Category Archives: Ranty ones
No blog today
Every week I post new blogs on Wednesday and Sunday. This week, for the first time in ages, I’m not putting one up. Sorry about that.
Sometimes life is too crowded. Sometimes I’m knackered. Sometimes things happen that mean the post which sounded perfect in my head just needs a bit more work. And sometimes I recognise the irony of ignoring sex in favour of writing about sex because Oh My God I Need To Get Something Live On Sunday.
So: today’s post will go up tomorrow. I will feel massive guilt, even though realistically the world won’t stop turning. If you’re horrified at my efficiency failing, please join my club: feel free to subscribe to get updates when new blogs go up in case I fuck up my schedule again in the future, or peruse the archives if you want some filth in the meantime.
I appreciate that believing people care even one tenth as much as I do is extraordinarily narcissistic. But I currently live in a cycle where I apologise for everything, so one thing extra can’t hurt.
Now I’m off to skive, and spend Sunday doing whatever people who don’t write sex blogs do on a Sunday. What… umm… what do people who don’t write sex blogs do on a Sunday? I’ll investigate.
Sorry.
G
x
Let’s stop pretending these are female turn ons
A long time ago someone published a book called ‘Porn for Women.’ Don’t get too excited, it isn’t actually porn. It was simply a collection of different images of guys doing the hoovering, washing, and other household tasks. In this ‘porn for women LOL’ hilarious trope, guys are occasionally tantalisingly half-dressed but never doing the kind of thing I’d consider genuinely horny: masturbating on the sofa, or poised halfway to sitting down on a butt plug – that kind of thing. I would be surprised if – barring a few people with very niche fetishes – anyone’s actually ever wanked to it.
I was reminded of it recently when someone (I don’t remember who and I don’t want to drop them in it even if I could) tweeted a list of ‘top female turn-ons’ which looked suspiciously like this book. The list included such gems as ‘listen attentively when she tells you about her day’ and ‘take the garbage out.’ I don’t know about you, but I’m more likely to have actual, satisfying sex with my own vacuum cleaner than to orgasm while thinking about a guy begrudgingly hauling bin bags to the front garden.
I do not sit at home frigging myself trembly over the idea of my partner picking up a hoover. I do not get wet just because someone is listening attentively while I speak, unless perhaps that person is Tyrion Lannister and what we’re discussing is just how hard he’d fuck me.
Not all men (a radio drama in three parts)
I’m 100% sure I’ll get shit for this, but I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for ages, and now feels like as good a time as any to crack it out.
I’ve been asked a few times why ‘not all men’ annoys me, and I’ve struggled to explain just why the response seems so illogical. So I wrote a long-winded analogy, in the form of a radio drama. And given that #BlameOneNotAll – a hashtag which aims to shed light on the not-in-any-way-surprising truth that not all men are rapists, I thought now’s as good a time as any.
The worst thing I could do (and it’s not cheating)
I used to have a fairly regular nightmare that went a little something like this:
Guy meets girl, guy starts shagging girl, girl and guy tangle together, sexily. Their limbs slide over each other, their hands grip flesh. His fingers dig hard into the crack of her arse, the way he does so gorgeously with me. They see me approach but they don’t care.
I’d dream about this quite frequently – a side-effect of an intensely jealous feeling. Part paranoia, part justified worry. He’d never actually do this, of course – not to the same degree. But in the dream it wasn’t the sex that bothered me so much as the openness of it. The fact that, when I approached the tangled, tousled couple, giggling and snogging and touching and worse – as I watched my fucking boyfriend fucking hard with someone else, he’d shrug and brush it off like his betrayal was nothing.
“Oh, didn’t you know? I’m with her now.”
They’d carry on, as I stood stunned and watching. Stuck in the moment, unable to escape until the second I woke up.
Sex and politics and naked party leaders wanking in custard
While I’d love to be able to open this blog with a revelation about a sordid orgy with two famous politicians, that would be a heinous lie. I’ve never had sex with a politician, and unless one of my exes stands for office at some point, or Danny Alexander pops round when I’m too horny to be critical, it’ll probably stay that way forever.
Still, that doesn’t stop me speculating on the sexiness or otherwise of various politicians, so I’m going to do just that:
- Ed would totally get it.
- Clegg would have had it back in 2010 but now wouldn’t muster so much as a pity fuck.
- Sturgeon is undeniably cheeky and although I don’t fancy her I’d definitely nudge a mate if she beckoned them over with a sexy wink at a party.
- Cameron can get utterly fucked, but not by me.
For the Americans among you, I hope you know that I am not discriminating against your politicians. I have, on numerous occasions, had fantasies about being accidentally locked in a cupboard with Barack Obama. The cupboard’s vital because I know he’d never let me snog him if he thought Michelle might see.