In two things this week we’re going to look at male authors writing women, and Skype sex blackmail. The first will make you laugh, and the second should make you very angry indeed.

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The reason I haven’t blogged about the campaign to repeal the 8th, and in fact abortion in a general sense, is for one rather boring reason: it feels too obvious. Abortion is a right, because bodily autonomy is a right, and I don’t need to hear the details of an individual woman’s struggle in order to understand that someone’s choices are their own.

But I’m writing today because sometimes it’s worth stating the obvious.

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Woo! Start of the week! That means you get to throw all last week’s mistakes into the bin and be reborn as a better person. That’s what I like to think, at any rate. In ‘two things‘ this week we’re starting with the good stuff: a competition in which you can win a Doxy die cast, as well as £100 to spend on more amazing sexy things. Then we’ll move on to something that annoyed me: the McVities ‘girls’ night in’ advert.

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I write confessional sex stories. Which is a weird thing to say because I’m not really confessing sins or expecting absolution. I’m just telling stories and expecting readers – if they’re kind enough – to click or share or stump up some cash for my books.

Confession is a pretty horrible word – drowning in centuries of expectation. It conjures images of the religious urge to ‘cleanse’ people of their misdeeds via exposure. Telling your stories so that others can judge you: shout ‘shame!’ as you’re paraded through the town. When you call it ‘confessional’, it’s a wonder anyone chooses to write stories about themselves.

But we do.

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I’m back. Only just – this goes live as soon as my plane lands and I drag my sweaty arse through security. But I’m back. So here are two things to kick things off after my break – the New York Museum of Sex and some bollocks from UK MP and general waste-of-time Philip Davies. Ready? Let’s go.

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