Tag Archives: sex advice

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On post-sex activities

Things it is not OK to do after sex

Ask a serious question

It’s not just women wanting to pillow-talk: guys do this too. From “do you love me?” to “how was it for you?” any question that’s going to require diplomacy or the accurate articulation of coherent thought should be ruled out.

Yeah, OK, your partner might well love you after you’ve banged twelve shades of awesome into their quivering, lustful body, but it doesn’t mean as much as it might under more considered circumstances. When I’m panting with post-sex exhaustion I’d happily declare my undying love to a passing springer spaniel.

Cry

This one probably goes without saying. Unless, through the weeping, your partner can just about make out the words “I’ve never had it so good.” or “Now I know what heaven feels like.”

Cuddle

It’s been suggested that cuddling releases Oxytocin – sometimes referred to as the ‘love hormone’. I am not entirely sure if this is good or bad science (feel free to correct me – I’ve had a read around and it looks OK) but whether it is or not, I think I do tend to develop stronger emotional bonds with people who snuggle me. Strong emotional bonds aren’t something I’m massively keen to develop, so cuddling: no.

Also, you know, we’ve just shagged – I’m probably quite hot. Get the fuck off me.

Secretly knock one out

Unsatisfying shag? It’s probably impolite to let your partner know by waking them up with furtive duvet rustling at 2 am.

Things it is OK to do after sex

Openly knock one out

If the sex was unsatisfying, why not tell your partner that you loved it enough you could go for some more? Sit on them, grab hold of the nearest sexy bit, and use your other hand to masturbate yourself to frothy completion.

Fart

I make a mild effort to not appear disgusting in front of boys – this effort increases the chance that I will get to fuck them again. But I couldn’t give a flying wank how disgusting they are in front of me. Everything they do is part of their sweating, rugged, testosterone-oozing charm.

So if we’ve just had sex, don’t do the far-away concentrating look and clench your arse-cheeks until you go red in the face. Fart away, gents – I’ll be far too shagged to care.

Chat shit

Deep and meaningfuls are right out, but you know what your partner might appreciate? Some joke you heard at lunchtime. Or a rant about people who stand on the left when they’re on a tube escalator. Or an ignorant opinion you picked up from the letters page of the Evening Standard on the way over.

If you want to talk after sex, make sure you say something they don’t have to put much effort in to listen to.

Go for a beer

Whether it’s problems with rigidity or issues with balance, being drunk makes sex slightly trickier. Why not switch the order of your evening and have a fantastic shag followed by post-fantastic-shag congratulatory beers?

Fistbump

We’re both pretty pleased with ourselves right? Right. We both got laid, right? Right. Let’s celebrate our mutual victory in time-honoured fashion.

High fives are also acceptable.

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On the first time

The first shag you have with someone is, technically, rubbish.

You’re both excited, and happy that you’ve managed to ensnare someone hot, but despite your enthusiasm for that first shag you will probably fuck it up. Of course you will – you have almost no idea what they actually like.

Your ideas about their preferences will be based on casual conversations that you’ve had when (let’s be honest) you’re quite pissed. You know from pub chat that they like blow jobs/spanking/being pissed on/that bit where you stick your fingers in their ass just before they come/etc. But you haven’t a sodding clue about the nuanced things that give them that kick-in-the-gut drooling lust that’s so crucial in a spectacular fuck.

The first time you see them naked might be a disappointment, and you’ll probably be a disappointment to them. People are prettier with clothes on – we use clothes to carefully hide the bits we’re less happy with, to enhance our curves and cover our scars.

New people, be they male or female, will make noises that you’re not used to, say things that you aren’t familiar or comfortable with or – even worse – conduct the whole thing in a stony silence that leaves you wondering if they’d rather be chewing broken glass.

They might have problems getting hard or wet. They might be less energetic than you’re used to, or they might try to twist you into acrobatic positions that you’re unable to do because you don’t have the same yoga background as their ex.

How awful. Why on earth do people do it?

Well, because it’s spectacularly fun, that’s why. Despite the technical failings the overall experience is usually enjoyable. And more importantly, it is usually worth putting in the groundwork to establish something that could be spectacular.

Unless your life consists of a string of meaningless, nameless fucks, there’ll almost certainly be some stuff in that first time shag that you can work with.

OK, so he didn’t really get that bit quite how you like it, and he asked you to stop blowing him because you were ‘overenthusiastic’, but he probably also did some stuff that blew your mind, or at the very least made you go ‘oooh’. And that’s the point.

I’m extremely good in bed with some of my boys. With others I’m less good, and we’re still stumbling through a few things that need to be refined, improved upon or scrapped altogether. We’re working on an early iteration of the brilliant sex that we’ll eventually have when we’ve had some more goes at it.

