Tag Archives: confidence
You are never too late to start fucking
How late is too late to start fucking? If you’re not sure of the answer to that, allow me to rephrase it: at what point in your life must you stop seeing your body as something that can bring you sexual pleasure? When I put it like this I hope you can see that the answer is ‘never’ – you’re never too late to start fucking, never too late to enjoy your body. Society feeds us so many lies about sex that it takes a lot of work to unpick them, and the idea that we should at some point give up on our sexual selves is an especially pernicious one. We’re told that you’ll hit a certain age and suddenly stop wanting sex (wrong!), that other people will stop wanting you (wrong!) or that beauty is synonymous with youth (also wrong!). Perhaps most bizarrely, we’re given the impression that our futures are fixed when we’re younger: we decide what – and who – we want to be when we grow up, and these early choices will determine our fate forever. SO WRONG! Unfortunately, just yelling ‘WRONG’ at full volume doesn’t help to calm the nerves of anyone who’s worried that they may have missed the boat. So let’s tackle the age-old question: how late is too late to start enjoying sex?
The man who will not text me back
“There is absolutely no way he’ll text me back,” I tell my friends, the day after an extremely hot date. I can’t really explain why I’m so convinced of this, but I am. In fact, so certain am I that he’ll wake up tomorrow and realise he’s made a mistake that I ask him – while we’re on the date – if I can take a picture to show people how hot the man I shagged was. In case, you know, I never see him again. This is very impolite of me, but he’s game so we take pictures. When I show one of my friends a shot of him – kissing me on the cheek, while I grin inanely to camera – my mate laughs and tell me: “you look like you’ve won a contest.”
I would, you would
The hottest thing about you – and please make sure you hear me all the way out, because at first glance it might sound dismissive – is that you want to fuck me. That’s it. The best fucking thing. The red-hot fire in the gusset of my knickers right now: I just know that you definitely would.
This is my body. If you don’t like it, don’t fuck it
For some reason, when you become intimate with people, they often feel like they have a right to say critical things about the way you look. Men have often felt this way about my body over the years: making comments about my weight, the various places in which hair grows and whether I remove it, the way I dress or carry myself, my use (or rejection) of make up. As if our intimacy constitutes a contract which grants them the right to correct me. Or perhaps, more kindly, like they believe I will welcome the opportunity for self-improvement that they’ve so thoughtfully opened up. Please, for the love of infinite fuck, understand this: I will never welcome these comments. You should never say these things. Your negative comment on my body is never welcome. My body is my body. If you don’t like it, don’t fuck it: that’s the deal.
Inside you there are two wolves, and one wolf is slutty
Inside you there are two wolves. One of the wolves is slutty-as-hell. She wants to get fucked and fucked up: suck dicks, swallow cum, be brutally whipped and beaten by a parade of eager partners. Have someone hold her nose while she chokes on cock, and have someone else slide butt plugs into her ass to make her cunt tighter while she’s pounded. The other wolf wants to be loved.