There’s never a bad time to hear this, right? You deserve to be loved. I don’t mean, in a basic way, that you as an individual are entitled to romantic love, or sex or companionship or whatever: those things can only be given freely, if other individuals choose. I mean that you deserve to be treated with love, by those who say they feel it. You deserve to be loved by them in practice, not just words.

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This week’s guest post has me running eagerly to you yelling ‘THIS!’ – this is one of my absolute top fantasies, being loaned out by a lover to one of his friends and generally used and treated like a shareable toy. There’s something so delicious about the idea of being handed around like a particularly slutty package, and I think that this incredible guest writer – Vixen – has elevated it even further in the hotness by quoting from the actual voice notes sent between the men while she got thoroughly used. Please find yourself a quiet, private space and… ahem… enjoy.

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For as long as I’ve known that some men are into feet, I have wanted one to come all over mine. Masturbate while looking at them then squirt jizz out – covering my skin and dribbling in between my toes. I don’t think I have a foot fetish myself, but I do get off on fulfilling other people’s desires, especially if they sit outside of what the world thinks an average fuck might look like. So the mental image of a guy kneeling over me to cover my feet in cum has been one that, now stuck in my head, has resolutely refused to disappear.

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For some reason I worry that it might be offensive to admit this. Apologies if it is, I sincerely hope it isn’t: it’s a very real fear and I think I need to talk about it. Like the best horror films, I think this fear comes from the unknown. Or – worse – the partially known. I understand that menopause can give you vaginal dryness and hot flushes. I know that other changes happen as well, in your body and to your… I actually find it hard to write this down, so great is my terror at the potential loss of it… libido. I know enough about the menopause to understand that I definitely do not ever want it to happen to me. But I also know that it’s a privilege to go through. Ageing is a gift: it means I’m not dead yet. Bodies change all the time so we shouldn’t be frightened of change and… oh fuck. Sorry. Yeah. I can’t sugar-coat this, really: I am absolutely terrified of the menopause.

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Some men have worried in the past that they’re not able to dispense exactly the kind of love that I crave – i.e. relentless praise, on an almost minute-by-minute basis, lest I wilt like a houseplant you’ve forgotten to water. To be honest, I often find myself worrying about this too. In an ideal world I’d be the recipient of an almost constant stream of written, physical and verbal encouragement – reminders that I’m sexy, fun, valid, wanted, loved. A good girl. I need this kind of thing so much that those I rely on to help me feel loved might think it borderline sarcastic to plough on even during the (frequent) periods when I’m not doing much to deserve it. I understand this. But there are other ways to make me feel loved, and one of the ways I practice love in return is by noticing and mentioning them…

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