Category Archives: Boys I’ve had

Top 4 break-up nightmares: how does YOUR brain process heartbreak?

I’m having a lot of nightmares at the moment. Don’t feel sorry for me, if I were to write posts purely to gain sympathy I’d find far more interesting things to pin them on. I think the nightmares – like clockwork, at 4am, unless I take a sleeping tablet – are a way of processing a lot of break-up sadness so that during the day I can get on with being my proactive, practical self. They are horrible, but they’re also good in a way because when I wake up I realise that the world holds far more promise and possibility than my dreaming brain would have me believe. I also reckon I’m not the only one who has struggled with some of this after a break up so I thought I’d get some decent content out of ranking them from best to worst. Here are my top 4 break-up nightmares.

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Let’s make a trifle!

In the last few weeks before I broke up with the love of my life, he expressed a vague desire to make a trifle. And oh God I was so excited. He told me that he wanted to make a trifle.

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The best aphrodisiac? Your dirty little secrets

What’s the best aphrodisiac in the entire world? Contrary to opinion, I don’t think it comes in food form. Nor is it based on how you look. It’s not your tits or arse or eyes or even hands. Not the way you walk or your sexy accent or the sounds you make when your dick throbs painfully against the inside of your boxer shorts. The quickest way to turn me on is to tell me your dirty little secrets.

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When you introduce your partner to your friends

It may be easy to introduce your partner to your friends if you’re dating someone with infinite swagger. But my partner is often quite shy. When I introduce him to my friends, he’s nervous and unsure – will they like him? Will they see in him what I do? Will the start of the evening – all shuffled feet and polite chitchat and coughing and staring at phones – eventually meld into one big conversation, when he gets swallowed into the group until no one can remember that he only met them four hours ago?

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Pedestals and playfulness: notes on my muse

He breezes into the kitchen, grins at me in a self-satisfied way and proudly tells me “look!” before whipping out his cock. And I think ‘Ahh… my muse.’ My beloved muse. My weird, nerdy, playful, dodgy, nervous wreck of a muse.

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