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.

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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.

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When I was young – maybe ten or eleven – one of my Mum’s friends gave her an entire display box of Mars bars to say thanks for a favour she’d done. Incredible, right? In case you aren’t familiar with them, Mars bars are tasty sticks of nougat with a layer of chewy caramel on top, enrobed in delicious milk chocolate. And thanks to my Mum’s friend, our family now owned an entire box of them! What?!

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Sad news I’m afraid. It turns out you don’t get a cookie just for saying you support abortion. I bring you this news as someone who’s supported abortion ever since I knew what it was. I know, aren’t I BRILLIANT? It’s not that I’m a genius, it’s just that I’m a really GREAT and AWESOME and KIND and COOL person. Sadly, as yet, no one’s given me a reward for this. Not a medal, not a cookie, not anything.

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How late is too late to start fucking? If you’re not sure of the answer to that, allow me to rephrase it: at what point in your life must you stop seeing your body as something that can bring you sexual pleasure? When I put it like this I hope you can see that the answer is ‘never’ – you’re never too late to start fucking, never too late to enjoy your body. Society feeds us so many lies about sex that it takes a lot of work to unpick them, and the idea that we should at some point give up on our sexual selves is an especially pernicious one. We’re told that you’ll hit a certain age and suddenly stop wanting sex (wrong!), that other people will stop wanting you (wrong!) or that beauty is synonymous with youth (also wrong!). Perhaps most bizarrely, we’re given the impression that our futures are fixed when we’re younger: we decide what – and who – we want to be when we grow up, and these early choices will determine our fate forever. SO WRONG! Unfortunately, just yelling ‘WRONG’ at full volume doesn’t help to calm the nerves of anyone who’s worried that they may have missed the boat. So let’s tackle the age-old question: how late is too late to start enjoying sex?

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