There are lots of things I enjoy about this time of year, but gifts aren’t one of them. I feel uncomfortable if people buy them for me (please don’t go to any trouble!) and I’m terrified of giving them. Although I occasionally have a flash of inspiration, or the time and ability to arrange a cool trip or activity, most of the time I end up panic-buying a present at the last minute that’s way over my tiny budget, because I didn’t have time to shop/think/make but I need this person to know that I care about them anyway. Even the cool things I do occasionally manage come with a hefty dollop of misery as I agonise over the fact that they will still fall woefully short. It never feels possible to buy a gift that is thoughtful enough, arrange an outing that’s fun enough, or write a poem in a card that’s meaningful enough to capture the weight of my love for this kickass person. But I tell you what I can do very well: gratitude.

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Writing from the domme perspective is hard. When I’m being submissive, it’s easy to write with a focus on what a dominant guy did to me and how: the words this one growled and the ways he twisted and angled my body so as to best please his own eyes and cock. These hot actions, performed by him, could draw the majority of focus for any given blog post. I know it doesn’t have to be this way – with the dominant as the ‘do-er’ and the submissive as a passive recipient of whatever they choose to do, but it does tend to end up like this quite often. So writing from a subby perspective feels more comfortable to me, because if you focus on someone else when you’re bragging about the sex you had, you can partially hide the fact that you’re bragging in the first place.

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What’s more satisfying – making someone laugh, or making them come? Don’t think too hard, just answer the question with your first instinct. Laugh or come? Which is more satisfying? I asked this question a while ago on Mastodon and the results were extremely close. Within a few percent of each other. I found this really surprising: I’d expected it to go a very specific way, with a dramatic win for one side. I’m not even like those people who tried to nitpick the poll by saying ‘why not both?’ (because the whole point of the question is that it’s an either/or, ya bellends, really obviously we’d all go for both if that were an option). Anyway. I expected the poll to go decisively one way, because to me there’s no contest whatsoever.

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As with literally any blog post that discusses physical beauty, this piece is going to come with an important note: what I am about to do is fetishise/objectify/admire/wax lyrical about one particular physical feature, but understand that you do not need to have this feature in order to be beautiful. You can be beautiful with whatever you’ve got, there is no one correct way to be visually stunning, and I have dated many gorgeous people who do not happen to share the characteristic I am about to so thoroughly cream my knickers over. In short: not everyone is bald, and that is OK. But my boyfriend happens to be, and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t cast my eyes towards the heaven I’m pretty sure does not exist, to thank a God I definitely don’t believe in for sending me a hot bald guy. I can (and assuredly WILL) write essays later about the joy of dating a hot bald guy from a tactile perspective, but for now I’m taking a rare turn into the visual. Here are my hot bald boyfriend’s three best angles, thank you so much for asking.

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You know those nights you have, in bed with someone new and exciting… those nights when you feel like you’re… hmm. Sorry, I’ll start again. So you know those nights at the start of a relationship, just after you realise how much you want this to be a relationship… those nights when you’re f… fuck. Hang on. Let me try a different tack.

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