As far as guest blog pitches go, I don’t think I’ve had any more unusual than the one which went ‘I know someone who’s fucked a rollercoaster and she might be up for writing about it – interested?’ OMG YES. More interested than you can possibly imagine. I’ve had sexy bus vibrations and more than my fair share of train horn, but nothing – NOTHING – I have experienced can compete with the powerful, G-force sexiness of @glitter_brawl‘s rollercoaster sex. Enjoy.

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I’ve never been a particular proponent of the idea that you have to come to enjoy sex, and if I’m truly honest I’d say the thing which matters most to me is that my partner comes. Which might seem horrifyingly subservient, until you realise that desire comes not from an old-fashioned desire to ‘satisfy’ him but because – not to put too fine a point on it – I like how it feels when he empties his balls into me.

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Second only to ‘fancy dress’, the two words that make me most nervous about a party invitation are ‘girls’ night.’ I used to think (when I was twenty years’ old, and an absolute shit) that this was because I didn’t get on with women. Most of my friends were men, ergo I wouldn’t enjoy a girls’ night, because what would I have in common with women anyway? Today, I’m still wary of girls’ nights, but for very different reasons.

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Today’s guest blog is by @Pervy_thoughts on Twitter – he’s here to share a deeply personal story about conception, pregnancy, and some of the complications involved. When he first got in touch with me, he focused on the difference between sex for recreation and sex to make a baby, so I was really moved when his story took a different turn. It’s by turns funny and deeply sad, and I’m grateful to him for sharing it here. Names have been changed with the consent of the other person in the story.

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When I was young, my best friend used to come and hug me from behind. He’d wrap his arms around my stomach, with his skinny forearms nestling just under my breasts. Ridiculously in love with him, I’d seize the opportunity to breathe in the smell of him, lean backwards into his chest and wonder: if I struggled, just a little … would he hold me tighter?

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