When I was in my late twenties I used to write blog posts about bullshit societal expectations of women at that age. How we were expected to be slim, ‘feminine‘, hairless, petite and sweet-smelling (especially in the ‘cunt‘ region). Then, for a brief period in my thirties I was nagged to be one thing above all others (PREGNANT!). Now that I’ve sailed past childbearing age without even a cursory click on a ClearBlue ad or video about IVF, the sales messages have settled into a comfortable, familiar horrorshow of content for the ‘older’ lady. And they seem pretty united in bad news: I’ve got far too much skin everywhere, and my face is falling off.

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This week’s wonderful guest blog comes from fellow sex blogger Starcross (check out his awesome work at that link, and find him on BlueSky here!). He’s written before in response to a very direct and curious question I asked – what does it feel like to penetrate someone? – and I absolutely adored the way he managed to capture the sensation and intimacy of being inside. Today’s blog also touches on closeness and intimacy, but this time in a very public setting. He’s here to explain how doing public rope bondage with his partner, J, helped him find validation and security in kinky spaces. It’s a really beautiful perspective on something I have only ever seen from the outside before, and I am so grateful to him for sharing this with us here.

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As I explained only a couple of weeks ago, I try not to make a habit out of eagerly anticipating a message from any given man. I don’t like checking my phone constantly on the off-chance that some guy decides he wants me. Regular readers know I always introduce these posts by saying ‘this… BUT’ though, so here comes the ‘BUT’… recently I’ve found myself itching to hear from somebody in particular. Refreshing my email (yes, I use email, I am forty one years of age and I like to ramble so email is my medium: deal with it, Zoomers) hoping for any kind of contact.

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It’s embarrassing to admit that I don’t like myself very much. Far more embarrassing, though, to tell you all that sometimes I think I’m OK. The latter carries way more shame, I want to whisper it in small-font italics. Sometimes I think I’m quite good, actually. Occasionally the tall, loud, brash, opinionated mess that makes up ‘me’ doesn’t feel so obnoxious. I like myself when I’m with you.

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If you missed the first part, here’s an overview: I had a test date with a blog reader, “Jack”, who took me up on my offer to do a phone chat and message exchange then give him feedback on where he might be going wrong. It was also a challenge for me. I am prone to avoiding constructive critique because I’m a rampant people-pleaser who never wants to upset anybody. Would I be able to tell Jack where he was going wrong without burying anything useful in a torrent of consoling positivity? Let’s see, shall we?

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