Tag Archives: what is not wrong with you
My vagina smells great: an ode to genital odour
How good do your genitals smell right now? Go on: if you’re in a place where it’s OK to do so, have a quick scratch and sniff. Really breathe it in. I bet a not insignificant number of you are delighted by the results. I’m certainly one of them: my vagina smells great at the moment.
Spite fuck: fuck me while you beg for forgiveness
This is the next post in a series of erotic fiction about emotional fucks, where I’m having fun writing fictional characters who do filthy-hot things that may or may not be very ethical. This post involves a character fantasising about a spite fuck. Her fantasy involves things that – if they actually happened in real life – would certainly not be consensual. If that’s not your cup of tea, please don’t read on, but if you like sex stories that include twisted revenge and powerful anger, get stuck in.
Taking a compliment: what if the nice things people say to you are true?
How good are you at taking a compliment? Be honest, now: do you take them on board and ponder them until you genuinely understand what the person complimenting you means? Or do you tend to let them get filtered out through the hodgepodge of insecurities that you’ve accumulated over the years? I am rubbish at taking a compliment, but occasionally I get flashes of what the world might look like if I could properly take them on board.
Relax! You’re probably not masturbating too much
Are you sitting at your computer with one hand down your pants, listening to your smoke alarm go off and wondering if you can get another quick wank in before the house burns down around you? Yeah, you’re probably wanking too much. If you’re reading one of the many articles that have been published recently with a title along the lines of ‘could you be masturbating too much?’ and picking over your masturbation habits in detail to try and ascertain whether you might have a problem, then congratulations: you probably don’t.
Sexual rejection: an adult story in which I act like a petulant child
One of the strange things about my current relationship – as opposed to any other I’ve been in – is that I’ve forgotten how to get rejected. I know, right? Poor me. Please crack out the smallest violin you own and play a concerto in ‘Woe is GOTN.’ Rejection – and specifically sexual rejection – is something I used to have a lot of practise in. I knew how to take a ‘no’, and greet it with a shrug and a cuddle. I knew how to take ‘seriously? Now? AGAIN?’ and absorb it into my thick, thick skin, so it couldn’t pierce through to the soft bit inside me that – whisper it – needed sex to feel loved.