Just putting it out there: it is very cool and fun to date me. I promise. No, it’s not a total nightmare of reading posts about yourself and wondering whether you’ll get a good write-up, or listening to me bang on about butt plug brands until you’re entirely turned off butt plugs forever. It’s really cool and fun, and I am not in any way a total shambles.

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We’re sitting on the balcony in the candlelight, at two o’clock in the morning: my ex and I. And I do not say any of the things I want to say, because there’s no point saying them now. We chat and laugh and are gentle with each other, and he smells really good and he’s beautiful. So I don’t say ‘what the fuck’ or ‘Jesus Christ’ or ‘mate, I fucking loved you.’ When you hang out with your ex, there are certain things you’re just not meant to say.

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It’s not every day that a guest blog gets me right in the heart as well as the knickers, but today’s amazing post by Emilia Romero did exactly that. It’s about freedom and loss and finding yourself, the end of a marriage and the beginning of a love of BDSM. It’s beautiful and hot and painful in all the best ways, and I’m honoured that she’s chosen to share it here.

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I stumble in the front door, drenched to the skin from a long and glorious cycle through central London, fighting the downpour and dodging past Boris bikes, punk tunes blasting into my left ear. Exhausted and satisfied and aching all over: my cunt hurts from getting well and truly fucked. As I walk in, I’m accosted by my conscience, who is as steaming angry as I am post-fuck happy, with the words ‘you fucked your ex’ on its lips.

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Look look! I’ve found it! After years of sifting through terrible dating ‘systems’ and advice that amounts to ‘treat women like they’re vending machines‘, I think I’ve found the worst online dating strategy of all time. One that misses almost every conceivable mark. Are you ready? Here it is…

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