I’ve seen and read a lot of stuff in my life that was shocking. From the mild things that made me feel a bit queasy, to the more extreme stuff that has given me the shakes or prevented me from sleeping. However, I’m lucky enough that I don’t have PTSD, or any other significant issues that would cause me to be seriously affected by this. The worst I get is anxiety, and that’s more related to my to-do list than my reading habits.
So. Lucky me.
If you’d asked me five years ago whether we should print trigger warnings on books, films, and other media, in order to warn people who could be seriously adversely affected, I’d probably have accused you of trying to sneak in some censorship. What’s more, as a sex writer I’d have told you that my sexual fantasies are sometimes dark, and that you should take that as read when you read this blog.
Surprise! I was wrong.
Today I have an awesome bonus guest blog – Danielle Meaney is an awesome blogger, and she’d like to have a word about bisexuality.
Still Not Straight
I’ve watched with glee as attitudes towards the LGBT community have monumentally shifted in recent years. Last week’s decision by the US Supreme Court to allow nationwide same sex marriages is just one act in a long list of changes that mean more acceptance and tolerance for those that come under the LGBT banner, and by ‘those’, I mean ‘us’.
However, I feel like a forgotten member of the LGBT community; that really I have no right to identify myself as one of them, because no one else sees me as such. At least, not anymore.
The first time someone put their face in my crotch and grinned at the strong, heady, end-of-the-day scent of my cunt, it was a bit of a revelation. I’d always assumed that the best state for a cunt to be in was clean as a whistle – and by clean I mean utterly stripped of character, cleansed, perfumed, and presented so perfectly that you wouldn’t be able to tell one neat one from another.
Uniformity and cleanliness: as if novelty and natural scent can never be as sexy as something personal.
Obviously that’s not true, and what’s more it’s a bit upsetting that we’re so often told to eradicate any hint of scent from our personal bits, lest our lovers should get their faces close and get to do that sexy *sniff* *sigh* thing that shows just how erotic our cunt smell can be.
Today I’m going to talk about knicker-sniffing, and I should warn you that this blog’s going to go into a fair bit of detail about dirty pants, as well as contain minor plot-based spoilers for Orange Is The New Black. Which is, umm, quite the combination.