“You’ll stand in the corner until we’re done here,” he tells me. His voice is flat – almost a monotone – and it’s doubly hard to assess how angry he is because I don’t really know this man well. That’s the thrill of it, really: not knowing how he’ll react. He is a borderline stranger, and I deliberately riled him up in front of everyone. And now I’m standing in the corner with my nose pressed against the wall, my skirt hiked up around my waist like a naughty schoolgirl, and a good long wait while I anticipate what he might do. My heart beats in my throat and with my face hidden like this, I grin.

This blog post involves school role play – albeit very unrealistic school role play – including corporal punishment. If that’s not your thing look away now.

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When people ask me ‘is your husband home?’ (or variations on that theme), I correct them in the same irritating way I’ll hiss ‘Ms’ if asked whether I’m a ‘Miss or Mrs’. My partner and I aren’t married, and I used to think my initial burst of frustration when people asked for my ‘husband’ was because I didn’t like the assumption that all couples have to get married at some point. It’s not really that, though: what’s frustrating is how often I am asked – or expected – to defer to my male partner. As if he’s the CEO in our relationship, and I am merely his secretary.

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Sexual compatibility isn’t always about liking the same things. It’s nice to discover that your whims and lusts match up sometimes, when you both fancy exactly the same kind of shag. But to me, being sexually compatible is less about always wanting the same thing and more about being intrigued by the other person’s kinks and quirks.

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Last week I watched an hour-long YouTube video of a man playing a game called ‘Super Seducer’, because I am ever keen to unravel the mystery of men. What ARE men, exactly? If I believe the creator of ‘Super Seducer’, the answer is that they are absolute twats.

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If you could put one thing from the world into ‘Room 101’, banishing it forever from the planet, what would you choose and why? There’s plenty I’d be tempted to go for, I am a person who gets angry about a lot of things: plastic cups, pear cider (it’s NOT FUCKING CIDER), or men on Twitter explaining my own bra to me. And that’s before you even get started on the important bits like war, poverty, and every political ad that’s ever been shown on Facebook. But there’s one particular concept that seems ready to disappear: chivalry. Chivalry is on the way out, and I won’t be sorry to see it go.

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