Him: Do you know what was good?
Him: Last night, when I sat on the floor under the desk and you sat on the chair in front of it naked from the waist down. When you put your feet up on the edge of the desk and then let me eat your cunt for aaaaaages.
Over on my guest blog page, I’ve long had an open call for blog posts that feature ‘eloquent disagreement/rebuttal of any of my own strong and angry opinions.’ Very few people ever pitch me guest blogs that involve them disagreeing with me, though: I can only assume I’m either far too scary or pretty-much-always right. So when @pervy_thoughts – who has written an excellent guest blog here before on being a nudist – dropped into my inbox to disagree with my thoughts on the word ‘filthy’, I was delighted to read him approaching the topic from a different perspective. In my original post I argued that using ‘negative’ words like ‘filthy’ to describe sex isn’t just enjoyable, it’s inevitable, because wherever there is taboo there’ll be filthy perverts like me trying to kink that taboo until it becomes hot. Fred is here to advocate for an alternative: you can write about sex without using negative terms…
This week’s guest blog, by Paulita from the Ersties Podcast, is all about my favourite topic: sex chat. And specifically, the ways in which talking about sex can help us learn more about ourselves and each other. Check out her brilliant post below, listen to the cast, and follow @TheErstiesPodcast on Twitter!
What do you do when you’re nervous in front of the person you love the most? When you’ve spent weeks having awkward, painful arguments in which neither of you really knows the right words to say to fix things? Some people might go out for dinner or to a movie – something traditional and date-y, to remind each other that they can still have fun. Others might share a bottle of wine and have a deep and meaningful chat – re-establishing your shared goals and reminding each other how much love there is between you. We play Magic: The Gathering.
I wish I liked wearing make up ‘for me’, but I don’t. I hate wearing make up. I’m shit at putting it on, bad at choosing the colours that suit me, and guaranteed to smear half of it across my face when I rub my eyes after the second pint of the evening. So why do I bother wearing make up? I’m forced to conclude that it’s at least partly because I want to impress men.