I’d love to come out with you tonight. You’re fun and funny and sweet and sexy and so many things that I like in a man. But I have to cancel, I’m afraid, because I don’t know you well enough to have a breakdown in your presence. Come back to me next week, when I’ll have finished crumbling. Come next month, when I’ll be well. In three months’ time, when we know each other better, and this stuff doesn’t seem quite so weird. For now, though, I don’t have the energy to be the sexy fun girl you’ve enjoyed on previous dates. Leave me alone for a minute. I need to be fragile in peace.

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It’s late in the evening, and we’ve already shagged once. The kind of sex that left my legs so trembly I felt it in my thighs as we walked down the street to get dinner. Idly wondering, as we made our way there, if passers-by could tell by my messy hair and unsteady gait that I’d just been thoroughly fucked. We went for pints and food. Played pub Jenga on a table outside. I sipped my cider and perved on him shamelessly: enjoying the view of his steady hands carefully pulling bricks from the rickety tower, the way his t-shirt stretched against his taut arms as he reached up to place them on top. Fixating on how the collar opened slightly to flash of the edge of his sexy tattoo.

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This guest blog was born as one of the sexiest Twitter threads I think I’ve ever read, by @mudkri. The way she writes about kissing and being kissed made me realise I’d been aching and yearning for someone to kiss me. For exactly the kind of kissing-for-kissing’s sake that she was describing. Or maybe her thread brought on that yearning – described it all so beautifully, with such delicious shuddery intensity, that I subsumed her wants into my own. I don’t know. All I know is that this is indescribably hot. Thank you so much, Kristina, for bringing that joy to this blog.

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One of the things that blogging is good for, I think, is showing people a far broader range of stories and journeys than you’d get if you relied solely on mainstream media for your messaging around sex. People with lived experience can join discussions to give you tips based on what has worked for them. Recently I wrote about the film Good Luck to You, Leo Grande, and the powerful message it gave about sexuality – you are never too late to start exploring and enjoying your body. In response to my piece, the fabulous @BibulousOne (who writes beautifully here – Pain As Pleasure) got in touch offering to share his thoughts as an older man who began his own sexual adventures later in life, and I’m so grateful to him for being willing to share what led him to start exploring kink in his fifties, as well as a few useful lessons for the rest of us no matter what our age…

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This is ‘Consent’ – a story demonstrating why consent is sexy, written and read by JM Seaborn. Note that this story uses ‘Daddy’ as an honorific. All characters are over 18. 

Consent isn’t homework. It’s not the boring part or the legal disclaimer. It’s not the vegetables you have to eat to get to dessert. Consent is the pulsing electricity that will pass between us with enough power to blow the bulbs of a city.

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