Friday 18th January 2019

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This morning, my girlfriends and I talked about sex. As very-almost-adults, we seldom get the chance to meet face-to-face in our group’s entirety. So, like other like minded professionals, we have the majority of our important discussions and debate over WhatsApp. This morning, the girls took a break from their day jobs and lie-ins and I paused Glee to really get down and dirty about the action (or lack thereof) that our love tunnels were experiencing. We discussed our personal current sexual situations and thoughts on each other’s sexual climates. Besides re-instating the importance of peeing after sex and the conclusion that, without guidance and/or, most men would be awful at fingering, it was agreed that for both practical and logical reasoning; most of us prefer our roll in the hay at any other time than just before bed.


It was a brief conversation that soon moved on to skin care, but the common ground resonated with me. I am a firm believer that sex is diverse and completely original among individuals, and therefore should not be compared to anyone or anything else. But if this is being heralded by men and women alike, maybe it’s worth looking into? I mean, in thinking about it, it seems completely logical. You visit Bedfordshire at the end of the day. More often than not, you’re tired and looking forward to the sleep that awaits you. I’m an evening showerer, so I am normally fresh, clean and really in the mood to lie silently and either scroll through my Instagram feed or binge the next few episodes of my latest Netflix obsession before drifting into dream. So why are sex columns and Hollywood blockbusters alike, promoting the message that within a couple, sex is something had under the covers after lights out. I, for one, can’t be shagged. Literally. I don’t want to have to get back out of bed after getting in, just so I can go for my post-sex pee.


I’m writing this to you from my sick bed. I’ve been struck down with some fucking heinous lurgy this week and, believe me, I know I’m poorly because I can’t even bring myself to masturbate. My poor magic wand has been unplugged in favour of an air purifier and has been lying in the corner of my bedroom staring longingly into my soul ever since. As I’m sure I don’t need to explain, my current temperature and state of health means that, not only am I not having sex but, also, really laying into my poor other half when he rolls in for a spoon during the night.


Whilst I have the time to tell you, I think I’m going to start up my diary-entry style posts again on Woman on Top. They will go live every week, on a Tuesday morning, and fall in and around the other, less personal pieces I post. The Man Ban was so popular and, being completely selfish, I miss having somewhere to vent and chat shit about my life and problems and all the things that would be too boring to pour into a Messenger conversation with my sister. In these posts, I’ll catch you up on anything worth talking about, and all that I feel you might be interested in and might be able to relate to.


Because it’s nice, you know, to know you’re not the only one eating bread in January or having the same conversation about period sex with a very stubborn audience once a month, every month.


Oh, and if anyone is interested, apparently eating Brazil nuts is the new game changer for healthy, clear skin.


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