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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When I arrive at the door, we kiss and hug and make all the noises you make during plague time: it’s so good to see you. I’m so glad you came. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. There’s wine in my bag, something smells delicious in the kitchen and earlier this week I texted him ‘pls can you tie me up?’ and he replied with ‘yes, yes I can’ so I’m fizzing. But somewhere in the back of my mind there’s a nagging girl who reminds me that ‘support bubbles‘ can impact the speed and intensity with which you embark on new relationships.

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I don’t sleep in our bedroom any more, I decamped to the spare room months ago. There are too many ghosts in our bedroom now, I do not like being in it. The room in which my ex-boyfriend used to work (and play, and sleep, and live) has long since been closed off: I use the space for drying laundry, but the door to it is firmly shut unless I’m hanging socks. This house is riddled with shadow-versions of him, and most of them congregate in there.

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“I’m not 17, I’m a grown-arse woman. I just regularly make childish mistakes.”

– Tracey, Chewing Gum

In today’s blog, I am going to tell you about a ridiculous, embarrassing mistake. The first person I told was my good pal Jessica, who greeted this story with howls of laughter followed by ‘you’re definitely going to tell the blog this, aren’t you? You HAVE to.’ And yeah… I am committed to telling you my silliest fuckups as well as my sexiest fucks, so I guess I do have to. This is a story about chewing gum, and the question of how soon in a budding relationship is too soon to be a fuckup.

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