For some reason, when you become intimate with people, they often feel like they have a right to say critical things about the way you look. Men have often felt this way about my body over the years: making comments about my weight, the various places in which hair grows and whether I remove it, the way I dress or carry myself, my use (or rejection) of make up. As if our intimacy constitutes a contract which grants them the right to correct me. Or perhaps, more kindly, like they believe I will welcome the opportunity for self-improvement that they’ve so thoughtfully opened up. Please, for the love of infinite fuck, understand this: I will never welcome these comments. You should never say these things. Your negative comment on my body is never welcome. My body is my body. If you don’t like it, don’t fuck it: that’s the deal.  

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I have a lot of friends who embrace nonmonogamy – i.e. relationships where you are both open to the idea of forming romantic/sexual bonds with more than one person – as opposed to monogamy, where you pair off with one person, avoid shagging anyone else, then eventually cement your bond with matching clogs and a National Trust membership. Naturally, as someone who moves in sex-positive circles, I run into loads of people who have taken the traditional ‘scripts’ we’re taught we should follow when it comes to relationships, and torn them up in favour of writing their own. I love this, and I think the more people who do it the better. However, when I talk to other people about different relationship styles there’s one argument for nonmonogamy that rubs me up the wrong way.

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A long time ago on Twitter @sexlovevideo and @onqueerstreet were discussing objectification (re: the bond-coming-out-of-the-sea scene) and asking whether just flipping objectification around could be a feminist act, or whether we should avoid doing to men what the patriarchy has done to women since time immemorial (I am simplifying heavily here – read the thread and post for more). I am firmly in the former camp, let me explain why objectifying men is a feminist act and also what’s hot about fat guys. Pull up a chair and your sex toy of choice.

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Recently someone emailed me a question that went a little something like this: “you’ve alluded to wanting a spitroast/gang bang before. But there are clubs in London where this happens every night! Why don’t you just go to one of those?!” It is not an uncommon question, and I suspect it’s one that quite a lot of horny, slutty women get asked, so I thought I’d have a crack at answering it. I don’t think everyone will feel the same way I do, but (with thanks to the person who asked the question) here’s why this pervy woman isn’t in sex clubs every night.

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One of the weird things about being an adult – and I mean an adult adult, not the adult I was in my twenties who spent most of her time trying to please other people – is that I’m starting to recognise more situations in which I cause friction by just… not doing exactly what other people want. By ‘other people’ here, I mostly mean ‘men’.

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