Tag Archives: what is not wrong with you
Guest blog: Fucking you has made me love my body
Sorry, can’t write intro to this one, I have melted into a warm puddle of quim and happiness. Please welcome @EmiliaRomero22, she who lost her husband and found BDSM, and found joy in her body through camming – she’s back with a love letter to her body, and to the friend who helped her find delight in it again.
Don’t be cool, be desperate
If someone were to ask me what I bring to the table, sex-wise, I wouldn’t mention specific parts of my body. My body is fine, my hair is fine, my clothes are basically clothes. I like to think I’ve got a pretty filthy grin, but apart from that my physicality is nothing to either write home or pen a strongly-worded letter of complaint about. So if we’re having sex, what I’m bringing to the party isn’t my body, it’s my attitude. To be blunt: my enthusiasm.
Guest blog: Fucking in my forties
The fabulous @EuphemiseThis is back! And she almost needs no introduction, because she’s written so much hot and brilliant stuff here before – velvet fetishes, getting spanked by a couple, her first threesome… she’s packed a hell of a lot of fun into an incredibly sexy life so far. Today she’s here to talk about her changing relationship to her body as she gets older, challenging some of the bullshit about what ‘should’ be, and sharing a bit of the joy of fucking in her forties.
Guest blog: Menopause horn – the sex surge is real
We don’t talk about about the menopause and sex. And we definitely don’t talk enough about the fact that some people experience increased horn when they enter the menopause – as evidenced by the fact that as I was researching where to link to from this post, the NHS website entry for ‘menopause’ only lists ‘low libido’ as a possible symptom rather than a sex surge. Today’s fantastic guest blogger, Elena Bennett, is here to give you her story though: that of a woman with intense, delicious, powerful menopause horn. Take it away Elena!
The walk of shame
They call it the walk of shame but you know damn well it’s a victory march. The morning after you’ve got laid, as you drag your fuck-tired body to the bus stop, or the tube, or the café round the corner which will furnish you with a bacon butty for the long journey home, you know: this is not shame, it is glory.