I’ve had a lot of internet fights in my time. I cut my teeth on an incredibly racist and misogynist forum back in the days before Twitter, then I joined Twitter, then I started to blog. Fight after fight after fight – I’ve kicked off at so many people! People who were causing harm, and others who were trying to tell me that I was causing harm. Sometimes I’ve argued well, sometimes badly. Sometimes I am right, often wrong. Some things I’ve said have been justified, others terrible. You get the idea. At no point during any of these fights did I ever intend to cause harm. But that doesn’t mean no harm was ever caused.
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.
You can keep your restaurants and posh jewellery, in my house we’re playing Valentine’s Day sex games. While I’d love to be super aloof and pretend it’s because traditional romance is beneath me, the fact is that my partner and I just really like playing sex games. If offered a romantic candlelit meal, we’d far rather use those candles for something more depraved. Depending on whether it arrives in time, I’m hoping my own Valentine’s Day will be spent getting acquainted with a brand new fuck machine. If it doesn’t arrive in time, no harm done. We’ll probably be doing one of the following things instead…