With guys I’m with for the first time, I am an utter amateur. I can give them all the special moves I like but without any frame of reference it’s always going to be a bit poor. Especially because in those very early stages people are reluctant to give feedback that could be construed as criticism. So we stumble awkwardly through the jungle of sexual adventure until we… erm… discover the hidden temple of ‘how to do things properly’.

Laboured metaphor, but you get the gist.

What I’m saying is that you’re rubbish in bed. And so am I. We’re awful, awkward and inept, and anyone watching would shake their heads sadly at our mutual incompetence. But rather than lament the fact that the first time didn’t make the earth move, let’s accept that that’s always the case, and stick a date in the diary for a bit more practise.

On talking dirty: fuck me with your words

I love talking dirty. And I love it when guys dirty talk me. But it doesn’t happen very often, so if you’re nervous allow me to give you some encouragement and a couple of ideas…

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On how to ask nicely

When I was at school boys would occasionally, very occasionally, ask me out. Let’s say there were around 10 times this happened. On 8 out of those 10 occasions, they were joking.

Of course we grown-ups can tut and sigh and shake our heads at the cruelty of children, but what’s much better is to recognise what we can learn from it. And like all the best lessons in life, this one could help you get laid. Get your notebooks out, face front and keep your eyes on the fucking blackboard…

Understanding insecurity gives you a way into someone’s pants, because you can push the buttons that make them feel good.

It’s been years since a boy jokingly asked me out, and life’s a bit different now. I’m no longer fat and fourteen and in love with any boy who was willing to put his hand up my skirt during maths lessons, but I’m still a child really. That fourteen year old is just a bit bigger, and is gobsmacked that she has a job, a flat, and the legal right to drink herself insensible whilst livetweeting the Apprentice.

So despite my external grown-up-ness, the memory of these joke-proposals stays with me, as I imagine it stays with any girl who’s ever been shy, covered in acne, or good at science. Now that we’re grown-ups, no matter how hot we’ve become or how confident we are, there’s always a little something that makes us wonder if you’re joking when you ask.

A casual, throwaway, “Fancy a shag?” opens up the mental fight between confidence: “Say yes, say yes, he’s beautiful.” and the insecurity still nurtured by that 14 year old: “He’s joking. Say no. Then run away and cry behind the gym.”

If you ask this question of a lady and you don’t look serious, my money’s on the fact that you’ll probably get a no.

But God, GOD. In the situations where you really want it, and tell me you really want it, it’ll be the hardest thing I ever do to turn you down. There is nothing in this life more attractive than a man who is panting for you. Dripping for you. So desperate to get within 20 feet of you that he’d happily fuck a letterbox if you shouted words of encouragement.

And so, gents. When you’re looking at a lovely lady, and you think she might be out of your league, remember that one day she was probably fat and fourteen. She still wakes up most mornings and winces at her reflection in a mirror. She might worry that she’s got cellulite, or that her tits are slightly uneven, that her hands look old or her eyebrows unplucked or her feet too big for her awkward, stumbling body.

Approaching women is hard, of course. But if you can be the one who strides over with confidence, and says: “You know what? You’re fucking spectacular” then you win. You win so hard your friends will wonder what your secret is. You’ve just made someone’s day, and you could be the one screwing her twelve shades of happy by the time that day is done.

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On boys who keep going even after they’ve come

Bonus blog fact: these knickers were bought in the 50p discount bin of a high street shop. I have more than got my money's worthARGH WHY. Of all the bullshit that men are taught about sex that I have to then un-teach them, this is one of the ones that most frustrates me:

“You should still try and pleasure a woman even after you’ve come.”

Why? What’s in it for you? Oh, sorry – you’re selfless. You’re a selfless, giving, good-Samaritan of a man who’ll be kind enough to fumble with my cunt even at the point after orgasm when, for you, it holds less interest than a bacon sandwich.

Why thanks – you’re too kind. I don’t know about you but what I dream about in my wildest fantasies is a man who is spent, exhausted and completely sexually disinterested rummaging around like he’s trying to re-light the gas hob.

“I want to make sure you’re getting something out of it.”

Trust me: I am. And you’ll know about it with loud and vigorous enthusiasm right up until the climax – the most IMPORTANT BLOODY PART – whether you jizz in me, on me, or somewhere over the frigging rainbow. I can come any time I like, but it’s not every day I get to taste your spunk in my mouth.

That’s why I bought my ticket. That’s what I’m here for.

If I don’t come, and you do, that is fine by me. I can lie there in the afterglow feeling your come slowly drying on my stomach, listening to your post-shag panting and feeling satisfied that we both had a great time. What I can’t do is enjoy the afterglow if you’re still half-heartedly prodding at my clit.

So please, gentlemen, PLEASE, for the love of all that’s good and beautiful and drenched in sweat after an excellent ride: when you’re done, stop. You were wonderful.