When I was young, I wore a dog collar. A literal, actual dog collar of the kind you could buy from any old pet shop. Black leather, studded: the kind you’d use if you wanted your dog to look slightly menacing. I desperately wanted my boyfriend to clip a leash through the metal loops and pull my face onto his cock while I sucked him. But he never did.
How do you go about sharing sexy fantasies? It’s one of the questions people seem to struggle with a lot – as measured both by my inbox and also the sheer volume of advice guides written about broaching the subject with your partner. But one of the things I find fascinating/annoying about the way it’s presented is that it’s often seen as an ‘all or nothing’ thing: that you tell your partner you want to be dominated (with a strap-on and a vigorous pegging, for example), and they either tell you ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ That’s it: a green light or a red one, and then the discussion has ended. I don’t think that’s how it always works.
I stood on the escalator the other day behind a woman in slightly-too-tight clothes. Her bra straps dug into her shoulders and back, pressing against her flesh. Pinching at her skin. Highlighting the unquestionable solidity – the thereness of her. She was beautiful.
I love bras. I literally never leave the house without wearing one. Even if I am just popping to the shop to get milk – a task which takes a maximum of three minutes – I will still put on a bra before I go, and I will be a million times happier for it. I know lots of people hate them, so I just wanted to raise my voice in a joyous shout in defence of bras: I LOVE THEM.
I don’t want to boast, but my partner and I are quite good at Lego. And by ‘good’ I think I mean ‘prolific’ rather than accurate. We have almost-perfect models all over our flat – treehouses and Batman cars and other colourful delights. When we’re not busy shagging or counting pennies, we like to build things.