Tag Archives: relationships
A dozen cute and sexy date ideas for Valentine’s Day
Normally I struggle when it comes to Valentine’s Day content, but this year I have a whole bunch of pent-up dating energy that I’m not really putting anywhere so roll up your sleeves because I reckon I’ve got a banger. Here are 12 cute and sexy date ideas for Valentine’s Day, complete with links to places you can buy stuff if you’re in the mood to get presents for your partners and want to support this site by buying from the people who help keep it alive.
Some of these links are sponsored, which means if you click through and/or buy you’re helping to support this website, and that is the BEST Valentine’s Day gift you could give me. THANKS!
Up your game!
I read this one to Patreons in December, and it’s long, so here’s this post as audio if you prefer.
I have a message here for men. And before I get stuck into it, I’ll clarify (as I always have to) that obviously I don’t mean all men. In fact this time I don’t even mean ‘most’ men. I am speaking very precisely to single, straight/bi/pan men in London between the ages of about 30 and 50. My message is this: up your game.
This time it’s different
This time he comes to mine to do the stuff swap, I won’t put the effort in to meet him. He comes to my place, and he texts on the way: do you want me to just leave it at the door? No.
“Point your toes”: he fucked me like he owned me
Sometimes I feel like part of my body still belongs to him.
Throughout my life I’ve been fucked in so many different ways: like I’m precious; like I’m trash; like they’re hungry and I’m the nearest hot meal… but only one or two men have ever fucked me like my flesh was theirs by right. Fucked me like they owned me. As if my body – my cunt, my thighs, my hands, my mouth, my heart – belonged to them exactly as much as their own. He was one of them.
You can’t build love on lies
When I was young, my family used to be big followers of soaps: Neighbours, Eastenders, Coronation Street. I can’t remember what else there was to do on evenings in the nineties besides yell things at the telly as ludicrous fictional characters cocked up their lives in ever more creative ways. Perhaps this is testament to how my Mum raised me, but when I watched soaps, the thing that got me most irate was how terrible people were at just fucking talking to each other.