! I wanna drink it down like wine!), let’s not forget that alongside handing the Tories their arses, the UK electorate also succeeded in humiliating a group of extremist transphobes: the Party of Women.
Is Liquid Silk the best lube? Or just the most popular?
Is Liquid Silk the best lube on the market, or does it just happen to be popular with guys I’ve fucked? This question has played on my mind for a long time. Far longer than is reasonable, to be honest. When I was single in my twenties, I rarely paid much attention to brands, I’d just use the lube provided by whoever wanted to fuck me up the arse. Eventually, though, I started to notice a pattern. If ‘every single guy I fucked using the same lube’ could constitute a pattern. Is block colour a pattern? Whatever. My ex used Liquid Silk, and I assumed he just really liked it, but after he and I parted ways I went on to fuck some more guys and… yeah… they all used Liquid Silk too! So obviously that’s what I bought, because although I pretend to be feminist deep down I’m obsessed with impressing men. The type of men I most wanted to lick all tended to use it, so I assumed Liquid Silk must be the best lube around. But is it actually? Or have I just jumped on a bandwagon beside other lazy, sexy, wank-loving Londoners? Let’s find out.
1950s housewife / Trashfire
He’ll be home any minute so she has to do her hair. Curled and set, brushed out neatly before being shaped around her face so it looks like it was effortless. She selects her best outfit, one she knows he’ll find appealing. Emphasising her curves just enough but not too much. Making her look like an angel. Nails are polished. Legs already smooth – earlier that day she ran herself a bath and her skin is now powder-soft, like new-fallen snow. Bathed and moisturised and shaven and plucked and perfect. Man, I’m so glad I’m not a 1950s housewife!
Hot Octopuss Pulse Queen: unrecognisably incredible
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.
Stealth (part 2): Why am I telling this story?
CN: stealthing/rape, brief mention of domestic violence.
On my way from his place to the tube, I stick my headphones in and whack on some loud, jaunty tunes. Force of habit. There’s an upbeat soundtrack playing to the blood thumping in my ears. Walking to the station after getting stealthed I remember thinking that I should probably be crying. I should be sad. I should be feeling used and hurt and frightened and small. But I’m not, not right now. I’ll definitely feel all those things in the coming days, but right now if I have to label it the thing I am feeling is ‘rage.’ I’m not ‘sad’, I am incensed. I have a lot of thoughts about what happened, but the one that’s clearest in my mind is that I will tell this story.