Today I spotted an article in the Independent that told me porn was having a ‘terrifying’ impact on men. Naturally, I clicked on the link to see just what horrors were pouring forth from the screen and into the laps of vulnerable guys. But hidden within it was something I found quite interesting…

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Sex toys for men: I love them, some people hate them, but every sex and relationships columnist has to have an opinion on them. And some of those opinions are bullshit. While I’ll often get very shouty about facts, very rarely would I tell someone that their opinion is bullshit, but in the case of male sex toys I am comfortable doing this. Because if you think that sex toys for men are somehow less acceptable than sex toys for anyone else, chances are you’re doing this based on either bad facts or an incomplete grasp of the benefits of sex toys. Not only are you catastrophically wrong, you’re also doing an entirely unnecessary harm.

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There are two threads to the story I want to tell today. The first thread is so obvious it feels almost trite to mention it: I want to tell you about a particularly brilliant g-spot dildo, which stimulates me in a way not many others do. The second thread is about being hand-fucked. Not ‘wanked off’, not ‘masturbated’: being hand-fucked. Sometimes I write fucking stories that are about speed or enthusiasm or energy. I’ll tell you that this or that fuck was intense, or fun, or orgasmic. This fuck, though? This fuck was thorough.

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I’m delighted to be able to present you with an Easter-themed post today, courtesy of the fantastic Jenny Guérin (who you can follow on Twitter here). Jenny has written here for me before about withdrawing consent in a BDSM scene – and how it’s far easier than the people who write UK porn laws seem to think. Today she’s tackling a challenge I’d love to see more people have a go at: swapping mainstream porn for more ethical porn. How did Jenny do with her personal challenge of giving up mainstream porn for lent?

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Most of us dread being asked “what are you thinking?” – it’s like a bucket of cold water chucked on you from the sky, interrupting whatever train of thought you were pursuing. Inviting you to pluck the most recent flash of memory or fantasy from your head, and spit it out into the world. Without context, without nuance. It’s just there. Sometimes I am thinking thoughts so bizarre that I wouldn’t want him to hear them unprepared. Other thoughts are so dark that I wouldn’t voice them at all. But I like that he asks. I love that he asks. And for that, he deserves answers.

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