You know those nights you have, in bed with someone new and exciting… those nights when you feel like you’re… hmm. Sorry, I’ll start again. So you know those nights at the start of a relationship, just after you realise how much you want this to be a relationship… those nights when you’re f… fuck. Hang on. Let me try a different tack.

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A friend of mine recently asked, as I was telling her how lovely a particular guy was, how I went about trying to avoid ‘catching feelings’ for the men that I spend time with. There are two answers to this question: the cunty one and the nice one. Both are true.

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One of the things I miss about having a regular partner – notably a live-in one, who hangs around the house, teasing me sluttily by existing in possession of a dick – are those moments of casual horn that come when you’re in close quarters. The fact that another person in my space will necessarily be sexual sometimes, and either by design or pure, gold-plated luck they’re sometimes sexual with (or at) me.  I miss silly, everyday, random bursts of horn.

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I get these bursts of it, every now and then. Like a high. It swells upwards and outwards from the centre of my chest – rushing with a power that’s so much stronger than the first tingles of love. In the beginning, these rushes were so intense that sometimes they’d stop me in my tracks. Make it so I had to pause whatever I was doing and just breathe for a few seconds. In and out. Spine straight, shoulders back, slightly light-headed like you get when you stand up too quickly.

Freedom.

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I was introduced to today’s guest blogger, Clara (@author_dunn on Twitter) by another incredible writer, who popped up in my DMs singing the praises of Clara’s cunt-dripping filth. And they were right: her filth is absolutely glorious, I adore it. There’s a softness to the feelings that surround the intensity and directness of the actual fucking, and that kind of writing presses so many of my buttons. I loved it so much I have another piece from Clara coming up in a few weeks too. For now, enjoy this delicious story about birthday sex, Harry Styles and soundtracks to (not) fall in love to…

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