The amount of time we’ve spent talking about the idea of a body swap, you’d think I’d have written something filthy on the subject by now. It amazes me that the compulsion to do so only hit me recently. But it hit me with force and power, so let’s go. I want to imagine what it would be like if you and I could swap bodies.

Note: I’m cisgender, as is the guy I’m talking about doing a body swap with. I think topics like this could potentially throw up difficult feelings if you’re struggling with dysphoria at the moment so it’s probably worth flagging before we begin, in case this isn’t something you want to read right now. 

(more…)

Recent additions to the drug market mean it is now much easier for people who are unhappy with their weight to change it if they’d like to. Ozempic, Mounjaro and other injections have made it possible to lose weight in a rapid and simple way. As always, I want to state very plainly that the shape and size of your body is not a moral question – you are not obliged to be a certain size or look a certain way in order to be worthy of love and admiration. Diet culture is incredibly fucked up, and the way society encourages us to police other people’s bodies is deeply problematic and incredibly harmful to all of us (me included), so you should never feel obliged to change your body if you don’t want to. However, some people do want to, and they choose to use weight loss injections like Mounjaro to help in that process. And holy FUCK do some people want to have opinions about that choice!

(more…)

I often get blood on the bedsheets. When I’m fucking someone and I’m due on my period, especially if they have a relatively long dick or we’re shagging in a position that gives depth, sometimes I bleed when we’re fucking. I don’t always notice, because it doesn’t hurt, so I often get blood on the bedsheets. It’s not the end of the world because humans are basically just weird bags of flesh and rocks and liquid, and sometimes when you’re shagging those liquids might spill out in ways that mean you have to do more laundry. It’s the cost of doing business, if you’re in the business of having lovely sex a lot of the time, and I don’t think it’s an onerous one. If the sex is good, then a bit of blood isn’t a huge price to pay – in fact, it’s a fucking bargain. I’m going to tell you two stories about blood on the bedsheets, each one involving a different man. And hopefully in doing so I’m going to illustrate one way to keep shame out of your bedroom, and show why I feel so strongly about banishing shame from my own.

(more…)

When I was in my late twenties I used to write blog posts about bullshit societal expectations of women at that age. How we were expected to be slim, ‘feminine‘, hairless, petite and sweet-smelling (especially in the ‘cunt‘ region). Then, for a brief period in my thirties I was nagged to be one thing above all others (PREGNANT!). Now that I’ve sailed past childbearing age without even a cursory click on a ClearBlue ad or video about IVF, the sales messages have settled into a comfortable, familiar horrorshow of content for the ‘older’ lady. And they seem pretty united in bad news: I’ve got far too much skin everywhere, and my face is falling off.

(more…)

This gorgeous story about sex and sweat is written and read by Robyn of RobynEatsEverything. Note: this is a work of fiction and a fantasy scenario; please don’t approach Robyn in the gym.

As I lift my arms up above my head, I feel a stream of cool sweat trickling down the nape of my neck, finding a cleft in my skin in which to swim lower between my shoulder blades, the small of my back, and into the gape of my leggings to the valley between my cheeks. The dampness of my skin would suggest the aircon in the gym isn’t working today; there’s no frigid breeze relieving my cherry-red cheeks. Working through this set, I’m more aware of other little streams crawling down my body and pooling in the most uncomfortable places; under my tits, my arse, under my belly, between my thighs.

(more…)