Some of my best friends are lovers. And some of my favourite lovers have been truly exceptional friends. I adore stories about those moments where friendship crosses over into sex, or vice versa, and this week’s guest blog explores one of those moments with such playful, impulsive sexiness that you’ll probably wish you’d met her and her best friend too.

So: whether you’ve slept with your best friend, or never even dreamed of it, I hope her story gives you something beautiful to think about over the weekend.

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“Breathe in,” he says. “Take it out of me.” He’s offering me blowbacks, but not in the way I am used to them.

He slides his fingers into my hair, smoky-smelling from the bonfire and the weed. He leans in closer and I look into his eyes and my stomach throbs with longing. I want to do more than just breathe in. I want those sucking, desperate kisses. I want his hands all over my hazy, tingling body.

“Breathe in,” again – a request that’s almost an order. He takes a long, thick drag on the joint, pulls his hand away, and squashes his lips onto mine to give me blowbacks.

I breathe in. Of course.

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I’m pretty obnoxious and annoying sometimes. I can be far too loud in some situations, and far too quiet in others. Sometimes I sit nervously in a corner checking my phone because I’m too shy to introduce myself. At other times, I drink a couple of pints in rapid succession to calm my nerves and end up saying things I wouldn’t say if I was sober. Both of these traits, along with many others, have caused me to miss out on opportunities to get laid. But none more so than one thing: smoking.

I smoke. And I kind of want to add ‘too much’ to that, but realistically smoking at all is usually too much when seen through the eyes of a non-smoker. When I was dating, the sheer number of people who’d write ‘I can’t stand smokers’ on their dating profiles, or tick the boxes that say ‘smoking is a dealbreaker’ means my pool of potential shag buddies was severely limited.

But smoking has also helped me get laid. Not because men see me across a crowded beer garden and go ‘oh look, her who’s too pissed to light the right end: she’s the one for me’, but because for the best part of my formative years, smoking was considered cool.

Which means that I have a really fucked up relationship with smoking and sex.

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If you could see the email thread that led to the publication of this guest blog, you’d think I had a fetish for Marks and Spencer. I don’t, though – honest. What I do have a thing for, though, is subtle public affection. Those snatched moments when you touch each other, or snog, or run a hand up under your partner’s clothes when you think that no one’s watching. So this guest blog, by Desire on Wheels, naturally presses a hell of a lot of my buttons. What’s more, it’s an insight into disability and sexuality that taught me more than I ever thought I’d know about early 20th century botanical gardens.

You’ll see what I mean.

 

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