Note that this post involves some graphic medical detail about injections and vaginal examinations during an IUD fitting.

The other day a woman put a big needle inside my vagina, and injected me three times in the cervix. I know you don’t like hearing this, my darling, but I really need you to know it. The other day, when getting an IUD fitted, I had three injections in my cervix.

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I’m late to the party on this news, but a couple of weeks ago someone released some research about what straight women are looking for in a partner, and how they’re struggling to find someone because they’re intent on ‘marrying up’. There’s loads of bullshit to wade through here, and it’s quite fun sometimes to unpack it all, smearing it liberally all over the floor until you realise there’s nothing of value even hiding in the centre of what is a wholly ridiculous concept. Let’s look at ‘marrying up’ and ‘marrying down’.

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It’s been a while since I did a round-up of sexy links, so apologies for being lax on it. But I am now raring to go and because I’ve missed a couple of weeks I’m going to pick three of my favourite sex blog posts from the last few weeks. I also have not one but TWO bonus updates right at the end of the post…

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Something is seriously wrong with our men. Our young, white men in particular. It’s easy to see the links when it’s all laid out in front of you: the vast majority of mass killers are men, violence against women is common of many mass killers many – or most – of whom openly hate women. Recently ‘Incels’ (a label that means ‘involuntary celibate’) have been in the news, thanks to one incel who decided he was so angry he needed to take it out on society by killing people. And while we’re now having a welcome discussion about how dangerous misogyny can be, I can’t help but think we’re not fully addressing the problem.

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When people ask me ‘is your husband home?’ (or variations on that theme), I correct them in the same irritating way I’ll hiss ‘Ms’ if asked whether I’m a ‘Miss or Mrs’. My partner and I aren’t married, and I used to think my initial burst of frustration when people asked for my ‘husband’ was because I didn’t like the assumption that all couples have to get married at some point. It’s not really that, though: what’s frustrating is how often I am asked – or expected – to defer to my male partner. As if he’s the CEO in our relationship, and I am merely his secretary.

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