Category Archives: Advice That No One Asked For

Sexual Confidence

Recently, I agreed to answer some questions for a journalist who was looking to find some women between the ages of 25 and 30, who would be willing to answer some questions about their sexual confidence for a supplement in one of the UK’s largest newspaper publications, a free magazine targeted at women. The article came out earlier in the week, and suffice it to say, I was bitterly disappointed at being severely misquoted and having my well thought out, articulate and structured answers butchered and spliced to fit the journalist’s true intentions when writing the article. What I gathered from it is that neither the journalist, nor anyone at the magazine, truly cared about the sexual confidence of young women, but, instead, wanted to marginalise these women into certain categories and from my perspective, none of us were shown in a positive light. In hindsight, I realise that the questions were both vague and worryingly infantile for a grown woman to be asking another and instead of putting my faith in this person, hoping to, eventually, find an article that didn’t discuss sexual discourse from an angle consisting of solely demographics, percentages and charts, but instead, highlighting that sexual confidence is something that we should all be aware of and participating in. Needless to say, I was wrong about the journalist and wrong about the publication; instead of championing women who are confident in their sex lives, the article seemingly chastised us for daring to speak so brazenly about our sexual pasts. Shame on us, eh? So, in today’s blog post I am going to write about what I would have chosen, had I, as a decent writer and person, been given the opportunity to do so:


Typically, the concept of being sexually confident is something that is, by and large, considered a taboo topic, even in today’s society. To discuss being sexually confident, perhaps conjures images of that rare breed of woman who has the body to pull off matching lingerie, teamed with suspenders and high heels; Victoria’s Secret models and porn stars, maybe, but not your average English woman, whose underwear drawer consists mostly of comfortable, practical pants, with the odd pair of Spanx in there for when we truly need it; the idea of wearing high heels and underwear and lounging seductively anywhere bringing us out in hot sweats, panic attacks looming above us like death. For a long time, I was part of this demographic; I was ashamed of the way I looked and frightened that I wouldn’t only not look like other women, but that I wouldn’t perform correctly, or that I’d do something that the other women didn’t do, and it hasn’t been until very, very recently that I realised that none of it matters: The concept of sexual confidence is a myth, yet another demographic and percentile mark that we are forced into, in the aid of yet another boring article about sex, that doesn’t help normal people with sex worries at all.


I think part of the reason that articles like this can exist and highlight sexual insecurities is because we all have them; even porn stars, even women so perfect it looks like there is someone photo shopping them in real life: Everyone has insecurities and this is why articles like this thrive, especially amongst British people who suffered the indignity of sex education classes as children. I’m sure I’m not the only person who thought those awkward sex education classes were entirely counter-productive and not at all insightful or helpful when coming to terms with the concept of sex overall. In hindsight, and I’m sure you’ll agree, it seemed less about providing people with sexual education and more an instructional manual of contraceptives and how to put them on; more intent on stopping diseases and unplanned, teenaged pregnancies, from spreading within their school (how embarrassing would that OfSted report be?). But, it didn’t truly educate people as young as fourteen and it didn’t stop them from having sex; it was demonstrably unhelpful in discussing sex in real terms: The emotional implications, the concept of self-respect and not doing anything you are uncomfortable with, or even consent. As a result, I found that a lot of my class mates were incredibly well versed  in the Karma Sutra and that none of them truly had any idea what they were participating in: They were just pumping away until the male ejaculated… from what I was informed. Admittedly, a lot of my sex education came from the internet; I would hear terms and Google them, or look up an array of different sexual practices just for the sake of soaking up knowledge, but sex education at school taught me nothing. I didn’t even know that females could orgasm from sex; all we learned is that we need to wear protection so that when our male partner ejaculates; we won’t get pregnant, which is very, very sad.

Even as adult women, which the article I’m discussing proves (I think), is that not a lot of people truly understand sex: To have an article that uses percentages and graphs to outline their target demographic or discuss topics that might not be considered normal within general sexual discourse is entirely infantile to a worrying extent, as I’ve already discussed. It just proves that we’re a society that thrives on these ridiculous articles to feel, I guess, the opposite of validation, to a certain extent, like sex is some kind of secret that none of us are truly a part of and that we’re still not quite there when having sex; we’re ultimately marginalising ourselves and stopping ourselves from experiencing good sex, because we’re too busy concentrating on being like the percentages in the piss-poor articles we’re reading, rather than our partners or our own enjoyment. I think the first question I was asked, do you think you’re good in bed, only highlights the infantile nature of the article and the general childish attitudes that people perceive others to have about sex; there is no such thing as being good in bed – you either enjoy yourself or you don’t and that bares absolutely no relevance on the manner of performance that either you or your partner exude; you simply either have or haven’t enjoyed that particular moment. In the article, sexual confidence implied a sense of superiority over other people, which simply isn’t the point of being confident at all: Sex isn’t a public display for us all to participate in, if you enjoy the things that you partake in sexually and have an enjoyable sex life, then you are confident, there is no in-between.

