Tag Archives: boys I’ve slept with
End of No Nut November: a month’s worth of spunk
This story could start at a number of different points. It could begin on the first of December, with me marching through a rainstorm along a muddy canal path, determined not to be late to meet the lovely man who’d promised to fill me with spunk. I could start it a bit earlier, in November, with PMs back-and-forth about sexual frustration and oceans of jizz. But really it begins on October 31st, with a message I sent to this dude which said: ‘Are you doing NNN this year?’
Sex writing and consent: do people approve their blogs?
It’s important to me that you know this: I don’t publish sexy blog stories about people without their permission. That hasn’t always been the case – when I first started blogging I wrote about people who were so far in my past that I couldn’t have popped back up in their lives to get their OK, so I just fudged a lot of details and shot for anonymity. These days, everyone I’ve slept with recently knows that I’m girl on the net, which handily bypasses some of the more awkward conversations I might have to have with a stranger, and also means there’s no excuse to not ask before I turn our fuckstories into #content. So: sex writing and consent. Do people approve their blog posts? And if so, how does that work?
Hear ye, hear ye: some texts I sent after I got laid
A selection of text messages I sent a while ago to spread some important news (I got laid).
Sober sex: chasing the fuckrush
I start this fucking weird day (a day which I hope will contain at least some weird fucking) with two cups of coffee. And then a third, to be on the safe side. But you can’t get high on coffee… at least I can’t. I’m meeting this guy at eleven am, and we’re going to fuck in his hotel. At eleven. In the morning. I am stone cold fucking sober, and sober sex is a pretty new kink.
Dating site reviews based entirely on my brand prejudices
At some point, I will get back on The Apps. I know I have to. There are geographically convenient men in London just waiting to get shagged, and the only thing standing between them, me and a powerful ten-condom fuck is the fact that I can’t be arsed to take new dating site pictures. Oh! And the fact that my diary is looking pretty full until Christmas. Also that every time I consider meeting a new person I immediately run through all the possible ways it could be terrible/boring/frightening/disappointing until the whole thing starts to feel like admin. Oh God, what if the thing that’s standing in the way of this fun is… me? No, it can’t be that. That would mean it’s my fault. Instead, let’s pretend it’s because none of the dating sites are good enough, and the men I might meet on them are all wrong in interesting and hilarious ways. Join me in completely ignoring the impact my emotional baggage has on my life choices, as I present a few dating site reviews based purely on my prejudices about their brand.