All Posts – Page 219
Two things: consent apps and hardcore panda sex
Point-missing app developers SaSie have come up with a new ‘affirmative consent app’ – one of many sexual consent apps that fundamentally misunderstand the nature of consent, or the ways in which humans work. That fills the ‘bad news’ column in this week’s ‘Two things‘, but if you’re after some much better news, scroll down to the bottom for some hardcore panda sex.
Undress me: it’s hotter than starting off naked
I don’t want to be naked when we start to fuck: I want you to undress me. I want frotting and cotton – want to rub up against you with a barrier between us. I want to be able to slip a hand inside your t-shirt and feel the soft hair in the small of your back with my palm. I want to feel like we’re going somewhere.
Fucking on the sofa
I hate my sofas. I hate them with every single fibre of my being. I hate them more because I should have anticipated the problems I have had with them, and left them to rot in Marks and Spencer where they belonged. With their shitty sleek design and their evil spindly legs. And their squeaky, ill-placed, uncomfortable cushions.
I cannot fuck on my sofa. And although this might sound like an entitled whine (it is), I want you to be able to learn from my mistakes if you can. Never ever ever buy a sofa you cannot fuck on.
Getting over your ex ain’t easy
I’ve lost count now of the number of exes I’ve stared at across a pub table and thought ‘God, I wish you were inside me right now.’ Chances are if I’ve fucked you once I’ll probably be up for another go, and having a casual pint with you and discussing your job/wedding/newborn baby is not going to do anything to help distract me from the fact that I once tasted your dick and it was goooood. But this isn’t about ex-lust, it’s about getting over your ex. It’s about the feeling you get when someone amazing has gone, and it feels like nothing will ever fill the cavernous, throbbing hole bored straight through your heart.
Relationship insecurity: why are you with me?
If I’m certain of anything about myself it’s this: I am a fucking nightmare. Anxiety means I am constantly examining every detail to see what might be right and wrong with my life. No – scratch that – every detail of what might be wrong. What’s right gets dumped on the ‘finished’ pile, and rarely given more time than a cursory ‘hooray’ before it’s time to move onto the next thing. Leaving my brain free to focus on unpaid bills, people I may have offended, and a mountain of relationship insecurity on the side.