The most important thing to remember about electrosex is that the smaller the surface area, the more intense the sensation. Where you draw the line between pleasure and pain depends on your own threshold. I like warm, broad sensations. The smack of an open palm. The heavy thwack of a thick leather belt. Electricity that tingles over my skin when he places a full hand on the back of my thigh. Other people like intense, pinpoint pain: the sting of the cane, leaving a lattice of thin red welts to show you took it well. With electrosex there’ll be no marks, but the rule applies: the smaller the surface area, the more intense the sensation. Today I want to tell you about the ElectraStim Jack Socket.

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Wanking while you’re in a relationship: do you do it? Probably. Do you talk about it? Maybe not. There’s an unusual squeamishness about discussing masturbation when you’re going out with someone, most likely based on a hefty dollop of sex shame combined with a misconception about the purpose of wanking itself. Although there are lots of reasons to masturbate, some people still see it as an outlet for sexual frustration. The theory goes that wanking is a substitute for a partner, so if you have a partner there’s no longer any ‘need’ to do it. These people often – though not always – make their partner feel guilty for wanking. In turn, people like me make them feel guilty for doing that, and the cycle of guilt continues until we all have a really big fight.

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Two things this week features a gorgeous personal essay about one woman’s porn journey, discovering first erotica and then the internet. That’s my favourite thing of this week, and I haven’t found anything super-bad to highlight, so instead I’m going to take the piss out of a vibrator, because sometimes that is fun to do.

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Sometimes I wake up in the night to find my fingers rubbing hard at my clit. Sometimes I wake up and realise I’m licking them. Sucking post-wank moisture from the tips at the end of a half-remembered dream. Sometimes I fuck in my sleep.

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Here’s fun: SSRIs. Also referred to as ‘anti-depressants’, although sometimes used for things on top of/combined with depression. I’ve talked a bit before about my anxiety – specifically the way in which anxiety affects how I fuck. It’s a massive pain in the arse, and it’s not exactly the kind of thing I can easily dismiss by choosing not to care about it.

Still. I’m here, and I’m not too bad most of the time, so I’m lucky.

But I’m also on pills, and I fucking hate them with every fibre of my being.

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