I used to yo-yo break up with my ex-ex. Number eight. The guy I met at university and loved for many years (whose dark dark eyes and devious filth you can read about in my first book if you’re interested). We had our problems, but we also had our passion. Long, tortured silences in the middle of arguments that would stretch on for what felt like hours, while each of us rummaged in our equally-wordy minds for the perfect phrase that would lift the blanket of sadness. But words can’t always do the work: sometimes, most times, the physical yearning would beat our mouths to the punch, and one of us would reach out to touch the other. That touch would set us both on fire, then we’d fuck like the fucking would fix it.
The first time my heart was broken – and I say this with a fairly solid definition of what heartbreak feels like for me, and how it’s different to a simple, everyday hurt – it felt like the world was going to end. There was too much emotion to hold inside my fragile body, and it stayed for so long that I couldn’t conceive of the possibility that one day it wouldn’t be there any more. This heartbreak – puny and pathetic now I come to think about it – was caused by the wandering, horny eye of an eighteen-year-old boy.
I had a different plan for today. I had a different blog post for today. And seriously, tune in next week on Sunday because it’s lovely – cute and uplifting and warm and happy and Stuart’s drawn a gorgeous image to go with it. I had a very different plan for today.
I find armpit hair incredibly sexy. I have always adored the way it frames and accents the shoulders and arms of someone I’m fucking – the sight of a hot dude lounging topless or naked, arms folded behind his head and armpit hair adding a touch of colour to draw attention to the curve of where his chest meets his shoulders makes me shudder and want to bury my face in him. But armpit hair is sexy on me too, not just for how it looks but how it makes me feel. (more…)
This one’s fiction, which will hopefully become obvious when we start talking about wormholes. I’ve had it in drafts for absolutely ages, and I am still not entirely sure it’s right, but I’m running a bit short on stuff at the moment, so please enjoy this dimension-jumping, universe-splitting love(?) story.
She’s been staring at him for weeks over sticky pub tables and board games and jokes. Each time she catches his eye there’s this absurd teenage chest-blush feeling – the warmth of nurturing a crush and holding it close to your heart. The debate – if you can even call it a ‘debate’ – that she’s having with herself about asking him out, is all part and parcel of the fun of it. Will they? Won’t they?