Tag Archives: advice
If you wouldn’t share their nudes, don’t share their sexts
The other day, I texted a man about his penis in all-caps, simply saying ‘TOUCH IT’. In context, it made sense, however should that man ever take against me, he has not only that but countless other random enthusiastic sex-related texts that he could (though hopefully never would) make public. Including the ones in the image for this post. I think words are pretty powerful, and if you wouldn’t share someone’s nudes (which you absolutely shouldn’t – no, not even if they were sent to you non-consensually) please don’t share their sexts either.
I gave a guy a hand job to orgasm!
It’s pitch black in my bedroom. Weirdly, so much darker than it usually is. Perhaps a streetlight is out, or maybe I’ve finally managed the perfect seal on my blackout curtains, so not a sliver of London night sneaks through. Either way, it’s dark. He’s lying naked next to me, big hands sliding smoothly down my body, soft lips on mine, cock growing hard in my hand. And although I’m going to try and tell you parts of this story in the sexy/atmospheric way in which I’ve begun this post, you’ll have to excuse me if the odd burst of glee breaks through, because on this special night I managed something truly remarkable for me: I gave a guy a hand job to orgasm!
Yet another fucking blow job story
Sorry to be a pain, gang. I am writing yet another fucking blow job story. Do you like blow jobs? God, I hope so. I think I’m becoming something of a one-trick pony. If that pony’s trick is sucking cock. Join me my friends, my loves, my ever-patient pals, as I regale you with a tale of yet another fucking blow job.
Saying ‘no’ is not always easy
‘No’ is a complete sentence, sure. But if you get partway to shagging someone, saying ‘no’ can be genuinely difficult, especially if you want to give them an explanation for why you’ve changed your mind. I’m going to tell you about one of the most awkward ‘no’s I’ve ever said. It’s not the most awkward ‘no’, just one of them. It starts on the south bank of the Thames, around autumn 2020.
It’s hard for me to judge the tone of this piece, and editing it proved tricky. But just so you know up front: this story has a happy ending.
The best kind of bad dates
You might think that bad dates are – by default – an undesirable thing. The clue’s in the name – they’re bad dates! But although I’ll happily swerve terrible first dates where the person I’m with doesn’t ask any questions, or dates where they reveal ten minutes in that they’re a not-so-secret Tory, there’s one kind of bad date that will always have a special place in my heart.