“I wish I could take it away,” he says. My friend who doesn’t know what to do with my sad feelings. He tells me, with sincerity: “I wish I could take some of this away for you.”

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Sorry to be blunt, but I don’t need advice on my feelings. I don’t want to be rude or cruel here – I fully understand the desire to give advice, if you think you can be helpful. And I recognise that your desire to help comes from a lovely place. Occasionally I will make very specific requests for advice or input, but the vast majority of the time, I do not write my sex blog in order to gather advice from strangers.

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I don’t think I’m a very fun person at the moment, let’s start there. I used to be this irritatingly bouncy, joy-filled fucker who skipped from social event to social event with the words “isn’t this BRILLIANT” on my lips. I loved my friends, found pleasure in so many little things, and although life was often underscored by a pulsing beat of anxiety, usually I could keep that at bay with the promise of a pint in the sunshine and a decent playlist in my headphones as I stomped down the street to reach it.

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I’ve mentioned this once or twice before, but never really allowed myself the pleasure of diving into it. I have time today, though, and this topic is all about taking your sweet time. Let’s talk about kissing at the speed of consent.

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As I explained only a couple of weeks ago, I try not to make a habit out of eagerly anticipating a message from any given man. I don’t like checking my phone constantly on the off-chance that some guy decides he wants me. Regular readers know I always introduce these posts by saying ‘this… BUT’ though, so here comes the ‘BUT’… recently I’ve found myself itching to hear from somebody in particular. Refreshing my email (yes, I use email, I am forty one years of age and I like to ramble so email is my medium: deal with it, Zoomers) hoping for any kind of contact.

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