Tag Archives: what is not wrong with you
For the one night stands who were not mistakes
To the one night stands. To the fucks who didn’t love me, or ever need me to love them: a heartfelt thank you. You were not mistakes, but memories.
Men are everywhere: shoot your shot
Men: they’re fucking everywhere, aren’t they? God, I had almost forgotten they existed. I used to walk down streets past men every day and barely give them a second glance, but suddenly now I am starting to notice them. Men. Everywhere. This is a post written loosely off the back of a pep talk I gave to a friend, in which I urged her: shoot your shot. (hat tip to @Oloni for introducing me to that excellent phrase)
Mismatched kinks and nine year itches
How do you navigate a relationship in which you have mismatched kinks? Someone on Patreon suggested this as a blog topic recently, and not only do my partner and I not match perfectly kink-wise, I also really love fulfilling requests. I toyed with the idea of churning out some advice about relationship negotiation or communicating your needs, because when people email me with questions like this that’s exactly what I do – send them links to past blog posts about introducing kink or instruct them to go buy this excellent book which is a great jumping-off point to explore your own desires. But as I was structuring that blog post in my head, a conversation happened which made me realise I could give a far more personal answer.
Anal Sundays part 2: Butt plug accidents
I don’t want to write this post. The very idea of dragging the words from my head makes me want to cringe into a tiny ball. But I’m going to talk about butt plug accidents anyway. My reasons will become clear towards the end of the post but before I begin, a warning and a request. Warning: this post contains scenes that are a bit uncomfortable, especially if you’re not into anal stuff and are easily panicked. Request: if you know me in real life, I would genuinely rather you didn’t read this. It’s mostly because I feel I can be funnier and more honest about this incident if I don’t have to anticipate jokey conversations about it in the pub, during which I have to relive all the feelings that this incident triggered in my fluttery, panic-laden heart. So. If you know me, don’t read this. If you choose to read it anyway, pretend you haven’t. Deal? OK let’s go.
Fuck choosing clothes: these days I wear a uniform
I’ve always been envious of my boyfriend’s uniform. It’s not a literal uniform, you understand, he isn’t a firefighter or an airline pilot. His ‘uniform’ is just a basic outfit that he’s able to wear no matter what the day: jeans, t-shirt, hoodie. In the summer: shorts, t-shirt, shirt. On the off-chance that we’re invited to a wedding, he owns one single suit. He never has to scrabble through his wardrobe trying to decide what to wear.