All Posts – Page 305
What’s your seduction style? Mine’s ‘incompetent and terrifying’
When Valentine’s Day comes around I’m struck by the uniform nature of seduction – if we’ve decided to spend the 14th having a sexy evening in, we’re expected to conjure romance and sexiness using lingerie, rose petals, and a strategically timed raise of the eyebrow. Words like ‘intimate’ and ‘sensual’ are hurled around with casual abandon, as if these are things anyone can just conjure out of thin air. As if all sex starts with a soundtrack and a flurry of silk sheets and voile.
I can’t help but think I’m expected to charm guys into bed with grace and dignity, ideally leaving a waft of some expensive perfume leaving a trail from the doorway to the bed.
That is not my seduction style.
Nipples are the best, please never forget them
God, I love nipples.
Never has a bunch of nerve-endings been collected so neatly together in one place only to be so frequently overlooked as on the human nipple.
Sure, they have a legit purpose – they can sometimes be used to feed babies. Occasionally they can be used to shock facebook users into pressing the ‘OMG get rid of it I am so horrified’ button. After a lot of experimentation, I can tell you that they can’t be used as an alternative to a fingerprint to unlock the iPhone 5.
But what they can be used for is to push me swiftly over the edge into fairly intense arousal.
Is 50 Shades of Grey abuse?
Every now and then I get cc:d into a discussion with a Twitter account called @50shadesabuse, a campaign to “raise awareness that the 50 Shades of Grey series romanticises domestic abuse.” I wouldn’t write about it if it weren’t for the fact that they’re now planning to picket the film premiere, and I keep getting asked what I think. So here goes…
Morning sex is the worst thing ever
Someone told me recently that I should write more clickbaity headlines, so there you go. I’ve dusted off one of my most controversial sex opinions, donned the mantle of a Daily Mail journalist, and now I’m going to try and defend the fact that I really fucking hate morning sex.
My other half
I’ve always hated the phrase ‘my other half’ – it implies a lack of completeness about me. That I, on my own, am never quite full or rounded. Not quite enough.
I hate ‘him indoors,’ which implies the kind of comfortable, settled domesticity that I’ve never really felt with anyone.
I’m ambivalent about ‘boyfriend’ and ‘partner’ feels too grown up.
I panic at the thought of a ‘husband.’
‘Boy’ is becoming tired, and not a natural descriptor for someone in their 30s.
Says ‘girl’ on the net. At the age of 30.
‘Mate’ is either too pally or too like an Attenborough documentary, depending on how you interpret it.
‘Lover’ makes me cringe.
Some days he’s my guy, my dude. That dickhead. And often he’s a twat.
But maybe my obsession with the lack of a proper word belies what the actual problem is with any of these statements: the ‘my’ that comes at the front of them.
No one is ever mine, of course.