The first time he says it, he makes a face as he utters the words. Not in disgust, but definitely discomfort, as if he’s not used to saying them. The phrase might sound weird to his ears, but it’s wonderful to mine: good girl.

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Note: this post contains minor spoilers for the filthy scenes in Saltburn. Which I (obviously) loved. 

I’m not going to do it.

Damn right you’re not going to do it. 

Even though… there isn’t really any harm in doing it?

Don’t you dare do it.

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Sometimes dicks don’t get hard when you want them to. Yours stays soft sometimes, right? If you’re drunk, high, stressed, distracted by a squirrel or whatever? Annoyingly, society has told you that not being able to achieve full-mast, cast-iron boners whenever you want to is shameful, even though it really obviously isn’t because it happens to everyone. Seriously, every single person with a dick has had trouble with it at some point – it won’t get hard, it gets hard at inappropriate times, it comes sooner than you’d like or doesn’t come at all, you know the drill. And some of you, when your dicks don’t do what you want, lean on a little external help. If you come too quickly, you might try wearing a thicker condom. If you can’t get hard, you might pop a Viagra. It’s totally fine, loads of people do it, and I (a 39-year-old woman with a ravenous cunt and a lot of love to give) am here to tell you that I will not shame you for taking one. In fact, like many sexual things to which we usually attach shame, I would like to take that bullshit societal script and utterly pervert it. The next time you reach for a blue pill, please tell me you’re about to take one, so together we can make it kinky. Here’s how to take a Viagra, sexily.

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This gorgeous piece about dominant facesitting is written by Spencer Pritchard and read by Stephen Carling. 

I’m usually the fuck-er, not the fuckee. Generally speaking, I set the pace of our fucking. Of the strokes of my dick with my hips, egged on by your whimpers and moans, emboldened by your body reacting to mine. I like to be ‘in charge’. To have a handful of your hair as you swallow the tip of my stiff cock, guiding your rhythm and occasionally holding you in place whilst I tell how how much of a good girl you’re being. To hold your wrists behind your back, your face buried in the tangled sheets as I slowly push myself past your glistening folds. To wrap the fingers of one hand around your slender neck as I furiously fuck you with the other, splashing us both with your gushing lust as the pressure builds behind your eyes.

It’s not often that I get to be fucked.

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As with literally any blog post that discusses physical beauty, this piece is going to come with an important note: what I am about to do is fetishise/objectify/admire/wax lyrical about one particular physical feature, but understand that you do not need to have this feature in order to be beautiful. You can be beautiful with whatever you’ve got, there is no one correct way to be visually stunning, and I have dated many gorgeous people who do not happen to share the characteristic I am about to so thoroughly cream my knickers over. In short: not everyone is bald, and that is OK. But my boyfriend happens to be, and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t cast my eyes towards the heaven I’m pretty sure does not exist, to thank a God I definitely don’t believe in for sending me a hot bald guy. I can (and assuredly WILL) write essays later about the joy of dating a hot bald guy from a tactile perspective, but for now I’m taking a rare turn into the visual. Here are my hot bald boyfriend’s three best angles, thank you so much for asking.

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