This gorgeous erotic fiction about a tryst in the changing rooms is written and read by Euphemise This, and originally appeared on her website.

Michaela fucking hated clothes shopping, with a passionate hatred usually only reserved for Tories, but she resigned herself to the fact that she couldn’t put it off any longer. The event was in two days and it could potentially provide her with a massive career boost as long as she made a good impression with the right people. She was initially reluctant to admit it, but the entire contents of her wardrobe were completely unsuitable for this task.

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For reasons that I will explain in a later blog post or (more likely) never explain at all, these days when men come to visit overnight I ask them to sleep in the spare room. It’s nothing personal. No man is allowed to share my bed. The up side of this is that I get a decent night’s sleep which means I am capable of having fun the next day. The down side is that sometimes I find myself lying awake and horny at 5 in the morning, fantasising about the tempting cock attached to the guy in the bedroom next door, lamenting the fact that I have no one to rub my bum against till they get hard and wake up to shag me. Usually I’m an advocate of the motto ‘it can’t hurt to ask!’ but I’m working on the assumption that 5am is a hard limit for almost everyone, so I do not venture to the spare room on a dick hunt. I just pop on a blindfold to shield my eyes from the dawn and debate whether it’s too early in the day to have a wank.

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This week’s guest blogger is Poppy, who runs the podcast Confessions of a Closet Romantic, available here on Apple Podcasts and wherever you get your aural pleasure too. Poppy is demisexual, which is not something I or other guest bloggers have explored much on this site before, so I’m extremely grateful to her for offering to share her experience. Huge thanks to Poppy for this fun, lighthearted tour of what demisexuality means to her.

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Men: they’re fucking everywhere, aren’t they? God, I had almost forgotten they existed. I used to walk down streets past men every day and barely give them a second glance, but suddenly now I am starting to notice them. Men. Everywhere. This is a post written loosely off the back of a pep talk I gave to a friend, in which I urged her: shoot your shot. (hat tip to @Oloni for introducing me to that excellent phrase)

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A long time ago, when I used to date, I had a pet theory about how to make dating a little less arduous: the ‘One Drink Bailout.’ It was published as a guest blog for a fellow blogger – who, incidentally, wrote me a beautiful guest blog on crushes in return – but his blog is now offline, so the post has disappeared. It’s one of the posts I’m asked about most often, and today someone told me they were trying to find the link but couldn’t, so I said I’d repost it here. I wrote it back in 2012 so I’m not sure how it’s aged, but if you like it feel free to add it to your dating profile if you’re sick of spending long evenings on dates you know aren’t going anywhere.

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