Note: I wrote this one quite a while ago, and it happened even longer ago. 

His flat is filled with mirrors, which is helpful for two people who really love watching ourselves fuck. He plays Massive Attack at just the right volume, which is great for two people who really like fucking to Massive Attack. And as I hold myself up on the corner of the kitchen counter, one foot planted on the surface and another on the shelf nearby, holding my cunt at the perfect height for him to slam his cock home, he growls: “What do you say?” And I tell him, breathlessly, “thank you.”

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So this guy and I broke up, and I’m sad that we won’t get to play the bracelet game any more. Does that make me an arsehole? That upon breaking up with a good, kind man the thought which burns brightest in my mind isn’t guilt or soppiness but horny nostalgia? I don’t know. But as he said to me at the end, with characteristic grace: at least we were honest with each other. We were. I honestly wanted to shag him and get drunk and play Magic: the Gathering, he honestly wanted something more. I am, honestly, a bit of an arsehole right now.

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It wasn’t that my body was wrong, for a start. Over the course of our relationship I changed a lot – sometimes I looked fucking spectacular and other times I looked crap. Same with him. I fancied the fuck out of him, always, regardless of what shape or size his body was or how he’d chosen to dress it today. We lived, we grew, we changed: our bodies could never have been the reason why we broke up.

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There’s a question on OKCupid along the lines of ‘how do you prefer to sleep with a partner?’ – to check whether you like sleeping in your own space in the bed, or entwined with the other person like a pair of humping snakes. I am very much of the opinion that sleep is sacred, and if you try to hug me when it’s bedtime I am liable to genuinely cry. I’m not saying ‘don’t touch me in bed’, because sometimes we’re gonna want to fuck. But if sleep is top of the agenda, I cannot stress this enough: get off me.

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It probably won’t shock you to learn that I’m not much of a spiritual or superstitious person. Apart from the occasional knock on wood or crossing of fingers (which I do despite knowing it’ll have absolutely zero impact on the universe), I am a pretty boring, sceptical person. I don’t think I’ve ever slept with someone who’s really superstitious either. So please, as you read the following fantastic guest post from Zapatica about an incredibly superstitious guy she slept with, imagine my jaw fully on the floor and me yelling ‘RUN’ like in a horror movie. She’s been here before to discuss ending a long-term booty call, and I’m delighted to welcome her back – with her magical soul-hexing pussy…

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