“I’m not 17, I’m a grown-arse woman. I just regularly make childish mistakes.”

– Tracey, Chewing Gum

In today’s blog, I am going to tell you about a ridiculous, embarrassing mistake. The first person I told was my good pal Jessica, who greeted this story with howls of laughter followed by ‘you’re definitely going to tell the blog this, aren’t you? You HAVE to.’ And yeah… I am committed to telling you my silliest fuckups as well as my sexiest fucks, so I guess I do have to. This is a story about chewing gum, and the question of how soon in a budding relationship is too soon to be a fuckup.

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Sometimes – very rarely – I will meet a man so filthy that within five minutes I am dreaming of the bad things I want to do to him. That kind of lust is a gutpunch – an instant hit of horn that has me weak and drooling. But that kind is not as common, or as real to me, as lust that grows slowly.

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I stumble in the front door, drenched to the skin from a long and glorious cycle through central London, fighting the downpour and dodging past Boris bikes, punk tunes blasting into my left ear. Exhausted and satisfied and aching all over: my cunt hurts from getting well and truly fucked. As I walk in, I’m accosted by my conscience, who is as steaming angry as I am post-fuck happy, with the words ‘you fucked your ex’ on its lips.

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There’s this big house that I’m wandering around, and occasionally I stumble across people wanking in different rooms of it. It’s full of sofas, and cushions and huge-screen TVs. What’s playing on the telly is almost-porn: one of those films which features tits and fucking, but also just enough plot that you’re not quite sure if it was pitched as a broader release. I am horny as fuck, and I desperately need cock.

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Bear with me, I’m rusty as fuck. Something I could have said equally to him as to you. It’s been a long long time since I wrote up a fuckstory that was about anyone other than my ex. So bear with me, please, I know I will not get this right.

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