Woo! Christmas! The season of mince pies, mulled wine, and trying to avoid awkward questions from relatives who have an opinion on your love life! More than that, it is the season where many online shops decide to split all of their products into ‘men versus women’, so they can provide you with sexist Christmas gift lists – ‘The Ultimate Christmas Gifts For Her’ and ‘Top Presents For Him’ etc – as a way of grabbing search traffic and all of your sweet, sweet cash. I had a look at sexist Christmas gift lists in 2013, but it’s time for an update. Let’s see what 2016 – aka The Worst Year, has to offer.
This week, incompetent bellend Jeremy Hunt decided to wade in on the issue of teenagers sexting. This apparently terrifying activity could, he claimed, be stopped once and for all by blocking nude images from/to phones owned by under-18s, or using language filters to prevent cyberbullying.
“There is a lot of evidence that the technology industry, if they put their mind to it, can do really smart things,” he babbled, ignorantly.
Better people than I have already explained why, from a technology perspective, that’s absolute bullshit. But even if it were possible, it’s a ridiculous thing to do.
There are plenty of advice articles on how to fuck. They’ll give instructions on what to do, where to touch, and – if you’re lucky – how to find out exactly what will make your partner scream ‘HOLY FUCK YES’ in the middle of an orgasmic spasm.
But I’m a connoisseur of a role that’s often painted as ‘passive’: I like to fuck, but more than that I like to get fucked. And there are many different, active ways to get fucked: it’s not just a case of lying there like a cat that’s got some particularly salty cream. Let me take you through a few filthy examples…
Two things this week features a gorgeous personal essay about one woman’s porn journey, discovering first erotica and then the internet. That’s my favourite thing of this week, and I haven’t found anything super-bad to highlight, so instead I’m going to take the piss out of a vibrator, because sometimes that is fun to do.
Relationships are often full of uncertainty. We meet someone we like, we fall for them, and we wonder – what exactly are they to me? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Fuck buddy? Lover? Person-I’m-dating-temporarily? The good people – the ones who are decent and kind and open and trustworthy – will either know what you are or they’ll help you work it out. You’ll have those giggling deep conversations over a bottle of wine or a pot of coffee at 8 am, and you’ll say:
“What are we, exactly? Lovers, fuck buddies, boyfriends or…?”