Most of the ones that got away did so because of timing.

Paul (not his real name, but he looked like a Paul. Or a Peter. Or a Stephen – with a ‘ph’ not a ‘v’) will never know just how perfectly wrong his timing was.

I met Paul in a beer garden. Again, most of the ones that got away escaped from beer gardens. Or pub lounges, if the weather was shitty. Metaphorically slipping out of the window when I was busy fucking someone else in the toilet.

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Today I’m thinking about butter. Which is, I know, not the ideal lube. Especially if you’re vegan.

But today I’m thinking about butter for lube.

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…and the answers made me weep tears of joy. A couple of weeks ago, the lovely people at Godemiche (who make an incredible range of cool dildos) gave me a handmade, custom dildo to give away. To enter, all people had to do was complete the sentence:

‘If I were a dildo scientist, I’d make…’ 

We had some hilarious, beautiful and ingenious answers. Below is a selection of highlights, as well as the five runners-up. Please vote for your favourite, and the person with the most votes at midnight on Monday 1st August will receive the gorgeous custom dildo pictured above.

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This blog post – part 2 in a series of… hmm… I’m not sure how many yet – talks about some mental health stuff, including Dark Thoughts and general misery. If that’s likely to disturb you please don’t read on. 

When you’re mad, you’re allowed to say the word ‘mad’ – at least in your own head. You’re allowed to tell yourself: ‘don’t think like that, it’s mad. That’s what got you here in the first place.’ When you’re mad, you’re taught to examine your thoughts carefully – writing them down if necessary – so you can pick over the alien carcass of insanity that your brain has spat out. Pulling the meat (‘I’m worried I can’t have sex’) from the bones that you’re meant to identify and discard (‘If I can’t have sex I may as well die’).

I am being medicated into compliance. 

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Here’s fun: SSRIs. Also referred to as ‘anti-depressants’, although sometimes used for things on top of/combined with depression. I’ve talked a bit before about my anxiety – specifically the way in which anxiety affects how I fuck. It’s a massive pain in the arse, and it’s not exactly the kind of thing I can easily dismiss by choosing not to care about it.

Still. I’m here, and I’m not too bad most of the time, so I’m lucky.

But I’m also on pills, and I fucking hate them with every fibre of my being.

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