Tag Archives: relationships
Up your game!
I read this one to Patreons in December, and it’s long, so here’s this post as audio if you prefer.
I have a message here for men. And before I get stuck into it, I’ll clarify (as I always have to) that obviously I don’t mean all men. In fact this time I don’t even mean ‘most’ men. I am speaking very precisely to single, straight/bi/pan men in London between the ages of about 30 and 50. My message is this: up your game.
This time it’s different
This time he comes to mine to do the stuff swap, I won’t put the effort in to meet him. He comes to my place, and he texts on the way: do you want me to just leave it at the door? No.
“Point your toes”: he fucked me like he owned me
Sometimes I feel like part of my body still belongs to him.
Throughout my life I’ve been fucked in so many different ways: like I’m precious; like I’m trash; like they’re hungry and I’m the nearest hot meal… but only one or two men have ever fucked me like my flesh was theirs by right. Fucked me like they owned me. As if my body – my cunt, my thighs, my hands, my mouth, my heart – belonged to them exactly as much as their own. He was one of them.
You can’t build love on lies
When I was young, my family used to be big followers of soaps: Neighbours, Eastenders, Coronation Street. I can’t remember what else there was to do on evenings in the nineties besides yell things at the telly as ludicrous fictional characters cocked up their lives in ever more creative ways. Perhaps this is testament to how my Mum raised me, but when I watched soaps, the thing that got me most irate was how terrible people were at just fucking talking to each other.
These things made me feel loved
Some men have worried in the past that they’re not able to dispense exactly the kind of love that I crave – i.e. relentless praise, on an almost minute-by-minute basis, lest I wilt like a houseplant you’ve forgotten to water. To be honest, I often find myself worrying about this too. In an ideal world I’d be the recipient of an almost constant stream of written, physical and verbal encouragement – reminders that I’m sexy, fun, valid, wanted, loved. A good girl. I need this kind of thing so much that those I rely on to help me feel loved might think it borderline sarcastic to plough on even during the (frequent) periods when I’m not doing much to deserve it. I understand this. But there are other ways to make me feel loved, and one of the ways I practice love in return is by noticing and mentioning them…