I do a lot of press to promote this site. Not just interviews with journalists – the word ‘press’ basically covers any and everything that I do for free to give other people content and help me promote my work: interviews, podcasts, quotes for articles, and other bits and pieces. I’m totally cool with doing this, it is the primary (and most valuable) method of promoting what I do. But with one caveat: it’s only valuable if people actually link. Understandably, many sites are reluctant to link to adult websites, so I thought I’d write a quick overview on how to do it ethically, and why it’s so important.
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.
This is a love story, but it’s not the one you think. She’s been longing for him for what feels like forever, and they are finally going to meet. That aching, yearning, why-the-fuck-can’t-we-fuck feeling has charged all of the conversations I’ve had with her for the last six months.
This might sound weird, but I’m actually pretty sick of talking about consent. As a fan of sex, what I really want to talk about is desire. Want. Lust. Need. Craving. But I can’t talk about all those cool things without also having to explain the basics of consent. Because some pricks still cannot drag themselves over this, the lowest possible bar. Consent! Fuck my life! It’s the most boring sexual basic! Consent is vital, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t also dull. Like that bit at the start of a cupcake recipe where they tell you what temperature you should set your oven to – it’s not the most interesting part of the recipe, but without it you can’t make cakes.
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.