The last couple of times I had sex, I cried afterwards. I know, this blog post sounds like it’s going to be a little bit horrible: it is. Sorry about that. Sometimes life is full of hot fucking and joyful blow jobs, and sometimes… well, sometimes it is stress and panic and crying after sex.

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For a brief period in my otherwise sofa-based life, I used to go running. Stop laughing at the back. My boyfriend at the time was really into his running, and his enthusiasm for this activity infected me to the point where roughly three times per week I would put on my trainers and gamely wheeze my way along a river while he ran gracefully in front. It was absolutely horrible. Still. Occasionally – VERY occasionally – I managed to get into stride. For a few brief seconds, I’d bounce lightly on my feet, propel myself with power, and breath like a normal person. During those times I got a teeny flash of joy, and a revelation – this is what it must feel like to be GOOD at this! I got the same feeling recently, when going on top during a shag. The perfect rhythm, the right amount of bounce, and a sense that this is what it must feel like to be GOOD at this.

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Compersion: the feeling you get when you see a person you love being really, incredibly happy with someone who isn’t you. It’s an awesome word, which I was introduced to by polyamorous friends. They explained to me that compersion is how they feel when a loved one is with (fucking, loving, hanging out with) someone else who makes them happy. It’s the opposite of jealousy, with which I’m much more familiar: the feeling I get when the person I love is fucking someone else and it makes me want to curl into a ball and weep until I shrivel and die.

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I strive to be a good person. I want most people to walk away from interactions they have with me thinking ‘oh, she was nice.’ Whether through anxiety, paranoia or genuine desperation to be liked, I try quite hard to not piss good people off.

But I also probably want your boyfriend to finger me.

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I like things that are new and different, and sex toys that do stuff I haven’t felt before. That doesn’t mean that all those sex toys will get me off: if I wanted a reliable, functional, powerful wank then I would never deviate from my Doxy. But I like sex toys that make me feel new things. The Queen Bee is one of those sex toys, and thanks to the fact that I work with the company, I got to play with an early version and then write about it before other people get their hands on one, so I am going to grasp this opportunity with… well, with one hand. The hand I am not currently using to hold the Queen Bee to my clit. Let us commence.

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