Do me a favour, yeah? Next time a straight couple tells you they’re getting married, would you mind turning to the gentleman in the pairing and asking him: “So… are you planning to keep your surname?” Go on, I dare you. I double-dare you. Ask him, in a cheery tone, whether he plans to take his wife’s name. Watch his reaction, then pop back here and let me know in the comments how that went.

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This week’s guest blogger is Violet Grey (@v_greyauthor), a submissive feminist. As a straight submissive feminist myself, I’ve often had to deal with people who believe that’s an oxymoron. How can I be feminist yet also enjoy getting spanked by a man? Over the years I’ve given different answers, refining and explaining as I learn more about my own sexual desires and the ways in which the world tries to police them. I’m delighted to welcome Violet Grey today to give her own answer, as well as kick back against some of the toxic ideas that we need to challenge when we’re thinking about submission within relationships.

 Note: this post will discuss a few concepts that may be disturbing to some of you, including the ‘TradWife’ movement, religious policing of bodily autonomy and marital rape. 

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I’m late to the party on this news, but a couple of weeks ago someone released some research about what straight women are looking for in a partner, and how they’re struggling to find someone because they’re intent on ‘marrying up’. There’s loads of bullshit to wade through here, and it’s quite fun sometimes to unpack it all, smearing it liberally all over the floor until you realise there’s nothing of value even hiding in the centre of what is a wholly ridiculous concept. Let’s look at ‘marrying up’ and ‘marrying down’.

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If my other half is beside me when I die at the age of ninety, it will come as quite a surprise. Not just surprising that I’ll have lived until ninety, which is unlikely given my lifestyle. It will come as a surprise that we haven’t yet split up.

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Before I begin, allow me a minute to put off 50% of you: this is not erotic fiction about what to do on your wedding night. It’s not a post about a romantic fuck at the end of your special day, or how to arouse your partner on the wedding night even though you’ve been together five years and you’re bored of the sight of their bollocks by now. If that’s what you’re after, then please pick up your warm white wine and move on to another buffet: this wedding night fuck is dirty.

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