So! I’ve banged on quite enough about the tricky bits of Eroticon 2019. Here are some of my best bits: 1. Sharing a room with Hannah Lockhardt. It is broadly unnecessary at this juncture to go into detail about the degree to which my time spent with Hannah could be characterised as TRAUMA BONDING.…
Continue reading‘If in doubt, photograph your bum’: Eroticon part 2
This time last year I was a mess of sweat and langour, lying on a bed in a hut by a beach. It was too hot to move and too hot to eat and too hot for modest dress so mostly what I did was read books and doze and play with myself. The window…
CN: This piece includes discussion of trauma and sexual assault. This is a waltz Thinking about our bodies What they mean For our salvation With only the clothes That we stand up in Just the ground On which we stand Is the darkness Ours to take? Suspirium, Thom Yorke She is…
God, I love this city. As I walk out of the SBahn station at Warschauerstrasse the first thing I see is the Fernsehturm, the iconic TV tower, over across town, lighting up the night sky. It’s 11pm and the air is so cold that my lungs hurt, and the streets are gritted- every now…
Continue readingBerlin, Part 1: Lah- tex, Brexit and a golden lion
I’m eagerly awaiting the arrival of a new quartercup bra. Pointless things, really, unless like me you enjoy falling out of things to the degree of it being a kink in itself. I don’t know if this kink has a name; I guess it’s just a very, very specific form of exhibitionism. If we’re mining my…
It’s hard work, topping people. Fun of course- oh God, absolutely. So much fun, for her and everyone involved; those she’s fucking, and those who get to watch. You can see how much she loves the buildup, the performance of it. With her feet firmly planted like a Principal Boy taking the stage in the…
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…