Tag Archives: what is not wrong with you
All the beautiful ways your body changes
On Sunday morning when I slipped back into bed, I realised something: your body changes on a daily basis, and so I will never know every inch of it. It is always new.
From the scent of you, to the heat you radiate, to the marks and curves that come and go: I will never know every detail of your body.
Do you indulge in sensual masturbation?
I’ve wanted to write about sensual masturbation for a really, really long time. This rant has taken about three months to percolate in my mind, and eventually boil over – I estimate that’s roughly 2.5 months longer than the total time I’ve spent wanking in my entire adult life.
What are real men and how can I spot one in the wild?
Let me tell you something about real men: real men cry. They weep giant, fist-sized tears of misery. They collect them in a bucket, which they’ll later use to drown an angry bear.
Pay attention: it’s important. Because just as we’re told that ‘real women’ have curves, so we’re also spun lines about which men count as ‘real’.
Study the signs, remember them. Then burn your laptop lest this fall into enemy hands.
My first date was as incompetent as you’d expect
How should I define my first date? There were lots of experiences with boys long before I was ever formally asked to the cinema, or for dinner, or whatever it is people do when they’re not just desperately trying to rummage in each other’s pants.
The first time I kissed a guy (on the lips, no snogging or anything) I was at the swimming pool. Our friends had all got together for an afternoon of splashing around, and I was determined that I’d come home with a boyfriend. The proto-boyfriend, you understand – not a real one. The one you get when you ask your best mate to just go around all the boys who seem vaguely willing and ask them in turn: “Will you go out with my friend?”
Sometimes it’s my job to disgust you
Sometimes I want to arouse you. Sometimes I want to rant at you. I always want to entertain you. But occasionally I want to disgust you.
Partly because I think it’s important to highlight the fucking weird things we all do sometimes, because it makes everyone else feel a bit less weird about themselves. Partly because we’re constantly – constantly – told that experimenting with our bodies or enjoying them is dirty and bad and wrong (especially if we’re women).
But mostly because so much of what we think about sex is based on knee-jerk reactions, and when our knee-jerk reaction is one of disgust it’s worth examining why we feel disgusted. Is there a rational reason for it? Or is it, like that dildo made from human ashes, just something we condemn because our gut tells us we should?