We’re sitting on the sofa and my feet are on his lap. It’s late and I’m tired and happy – we’ve spent the evening laughing and drinking pints. I’m trying to do my best to be up front with men about what I want, so I told him I didn’t want sex tonight, just company. My feet are on his lap, and he’s stroking them. Firmly, casually, intimately. It’s comforting.

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You might think that bad dates are – by default – an undesirable thing. The clue’s in the name – they’re bad dates! But although I’ll happily swerve terrible first dates where the person I’m with doesn’t ask any questions, or dates where they reveal ten minutes in that they’re a not-so-secret Tory, there’s one kind of bad date that will always have a special place in my heart.

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I’d love to come out with you tonight. You’re fun and funny and sweet and sexy and so many things that I like in a man. But I have to cancel, I’m afraid, because I don’t know you well enough to have a breakdown in your presence. Come back to me next week, when I’ll have finished crumbling. Come next month, when I’ll be well. In three months’ time, when we know each other better, and this stuff doesn’t seem quite so weird. For now, though, I don’t have the energy to be the sexy fun girl you’ve enjoyed on previous dates. Leave me alone for a minute. I need to be fragile in peace.

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It’s late in the evening, and we’ve already shagged once. The kind of sex that left my legs so trembly I felt it in my thighs as we walked down the street to get dinner. Idly wondering, as we made our way there, if passers-by could tell by my messy hair and unsteady gait that I’d just been thoroughly fucked. We went for pints and food. Played pub Jenga on a table outside. I sipped my cider and perved on him shamelessly: enjoying the view of his steady hands carefully pulling bricks from the rickety tower, the way his t-shirt stretched against his taut arms as he reached up to place them on top. Fixating on how the collar opened slightly to flash of the edge of his sexy tattoo.

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This guest blog was born as one of the sexiest Twitter threads I think I’ve ever read, by @mudkri. The way she writes about kissing and being kissed made me realise I’d been aching and yearning for someone to kiss me. For exactly the kind of kissing-for-kissing’s sake that she was describing. Or maybe her thread brought on that yearning – described it all so beautifully, with such delicious shuddery intensity, that I subsumed her wants into my own. I don’t know. All I know is that this is indescribably hot. Thank you so much, Kristina, for bringing that joy to this blog.

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