In which I try to write about the newest sex toy in my collection – the Zumio – without having to run back to my bedroom for another quick go on it just to ‘check’ it’s as cool as I think it is.

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“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” he tells me, in that deeply affectionate tone which is the only one you can legitimately use when you’re calling someone a fucking weirdo. “You spend all your time either nostalgic for the past, or panicking about the future.”

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Yesterday some poor soul wrote in to the Guardian to ask why his girlfriend masturbates after sex. His assumption was that it was because she was ‘insatiable’, and the agony aunt explained that perhaps she just fancied a second orgasm, or wanted to pleasure herself without the potential anxiety or pressure of doing it in front of him. My answer is a lot more sweary and pretty NSFW, but here goes: maybe the sex made her really, really horny.

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I wear sexy boots because I imagine they make me look better when I’m bent over and being fucked. I wear boots because they make me feel powerful. And I wear boots because without them I am just a person, and a person is a frightening thing to be.

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This might sound a little weird to you, but when I conjure up sex fantasies I, personally, am not in them. Usually they feature a guy (or two, or three) that I’ve cast from a set of characters in my head – army sergeant, angry teacher, dominant dude on a conference call and … a woman who does not look like me. I didn’t realise this was unusual, until I had a conversation with someone about it, then ran some polls on Twitter to ask: do you, yourself, star in your sex fantasies?

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