It shouldn’t need saying, and I hate having to say it, but needs must: what we do is good, actually. By ‘we’ I mean sex bloggers, erotic photographers, independent pornographers, and anyone who falls under the broad umbrella of ‘sexy content creator’. In light of the devastating news that after fourteen years of running the gorgeous, body-positive, empowering Sinful Sunday project, Molly is shutting it down, I wanted to take a second to celebrate what she (and the amazing contributors) do for us. And highlight the fact that in a world which is getting more hostile to independent creators in the sex space, it’s more important than ever to remind everyone that what we do is not immoral. It is not wrong or perverted or sick or worthy of being expunged from the internet. Sex and masturbation is a healthy part of most adult lives, and creating media that inspires and celebrates pleasure is not just acceptable, it is valuable. What we do is good, actually.

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This super hot story about fucking the boss is written and read by Robyn, of RobynEatsEverything.

“I’ve always thought your tits would be great to fuck.” His breath is hot in my ear as he whispers this; hot with North London beer, fags, and arrogance.

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This perfect restraints kit has lived rent-free in my head for a number of years. I’m a clumsy, eager fucker and when I engage in bondage, I do so in the same clumsy, eager way that I go about the rest of my fucks. I’m rubbish at knots, and can’t be bothered to learn, so the restraints that have won a permanent place in my bedroom are usually simple to use. Think cuffs with buckles, or ideally velcro. These door jam cuffs that I got many years ago were my favourite for a while. They’re so easy, and so effective: I love them. When asked what would be on my bucket list for the perfect restraints kit, I hankered after this Sportsheets under the bed restraints system for literally YEARS. Then finally I got one, and not long after I set it up, I broke up with my boyfriend. So I couldn’t actually use it. FFS.

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The next chapter of this story happens when I’m probably in the middle of a breakdown. Perhaps it’s the way my life has been lately – an agony of paranoia and mistrust – that’s causing me to make some dodgy decisions. But this particular decision led to something good, I think. As helpful as it can be to hear ‘I love you’ in times of hardship, ‘I trust you’ healed my heart right now.

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Love does not write in pencil on your heart, it’s permanent. Impossible to erase. Sure, it might one day turn to hatred or disgust, like fresh wounds becoming twisted scars long after they were first carved into your flesh. But you don’t forget it easily. Love can change and it can die, you can lose it or throw it away or cure yourself of the cravings for it like a powerful addiction… but you can’t just erase it altogether.

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