This post is heavily BDSM-focused, and includes things like extreme pain, spanking, humiliation and some themes of consensual non-consent. If that’s not your thing please don’t read on. If that is your thing, welcome to the inside of my head…

This Christmas I want to be your gift to someone else. Tied up tight in rope instead of ribbon. Bent, spread, and sworn to silence. I want you to strap me with a belt to make me meek and compliant, prepare me so I look just how you want me to: then I want you to give me to someone else.

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I’ve never done a proper guide to Christmas presents before – one where I actually recommend products to buy. That’s because I am absolutely Shit At Business. I suck at writing the more commercial blog posts because it sounds more boring to tell you to buy a sex toy than to tell you exactly why it turned me on. BUT this year at least two (TWO!) people have asked me for gift recommendations, so I’m going to give you a list of Christmas presents that you can buy for other people or yourself. It includes sex toys, books, and some non-sex-related things that I just think are really cool.

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This year, for the first time in a long time, I am not going to visit family. I’ll miss them, because my family are amazing. But there are up-sides: I won’t spend hundreds of pounds on train fares lugging a backpack full of presents all around the country. I won’t have to have the super-quiet sex on put-up beds in people’s lounges. I won’t have to smile politely at racist elderly aunts, and I can say ‘fuck’ if I want without scaring the children.

So here’s a Christmas poem for grown-ups.

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Woo! Christmas! The season of mince pies, mulled wine, and trying to avoid awkward questions from relatives who have an opinion on your love life! More than that, it is the season where many online shops decide to split all of their products into ‘men versus women’, so they can provide you with sexist Christmas gift lists – ‘The Ultimate Christmas Gifts For Her’ and ‘Top Presents For Him’ etc – as a way of grabbing search traffic and all of your sweet, sweet cash. I had a look at sexist Christmas gift lists in 2013, but it’s time for an update. Let’s see what 2016 – aka The Worst Year, has to offer.

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It’s fucking hectic behind the bar. Every drink comes with a second, because the regulars are feeling generous, and he, I and a bunch of other staff are lining them up. Landlady’s insistence: we’re allowed to drink on shift. And it’s Christmas, so no one thinks about saving the money, we just say ‘ta’ and line them up:

Vodka and cokes: have one yourself. Have six yourself. Slur ‘Cheers’ as you’re pulling the next pint.

When I rush round tables to collect glasses, Steve (a regular – skeezy and greasy and ‘harmless’ depending on who you talk to and how many pints he’s had) sneaks up behind me. He follows me around until I’ve got four, five glasses in each hand. Then as I turn to take them back to the bar he grips me round the waist. Hard hands, insistent squeezes.

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