I’m so delighted to welcome today’s guest blogger – Debbie Bird! Her one-woman show, Buzzing, which is all about a woman embracing her sexuality post-divorce and after 50, premiered at Edinburgh last year and was then taken on a national tour. I was itching to get to see it in the theatre, but unfortunately Coronavirus absolutely fucked with that plan, as it has fucked with so much of the rest of our lives. But luckily for me (and you too!) Debbie is doing a livestream of Buzzing that you can enjoy from the comfort of your home. To introduce you to some of the topics she covers in the show, Debbie dropped by with this awesome guest blog about feeling sexy at 50+, and there will be absolutely no prizes for guessing why I utterly adore it, and why it’s got me excited to see Buzzing on the 25th. Join me, get tickets, support artists who have been fucked over by Coronavirus and enjoy Debbie’s brilliantly reviewed show.
When I write about humiliation or degradation, piss-play or throatfucking or any sex act that could be seen as someone demeaning me, I’ll often get concerned comments from people who don’t understand: who see only the acts themselves, and conclude that I’m doing myself harm. But the concept of being degraded and humiliated is far more complex than just pointing to an embarrassing experience and going ‘boo, that looks bad!’ What makes one person shudder may make another turned on, and this week’s guest blogger is here to talk you through her kink – how she gets off on being treated like shit.
I find armpit hair incredibly sexy. I have always adored the way it frames and accents the shoulders and arms of someone I’m fucking – the sight of a hot dude lounging topless or naked, arms folded behind his head and armpit hair adding a touch of colour to draw attention to the curve of where his chest meets his shoulders makes me shudder and want to bury my face in him. But armpit hair is sexy on me too, not just for how it looks but how it makes me feel. (more…)
My partner has a teeny constellation of beauty spots just above and to the left of his belly button. They are one of my favourite things about his body. Well, I mean… apart from his dick and his eyes and his hands and his wrists and… look I just really love quite a lot of bits of his body, OK? I am shocked – SHOCKED – that I have not yet waxed lyrical about how gorgeously beautiful moles and beauty spots are, and why I love them so much.
I’ve always been envious of my boyfriend’s uniform. It’s not a literal uniform, you understand, he isn’t a firefighter or an airline pilot. His ‘uniform’ is just a basic outfit that he’s able to wear no matter what the day: jeans, t-shirt, hoodie. In the summer: shorts, t-shirt, shirt. On the off-chance that we’re invited to a wedding, he owns one single suit. He never has to scrabble through his wardrobe trying to decide what to wear.