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…
It’s been a fucking shitty fucking week. On Tuesday something happened which I’m advised by my redoubtable therapist not to discuss (we’re working through it in a focused way and it’s all good and positive, but I can’t go into it in any way that would currently be productive). Last night, not quite out of…
It hasn’t been an easy week. He is recovering from the closing of an enormously stressful chapter in his life; I have been struggling with overwhelming insecurities. Fears about our future, envy of the time he spends with other partners, terror that one day I will show him so many of these nighttime corners that…
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…