Category Archives: Ranty ones

My Massive ****: Channel 4 please sort your shit out

There’s a documentary currently running on All4 called ‘My Massive ****’ – it’s about living with a huge dick and dealing with some of the down-sides of having one. I’m not here to rant about the concept (which is interesting), but I think there is a huge problem with the show itself, and it annoyed me enough that I’m bumping today’s planned post to Wednesday, so I can spend a little time yelling at Channel 4. Because although C4 does often have some great sex output, this particular programme is appalling from a consent perspective. It treats some pretty extreme consent violations like they’re one big joke, and fails to mention that in some cases violations of this kind may well be against the law. This problem could (and should) have been spotted and solved long before this show aired. Channel 4, please sort your shit out.


Here’s why I hate the word ‘creampie’

Here’s something that has never happened to me in the whole of my slutty life: after a fuck, a guy pulls his dick out of me and shuffles down the bed, so as to get a better view of all the cum dripping out of my freshly-fucked cunt. Never happened. Ever. This is the shining truth at the heart of why I hate the term ‘creampie’.


Orgasm gap: the real reason why I don’t like getting head

It’s odd that I’ve never written directly about the orgasm gap, let’s rectify that shall we! Here is a conversation that I’ve had more than once:

Me: I don’t like getting head.

Guy: Oh, but you’ve never had it from me!


Your dick can wait, I’m working (a poem)

I love dick, it’s brilliant. Unfortunately, I don’t love it all the time on a 24/7 basis. As a sex blogger, my work is a constant background throb throughout my life: even when I’m not feeling horny, my Tweetdeck spits out pre-scheduled posts from ‘this time last year’ in which I wax lyrical about my love of blow jobs. About a year ago, I got frustrated with the fact that this painted a picture of me as constantly horny for cock, which men (understandably) responded to in the moment, without realising that at that specific point I was actually in the middle of extremely stressful work and probably not up for sexting at that moment in time. All this to say, I wrote a silly poem called ‘your dick can wait, I’m working.’ Don’t take it too seriously, especially if you and I are fucking.


I don’t know you well enough to be fragile in front of you

I’d love to come out with you tonight. You’re fun and funny and sweet and sexy and so many things that I like in a man. But I have to cancel, I’m afraid, because I don’t know you well enough to have a breakdown in your presence. Come back to me next week, when I’ll have finished crumbling. Come next month, when I’ll be well. In three months’ time, when we know each other better, and this stuff doesn’t seem quite so weird. For now, though, I don’t have the energy to be the sexy fun girl you’ve enjoyed on previous dates. Leave me alone for a minute. I need to be fragile in peace.