This fabulous true story is written by EL Byrne, and originally appeared on her site – Lustitude. It is read here by Girl on the Net. 

When I arrive at his flat, my Sex Scientist is in the tub, his long lean body stretched out relaxing in the hot water, playing a trivia game on his phone – he’s winning of course. I settle into his flat, drop the food I brought in the kitchen, strip down to my panties, and go sit on top of the toilet seat. We spend a few minutes chatting and catching up on our week. I am always happy to enter our relationship bubble, turn off my phone, and spend this concentrated time connecting with him.

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Oh hey team, sorry to bother you. Quick question. Won’t take long. Just wanna sense-check something based on my own patterns of behaviour and whether or not they could be considered ‘normal’. Tell me: when should I stop masturbating over my ex?

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For some reason, when you become intimate with people, they often feel like they have a right to say critical things about the way you look. Men have often felt this way about my body over the years: making comments about my weight, the various places in which hair grows and whether I remove it, the way I dress or carry myself, my use (or rejection) of make up. As if our intimacy constitutes a contract which grants them the right to correct me. Or perhaps, more kindly, like they believe I will welcome the opportunity for self-improvement that they’ve so thoughtfully opened up. Please, for the love of infinite fuck, understand this: I will never welcome these comments. You should never say these things. Your negative comment on my body is never welcome. My body is my body. If you don’t like it, don’t fuck it: that’s the deal.  

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In my neverending quest to come up with new ways to remind you to BUY THINGS FROM MY SPONSORS PLS, I cannot quite believe I’ve never done this, the most obvious and fun thing of all. Here are some Valentine’s poems, with links to the absolutely brilliant companies that support my website. They’re here mainly as a reminder to you that every click on every link – in posts, on ads, and in tweets as well, helps me to keep doing what I do. If you like the poems, or any of the other content I write, please consider clicking these links and buying whatever sexy stuff your little heart desires – for Valentine’s Day, or any day. Cos roses are red, violets are blue, and I couldn’t do this if it weren’t for you.

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When I’m feeling shitty, I like to suck cock. One of the most frustrating things for me about not having a live-in partner any more (if you discount the fact that, you know, I miss him terribly) is that there’s no easy-access dick to suck when I’m feeling unloveable and down.

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