Before I suck dick, I take out my lip ring. I haven’t always done this – some guys used to enjoy the extra sensation, so I’d leave it in. Others felt it made very little difference – a blow job’s a blow job, right? – so I wouldn’t bother taking it out before I began. But my current partner prefers his blow jobs au naturel, so I take out my lip ring. And in doing so, I’ve inadvertently managed to achieve a bizarre sexual ambition.

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Woo! Start of the week! That means you get to throw all last week’s mistakes into the bin and be reborn as a better person. That’s what I like to think, at any rate. In ‘two things‘ this week we’re starting with the good stuff: a competition in which you can win a Doxy die cast, as well as £100 to spend on more amazing sexy things. Then we’ll move on to something that annoyed me: the McVities ‘girls’ night in’ advert.

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Once I stayed in a hotel so ‘intimate’ that if your lover was lying in bed, you could technically look them in the eye while you had your morning shit. Upon arrival in this hell-hole, I realised there wasn’t a loud enough megaphone in the world to adequately amplify the force of my ‘Fuck no!’, but luckily for me my partner is understanding, and equally reluctant for me to see his dump face. We established a toilet etiquette system, so neither of us would be forced to see things we would never be able to unsee.

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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.

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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.

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