Lockdown plays havoc with my horn, and I know I’m not alone. A brief survey of ‘most people I know’ tells me most of us are struggling with very weird lockdown libido. Sometimes we’re numb to the very idea of sex, and wanking feels so alien that we wonder how we could ever have stomached touching our own genitals before. At other times we’re climbing the walls, wanking twelve times a day then yelling BRING ME MORE FUCK like some sex-starved Henry VIII.
The UK Government has announced its roadmap out of lockdown, and although the government has been as bad at acknowledging sex as it has been good at handing expensive contracts to its incompetent mates, I’m here to help with a brief guide to what the lockdown roadmap means for slags.
There’s a question on OKCupid along the lines of ‘how do you prefer to sleep with a partner?’ – to check whether you like sleeping in your own space in the bed, or entwined with the other person like a pair of humping snakes. I am very much of the opinion that sleep is sacred, and if you try to hug me when it’s bedtime I am liable to genuinely cry. I’m not saying ‘don’t touch me in bed’, because sometimes we’re gonna want to fuck. But if sleep is top of the agenda, I cannot stress this enough: get off me.
“I’m not 17, I’m a grown-arse woman. I just regularly make childish mistakes.”
– Tracey, Chewing Gum
In today’s blog, I am going to tell you about a ridiculous, embarrassing mistake. The first person I told was my good pal Jessica, who greeted this story with howls of laughter followed by ‘you’re definitely going to tell the blog this, aren’t you? You HAVE to.’ And yeah… I am committed to telling you my silliest fuckups as well as my sexiest fucks, so I guess I do have to. This is a story about chewing gum, and the question of how soon in a budding relationship is too soon to be a fuckup.
Obvious point: it’s hard to write a blog when there’s a plague on. Especially a personal blog which relies on telling stories. At the moment the world is mostly flooded with two types of story: the boring and the horrible. There are rare, lovely, sexy moments of joy, and I try to capture those when my brain is functioning, splatter them onto the page and hit ‘publish’ quickly before I have too long to second guess whether they’re good enough. But I’m mostly here for honesty so I’m just going to say it plainly: it’s hard to write a blog when there’s a plague on.