Yesterday I asked Twitter to give me a hand with blog topics – I have a few drafts but none are quite ready, and I was in a bit of a funk and feeling meh about writing in general. Not only did they come through in a powerfully brilliant way, with tonnes of questions that I may well tackle later, but one question in particular leapt out at me and begged for a longform answer. So with apologies to those of you who asked ones I have not answered (I’ll try, I promise), today I’m going to have a crack at this one from Quinn Rhodes: where does foreplay end and sex begin?

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For some reason, when you become intimate with people, they often feel like they have a right to say critical things about the way you look. Men have often felt this way about my body over the years: making comments about my weight, the various places in which hair grows and whether I remove it, the way I dress or carry myself, my use (or rejection) of make up. As if our intimacy constitutes a contract which grants them the right to correct me. Or perhaps, more kindly, like they believe I will welcome the opportunity for self-improvement that they’ve so thoughtfully opened up. Please, for the love of infinite fuck, understand this: I will never welcome these comments. You should never say these things. Your negative comment on my body is never welcome. My body is my body. If you don’t like it, don’t fuck it: that’s the deal.  

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A long time ago on Twitter @sexlovevideo and @onqueerstreet were discussing objectification (re: the bond-coming-out-of-the-sea scene) and asking whether just flipping objectification around could be a feminist act, or whether we should avoid doing to men what the patriarchy has done to women since time immemorial (I am simplifying heavily here – read the thread and post for more). I am firmly in the former camp, let me explain why objectifying men is a feminist act and also what’s hot about fat guys. Pull up a chair and your sex toy of choice.

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Quite a few of us right now are feeling anxious and down. I was very much wrapped in that feeling recently when a friend of mine sent me a virtual hug. It made my heart ache because what I wanted was to hold him – squeeze him really tightly and properly extract every drop of reassurance and comfort from that hug. But picturing that kind of hug weirdly did make me feel a little bit better. So I thought I’d have a crack at doing for hugs what I sometimes do with more erotic topics, and write it in the kind of detail that might help you feel it, if you’d like to. Here’s a virtual hug to which you’re welcome to help yourself, or pass on to a friend who might need one. 

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As part of my run of getting sex toy blog posts written up so you know what to buy before Christmas, let’s get stuck into this quickly so you’ve plenty of time to shove one in your basket. There are two things I love about the Pillow Talk Sassy vibe (kindly sent to me by my site sponsor The Pleasure Garden). The first is its simplicity. The second is that when I first had a wank with it, I came in under thirty seconds.

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