I couldn’t really have written this post before today. It’s New Year’s Day and I’m lying in bed, knickerless, unwashed and underslept after a very much- needed evening of slutty hedonism, silliness, dressing- up and legs akimbo laughter. In so many ways 2018 was a sparkling year in which I learnt and grew and achieved…
Kink is not a cure for grief. Getting dressed up is not a cure for grief. Wriggling into silk and sequins, slinking in front of a full- length mirror, dancing at your own reflection, rejoicing in the sight of your own bare shoulders and nape… none of this will bring them back to…
You could write about what we get up to, he says. Turn it into a book, sell a million copies. We’ll be rich beyond our wildest dreams. I’m not sure if it’s an idea or an order. I will take it as the latter. *************** My arse is covered in wooden spoon bruises…