Sorry to be blunt, but I don’t need advice on my feelings. I don’t want to be rude or cruel here – I fully understand the desire to give advice, if you think you can be helpful. And I recognise that your desire to help comes from a lovely place. Occasionally I will make very specific requests for advice or input, but the vast majority of the time, I do not write my sex blog in order to gather advice from strangers.

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Back in the day, I used to get annoyed with sex toy companies who were obsessed with making their vibrators ‘cute’. I was pissed off with the assumption that I wouldn’t have a wank unless someone had completely desexualised a dildo by slapping a rabbit on the front of it. Or a dolphin. Or Hello Kitty. I think I was mostly annoyed because this masturbatory menagerie only seemed to gather around toys aimed at women: I’ve never seen Fleshlight slap an adorable squirrel or a pair of googly eyes onto one of their dick sheaths. You can read my 12-year-old cute sex toys rant here if you like, but only if you remember that I had a lot of anger back then, was wildly cisnormative, and on balance almost certainly wrong. Because today I am here to sing the praises of a sex toy that is a) capable of delivering some very impressive wanks and b) undeniably cute as all fuck. Allow me to introduce the Doxy Go.

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I don’t think I’m a very fun person at the moment, let’s start there. I used to be this irritatingly bouncy, joy-filled fucker who skipped from social event to social event with the words “isn’t this BRILLIANT” on my lips. I loved my friends, found pleasure in so many little things, and although life was often underscored by a pulsing beat of anxiety, usually I could keep that at bay with the promise of a pint in the sunshine and a decent playlist in my headphones as I stomped down the street to reach it.

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I’m so honoured to bring you this guest blog today – a powerfully intimate account of a D/s couple’s private collaring ceremony. It’s written by the fabulous Komplicated Kitty, who’s contributed some amazing guest blogs before about pet play, being a Slutty Cinderella, and being pushed to the edge of your kinky limits. Today she’s here to give an insight into how she and her husband chose to formalise their 24/7 dynamic, and the rituals they came up with to seal their commitment.

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As I explained only a couple of weeks ago, I try not to make a habit out of eagerly anticipating a message from any given man. I don’t like checking my phone constantly on the off-chance that some guy decides he wants me. Regular readers know I always introduce these posts by saying ‘this… BUT’ though, so here comes the ‘BUT’… recently I’ve found myself itching to hear from somebody in particular. Refreshing my email (yes, I use email, I am forty one years of age and I like to ramble so email is my medium: deal with it, Zoomers) hoping for any kind of contact.

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