Category Archives: Ranty ones
Sex and politics and naked party leaders wanking in custard
While I’d love to be able to open this blog with a revelation about a sordid orgy with two famous politicians, that would be a heinous lie. I’ve never had sex with a politician, and unless one of my exes stands for office at some point, or Danny Alexander pops round when I’m too horny to be critical, it’ll probably stay that way forever.
Still, that doesn’t stop me speculating on the sexiness or otherwise of various politicians, so I’m going to do just that:
- Ed would totally get it.
- Clegg would have had it back in 2010 but now wouldn’t muster so much as a pity fuck.
- Sturgeon is undeniably cheeky and although I don’t fancy her I’d definitely nudge a mate if she beckoned them over with a sexy wink at a party.
- Cameron can get utterly fucked, but not by me.
For the Americans among you, I hope you know that I am not discriminating against your politicians. I have, on numerous occasions, had fantasies about being accidentally locked in a cupboard with Barack Obama. The cupboard’s vital because I know he’d never let me snog him if he thought Michelle might see.
Random sex blog questions (and other questions)
Yesterday I told people to tweet me with any topics they wanted me to cover. The suggestions ranged from quite bizarre through really fucking bizarre to seriously interesting. I haven’t been able to tackle all of them in depth, because blimey there were a hell of a lot of them. If you’ve better answers than I have (and why wouldn’t you? I basically know nothing), then please do join in below the line. Some of these I might do more on later, because there are some really interesting topics here.
So here goes: a slightly weird meta-blog, in which we discuss everything from knickers to nearly injuring yourself during sex, and ponder the intensely philosophical question: why do most people think it’s OK to eat a pig, but not to fuck one?
In defence of 21 Grams – the dildo made of human ashes
Today, while the rest of the internet celebrates Ed Balls day, sex bloggers are instead faced with ‘why is everyone sending me pictures of a dildo made of human ashes?‘ Day.
In case you hadn’t already seen it RTd repeatedly with the comment ‘eww’, here’s a quick overview: 21 Grams is a memory box that allows a grieving person to collect together a bunch of intimate memories about their loved one. It contains speakers to play their favourite music (aww), a scent bottle for holding their loved one’s perfume (aww) and a blown glass dildo that contains a golden urn for their ashes (apparently, eww). The following quote is taken from the article above.
“21 Grams is a memory-box that allows a widow to go back to the intimate memories of a lost beloved one,” explained Sturkenboom [the designer]. “After a passing, the missing of intimacy with that person is only one aspect of the pain and grief. This forms the base for 21 Grams. The urn offers the possibility to conserve 21 grams of ashes of the deceased and displays an immortal desire.
“By bringing different nostalgic moments together like the scent of his perfume, ‘their’ music, reviving the moment he gave her her first ring, it opens a window to go back to moments of love and intimacy,” he said.
General content warning: this post contains a pretty frank and probably controversial discussion of sex and death.
What happens when you lose your virginity?
The evening I lost my virginity I lay awake in bed staring at the wall, willing myself to feel special. I assumed that with that magical penis-in-vagina moment, something fundamental about me would change. I couldn’t put my finger on what, exactly – I didn’t expect sparks, or revelations, or for the world to burst into glorious technicolour like it did in the Wizard of Oz. I just thought I’d feel… different.
I didn’t, and looking back at that moment as an adult that’s a blessed relief. Imagine if there really were a significant change bestowed upon someone just because they happened to have completed a particular sex act. If it shone out of them like a traffic light, blinking ‘green’ for ‘has fucked’. It’d be quite disturbing, not to mention really awkward over breakfast with your family.
Shared parental leave – a victory for men’s rights!
Something really awesome happened in the men’s rights arena recently. A change that will benefit millions of prospective fathers in the UK: the parental leave rules changed.
Let’s take a minute to celebrate what this means. In the past, it was always assumed that the person who gave birth to a baby would be the person who’d be the primary carer in its first year. So mothers usually got maternity pay, and it’d be assumed that – beyond the statutory two weeks of paternity leave taken shortly after birth – dads would be the ones working in their child’s first year, while mums took on the lion’s share of childcare.
Obviously this explanation is pretty basic, and doesn’t take into account a whole bunch of stuff – same-sex couples or non binary people who give birth but wouldn’t identify as a mother, for instance – but those were the general rules, and they had a huge effect on UK workplaces. Now, though, thanks to rules on Shared Parental Leave (which came in at the beginning of April), apart from a compulsory statutory two weeks, which must be taken by the person who gave birth, parental leave can be split.
So: Dads are no longer assumed to be the ones working through the first year, missing out on things like their child’s first steps, or the chance to join baby yoga classes or hand-wash tiny babygros that are covered in weird yellow vomit – both parents get to decide how the work/childcare split happens. This is pretty fucking awesome.