I love Doctor Nerdlove. He’s a brilliant advice columnist whose responses often give me a new perspective on love and relationships. He is kind and patient, but willing to call someone on their bullshit when that is required. This response to a writer who is bitter about women was especially exceptional. I’m opening with a thorough arse-kissing because for the first time in ages I disagree with something he wrote. It’s a really old post, and normally I wouldn’t highlight those because who gives a fuck that I disagree with something that someone wrote ten years ago? I want to discuss it, though, because the emotional wail of anguish that sits at the heart of why I disagree has been on my mind a lot lately. I don’t want to do that without first telling you how much I love his work, though. Tl;dr – I’m using an old Doctor Nerdlove post as the springboard for a rant, but you should know I massively respect him and if he ever finds himself in London I will buy him a pint and a pasty by way of apology. Let’s talk about compromise in relationships, and why I never want anyone to ‘settle’ for me.

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I like to think the world has moved on since I started sex blogging nearly fifteen years ago, but there are some terrible ideas that still won’t die. One of these is the false belief that if you’re in a monogamous relationship, you owe your partner a certain amount of sex to prevent them from straying. If you’re busy/tired/overworked? Just make a sex schedule! Set aside a specific time and make yourself do it, even if you aren’t in the mood. While I’m all up for scheduling quality time or date nights, I find the idea of ‘scheduled sex’ pretty grim. Because even if you love the person who wants it, the fact remains that you never have to have sex if you don’t want to.

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I roll on top of him first thing in the morning. He’s awake, but pretending not to be. As I grip his dick and squeeze gently just below the coronal ridge, it pulses hotter and harder in the palm of my hand. When I start to stroke it, a smile flickers briefly at the corner of his lips. He suppresses it, then feigns a still-sleepy half-stretch to make the angles easier for me to straddle him and hop aboard.

This post is not consensual non-consent. Everything that happens is extremely consensual. However, the fantasy I tell this guy while we’re in bed does have notes of CNC, coercion and fucking-as-punishment. I maintain that it is not a CNC story, rather it is a consensual story about two people who enjoy playing in this fantasy space. It’s a hill my career will probably die upon at some point, but for what it’s worth I think it’s more than possible to present these fantasies in an ethical way, and part of doing that means warning you that you’re about to read something in this vein. 

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One of the things I often hear guys complain about when it comes to dating is that they got rejected (or sometimes ghosted) without understanding why. They wouldn’t mind a ‘no’ if there was some obvious incompatibility, but as far as they’re concerned they didn’t do anything ‘wrong’. Bear with me here dudes, because you might not like my answer, but if you’re earnestly asking this question then I have a few explanations you could consider.

As with all of my posts, this one is heavily influenced by my experience – I am mainly into men so my perspective comes from there. I also want to acknowledge that one of the reasons I struggled when dating recently was because my heart wasn’t in it. This was in large part down to personal shit, which I addressed a little in this post – it’s not you, it’s me. So the following piece doesn’t tell the full story of why I struggled to connect with anyone, and you should weigh it accordingly. I almost didn’t publish it at all, but in the end I decided that it still covers some useful ground that addresses a complaint I’ve heard a fair bit from guys in the comment section, and my response might be useful to those of you who are asking in earnest. Equally (or perhaps more) importantly, I hope it will be reassuring to women who repeatedly come up against the same problems I do.

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Partway through a kiss – a good one, a promising one – she breaks off and holds her face close to his. Whispers:

“Just so you know, I don’t fuck on the first date.”

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