This post was inspired by someone on Twitter a while ago who objected to the phrase ‘toxic masculinity’ and wanted to know if there was such a thing as ‘toxic femininity‘. I don’t know that there is, but this is the scenario that leapt to mind. 

I don’t hate men, but I do hate this man. We race together towards a red light. He’s not far behind me, but he definitely is behind me. We yank on our brakes to come to a halt, and he pulls up next to me. Then, side-by-side, we sweat. We pant. We eye each other up. Then amber, green: go – we’re off. Another futile race which he cannot possibly win. He’ll try anyway, why not? And I don’t care if he tries – I like that he does. I swallow his attempts to beat me like shots of tequila and cum, delighting in how bitterly they burn as they slide down my throat.

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So I’m definitely SUPER into rough sex and degradation and stuff, but I’d rather be degraded for how slutty I’m being than for how I look. If we’re talking hard limits you should know I am very sensitive when it comes to my body so ‘you filthy little bitch’ is A-OK, but ‘pig’: not so much. I’m up for butt stuff but I’d like fair warning so I can do a bit (OK, a lot) of prep for anal in general. I’m not into age-play, so you’re never my fucking Daddy and I guess the MAIN thing… like my hardest of all hard limits… is… could you please be really careful with my glasses?

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I don’t ever want to be vulnerable purely because I’m a woman. I understand life has its moments, and leaning in to vulnerability – when you’re with friends and loved ones – can be a valuable thing to do. Let people in, get closer, see their vulnerabilities too and nurture them through hard times. But broadly, I don’t want to be vulnerable. I go through life doing powerful things, and rejecting vulnerability because I don’t want to feel weak. Unfortunately, the world is peppered with men who want to remind women just how vulnerable we are.

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It’s everything I hate in a sofa, this thing: brown; leather; thin metal legs; angular armrests that you can’t properly lean against and a seat that’s too narrow for spooning. I hate this sofa so much that when my ex and I hung out together, I used to sit on the floor. Give me well-worn carpet and a numb bum over sticky brown leather any day of the week. I hate this sofa for every single thing… except fucking. This sofa features in almost every filthy post I’ve written on this blog in the last four years. This sofa launched a thousand fucks.

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As a huge fan of the power of words, I am fully in love with this week’s guest blog which is about a super-hot sexting relationship which happened almost exclusively via the medium of sexy messages. In the right moment, the three dots indicating someone’s writing can have a distinctly Pavlovian horn response, and this week’s writer – Gavriel Hollander – has captured the joy of it beautifully. Read, enjoy and embrace the awesome things we can do purely with the power of language…

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