I’m turning 40 this month. Which feels weird when I write it down like that – in my heart I am (and will always be) nineteen – just on the cusp of adulthood, excited for what it might bring. In reality, I’ve been an adult for longer than I was ever a child. I pay council tax! I have a bad back! I own three different types of spirit level! I wouldn’t normally announce my birthday on the blog, but because this one’s a biggie I thought it might be fun to mark it by throwing a virtual party – support me on Patreon (at any level) and sign up to the Zoom hangout on Sunday 24th March – 6-8pm UK time, though we may well go on longer than that if people want to. I’ll read you a selection of my favourite posts from the last 12.5 years of this blog, and we’ll drink stuff and chat and you can ask me anything you’d like to know about GOTN, the audio project, sex blogging and which of the many many exceptional cocks I’ve ingested over the years is my special absolute favourite. Meanwhile, here’s a random list of 40 things I’ve learned before the age of 40.

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In the moment I broke up with my ex – the moment itself, when I said the words, “I can’t do this any more, I’m so sorry” or whatever it was – I knew that at least one of my friends agreed it was the right decision. She’d sent me an email, the week before, which started with the sentence “I didn’t think you were ready to hear this last year, but now I feel like it’s time…” It was one of the best emails I have ever received. It was kind, caring and helpful. It did not trash my ex or instruct me to break up with him, it just reminded me of the conversations I’d had with her over the last few years, and what those conversations amounted to from her perspective. She held up a mirror to the picture I’d been painting in a way that made me see the image as clearly as she did. To this day, I am grateful to her for sending that email. Without it, my life would look very different today.

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A friend of mine recently asked, as I was telling her how lovely a particular guy was, how I went about trying to avoid ‘catching feelings’ for the men that I spend time with. There are two answers to this question: the cunty one and the nice one. Both are true.

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Picture the scene: it’s late December in the year 1998. You’re a thirteen year old girl. You wear glasses and have extremely greasy hair, you wear your school uniform exactly as dictated by the rules, and you’re good at Maths and Science. Ergo: you fucking suck. Everyone hates you and no boy will ever snog you, no matter how much Impulse body spray you cover yourself in. Against this backdrop, you are in love with your very best friend – a boy who has the voice of a genuine angel. It’s the school Christmas Talent Show, and this boy – the one you think about to make your crotch give you those New Special Feelings – takes the stage. He stands at the microphone and clears his throat. The first few chords of a song you recognise start blaring through the assembly-hall speakers, and your soul soars in anticipation. Then he opens his perfect perfect mouth, this sexy boy, and with a breath that carries straight into the depths of your miserable, bullied soul, he sings the following words…

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I’m down at the moment, and sometimes when I’m down I like to wallow in romance. But it’s not romance like ‘we’re getting married’ or romance like ‘we’re gonna fuck’, it’s the romance that pulses through friendship – steady and unwavering and safe and comfortable – never needing to escalate because it’s already right where it should be. Come on holiday with me and my best mate.

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