Do you know how to get round a porn block? If your immediate thought here involved something like a VPN or Tor, then congratulations: it sounds like should your government implement a porn block you’ll have a reasonable idea how to circumvent it. However, can I ask that you please please please stop telling me on Twitter that you how to get around a porn block? Allow me to explain why.

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Two things this week is going to begin with a hilarious conversation I had with a website owner this week about working for free. Then, when that’s got you good and angry, I will cheer you up with news of a musical about vibrators. There’s also a bonus ‘good thing’ from Erika Lust, if you have an amazing idea for a porn film.

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It’s been five years since I started this blog. Which is fucking bizarre when I sit down and think about it. Five entire years of my life – that’s nearly 16% of my time on this planet – has been spent sex blogging. For nearly three of those years being ‘Girl on the Net’ has been my full-time job.

So this post might be a bit meta and involved for some of you, but for others who are either sex blogging already or thinking of setting out, I wanted to give you as honest an overview as I can of what 5 years’ of sex blogging looks like. The numbers, the lessons learned, the mistakes and the occasional successes. Here goes.

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I hate my sofas. I hate them with every single fibre of my being. I hate them more because I should have anticipated the problems I have had with them, and left them to rot in Marks and Spencer where they belonged. With their shitty sleek design and their evil spindly legs. And their squeaky, ill-placed, uncomfortable cushions.

I cannot fuck on my sofa. And although this might sound like an entitled whine (it is), I want you to be able to learn from my mistakes if you can. Never ever ever buy a sofa you cannot fuck on.

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I’ve lost count now of the number of exes I’ve stared at across a pub table and thought ‘God, I wish you were inside me right now.’ Chances are if I’ve fucked you once I’ll probably be up for another go, and having a casual pint with you and discussing your job/wedding/newborn baby is not going to do anything to help distract me from the fact that I once tasted your dick and it was goooood. But this isn’t about ex-lust, it’s about getting over your ex. It’s about the feeling you get when someone amazing has gone, and it feels like nothing will ever fill the cavernous, throbbing hole bored straight through your heart.

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