Yesterday I got a phone call, while I was in the middle of writing a Twitter thread. It was from my boyfriend, who had – in the process of trying to fix the door – accidentally locked himself in the bathroom. “Can you come upstairs and rescue me please?” he asked. Feeling like a knight in shining armour, making sacrifices for the greater cause of love, I broke off my tweeting and ran upstairs to help.
The phrase ‘mutual masturbation’ isn’t one of my favourites, to be honest. Something about the ‘mutual’ sounds too formal for me: it conjures images of ‘mutual societies’, and makes me feel as if I’m wanking alongside an ethical building society or the Co-op. But mutual masturbation is ridiculously fun, and I recently stumbled across a new way to do it that turned out to be hot as fuck, so I’m going to share it with you because I’m a very generous lover.
Join me on a journey of self-discovery and intensely powerful shagging as I take part in a challenge that scared the shit out of me: making eye contact for the entire duration of a fuck.
“You’ll stand in the corner until we’re done here,” he tells me. His voice is flat – almost a monotone – and it’s doubly hard to assess how angry he is because I don’t really know this man well. That’s the thrill of it, really: not knowing how he’ll react. He is a borderline stranger, and I deliberately riled him up in front of everyone. And now I’m standing in the corner with my nose pressed against the wall, my skirt hiked up around my waist like a naughty schoolgirl, and a good long wait while I anticipate what he might do. My heart beats in my throat and with my face hidden like this, I grin.
This blog post involves school role play – albeit very unrealistic school role play – including corporal punishment. If that’s not your thing look away now.
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.