One of the things I like to do of an evening is stick on a horny album and daydream for a while about my next set-piece fuck. By ‘set-piece’ fuck I mean something a little bit extra, not the standard ‘make out and bang’ that I’ll leap into on impulse. These might feature a new act I’ve not yet tried with this person (or at all), or something like special equipment, clothes or preparation. Sometimes it’s just a specific tone I want to play with: brattiness; begging; anticipation… you get the idea. I sit on the sofa getting high and listening to sexy music, daydreaming about a few recent hits from the bedroom, or mull over breadcrumbs that my partner might have casually dropped into conversation when hinting at what they might like, then see if I can come up with something that presses buttons for both of us. Now feels as good a time as any to talk about set-piece fucks, because I recently became single so I won’t be able to do them again for a really long time. Talking about the pleasure I get from doing this sort of thing gives me the chance to shoehorn in a topic I’ve wanted to discuss for a while: what monogamy means to me.

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The sad thing happens on Monday morning. But there were lots of sad things that laid the path to it, so perhaps it’s not surprising that initially I’m just a bit numb. All day I’m braced for the waves of despair to crash. I sit at my desk. I work. I write. Edit some audio porn, upload a bit to Patreon, and wait and wait and wait for the misery to hit.

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Oh hey team, sorry to bother you. Quick question. Won’t take long. Just wanna sense-check something based on my own patterns of behaviour and whether or not they could be considered ‘normal’. Tell me: when should I stop masturbating over my ex?

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I don’t know if any of you have noticed, but I’ve been trying extremely hard not to write anything about my ex-boyfriend lately. Although I wrote a post about endings which I shared with people on Patreon, I didn’t publish that here in public and there’s been only one thing on the break-up diaries tag since the summer. Please dispense medals and cookies accordingly! Then immediately snatch those medals and cookies back, because inevitably I’m about to have some Big Feelings about him in this post! I’m allowing myself a quick burst of emotion for reasons that I won’t fully explain, but which I will try to justify with excuses that sound poetic but are only half the story. Getting over a break-up involves a lot of waffling and emotional incontinence! Strap in!

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Love is an addiction, and I am not good with addiction. I’m writing this post so I do not send a text: it’s that simple. I sit here at my desk, legs crossed on my office chair like I know I really shouldn’t because it’s bad for my back, and I press the buttons on my keyboard that will keep my hands busy so I do not send a text to my ex saying ‘hey, how are you? I was wondering if you fancied hanging out?’ Earlier this evening, I pressed other buttons – on the microwave, to heat up my dinner, so that I wouldn’t send a text. Later, when it’s reasonable enough that an adult might call it a night, I will brush my teeth so I don’t sent that text, go for a pee so I don’t send that text, roll my mattress out onto the floor and take a sleeping pill and have a wank and put on a podcast so I do not send that text. I will do all this extremely mindfully. With the focus and dedication of a powerful woman who will – under absolutely no circumstances – send that fucking text. Love is an addiction, my friends, and I have no willpower.

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