The questions the journalist asked also involved perceptions of society and that if I, as someone sexually confident, felt restricted by the perceptions society had about female sexuality and, if this would change in the near future. Overall, I think it was an excellent question, but I don’t see it featured anywhere in the article; the idea of encroaching on society’s ideals of how women should behave sexually, still, seemingly too taboo to post, which is so unfortunate and upsetting. I thought I was writing something that would assist the general struggle a lot of women are feeling, that is evidenced on Twitter and within movements such as Everyday Sexism or even my best friend Em over at Any Girl Friday; that women are sexual beings and that it’s okay that we enjoy masturbating or have a right to say ‘no’ when approached by a man regarding sex, but that wasn’t featured in the article at all. Instead, the fact that I had a partner who was into male chastity was featured as though I was some kind of aggressive dominatrix type woman, which wasn’t what I wrote at all. In fact, quite surprisingly to some, I wrote quite nice things about that person and looked at the psychology behind why he might have been into male chastity, which stemmed from his inherent, uncontrollable, somewhat oedipal maternal issues. But I guess the journalist took ‘I don’t do things by halves’ (written in the first paragraph) and the ‘My ex was into male chastity’ (fifth paragraph) and spliced them together to make me sound like I was a heartless, cruel dominatrix, because that’s what sexual confidence is all about, isn’t it?


If you’re a woman and you have worries about sex, or if you’re a man and panic about this too, then heed my advice: Speak to your partner. Sexual confidence isn’t about being able to perform alongside some archaic ideals of what good sex is supposed to be. If your woman isn’t screaming the walls down, that doesn’t mean you’re not doing a stellar job. If your man isn’t ejaculating into your mouth within five minutes of sucking his dick, that doesn’t mean you aren’t awesome at sucking cock. But that’s not for me, or anyone at all to tell you, especially not some piss-poor article written in a magazine.

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Life Lessons That Only 80s Movies Can Teach a Person:

If you were born anywhere beyond 1983, you really weren’t an eighties child. You were too young to truly understand just how awesome a generation of people who believed we would be flying around on hover boards by 2015, one space ship ride away from a weekend of passion with an alien who owns three tits on Mars. Growing up in the 1990s was probably the worst time to grow up; everyone was a little pissed off that the 1980s stopped so abruptly and music got decidedly worse, the only exception being The Spice Girls, of course. Even today, you will still find an abundance of people wistful for the 1980s, which is why movies from that generation are so damned popular, even now. I was born at the very end of the 1980s, with only two tender years of being alive during an awesome decade, so I think I feel it more than a lot of people, thus take perpetual comfort in sticking on a film from the decade and grinning like a lunatic until the credits roll.

Eighties movies capture everything that was truly awesome about the decade. I mean, at least the ‘truly awesome’ parts that I, as someone who wasn’t old enough to actually understand the society and culture then, therefore can only assume were the best parts. It might have been crap, but think about it Back to the Future, ET, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Weird Science, My Step Mother’s an Alien… all of these amazing movies that allow us snippets into how awesome life in the eighties really was and how logic, science and the impossible were all made true to life and genuinely possible for normal people. It was a magical time, way better than any Disney movie can boast. And it taught us so many important life lessons regarding how we should be living our lives as adults born a little too late in the decade to learn any real and tangible lessons about being an adult. And, after all, living one’s life through a series of potentially thirty year old movies is a wise and mature decision, no matter who you are, so remember that.

One of my main childhood crushes in life has been constant: Andrew McCarthy. Just saying his name causes over dramatic, romantic sighs to escape from my lungs; he was a true romantic hero and I owe a lot of important life lessons from the Mannequin and Pretty in Pink actor. The Polonius from Macbeth line: to thine own self, be true can encapsulate the characters McCarthy plays quite well and I guess that this could be one of the life lessons I should take from these movies, but I’m not going to. I’m going to take something else, whilst explaining how he always stays true to himself. I mean, think about it… How many men do you know that would fall in love with an ancient Egyptian princess trapped in a mannequin, only coming to life in private, when no one else is watching and not feel an ounce of shame by being caught in incredibly compromising positions by passers by/shoppers/your boss?

Like he didn’t even explain himself at all; during one scene, they were found after a night of passionate love making (as passionate as a mannequin can be, I imagine, but she did end up playing Samantha Jones, perhaps the horniest woman to ever grace New York City), people were gathered around him as he lay in her embrace wondering “Holy crap! Did he have sex with that mannequin? In a tent? In the middle of this department store?” and that was it, just dignified, silent concern for their fellow human being. Although his reaction was slightly different: mischevious grin, quick exit, total nonchalance and no sign of an emotional breakdown at finding himself in these constantly awkward situations.

Pretty in Pink, of course, saw our romantic hero fall in love with a girl way below his social ranking in life, played by the one and only Molly Ringwald, 80s queen. She was a girl who spent the majority of her time looking after her adorably alcoholic dad (it’s not a danger to her health or her mental well-being looking after an unemployed parent in the 80s. it’s a bonding experience and totally cool!) and a girl who made amazingly fashionable clothes from hand me downs and cast offs and who spent a lot of time hanging around with Jon Cryer, back when he was at his most adorable (like, part of me is totally annoyed at Ringwald for not falling in love with Ducky after his AMAZING Try A Little Tenderness routine. Like, even now, when watching old episodes of Two and a Half Men, I still look at Alan when he was younger and remember seeing him as a youngster, thrusting in the air along to the dulcet tones of Otis Redding and my innards do a little pang. Yes, I know and no, I’m not ashamed); Andrew McCarthy saw past all of that, saw past his supposed best friend’s, James Spader’s dickish comments about social class and Molly being only good for one thing and he fell for her like any 80s romantic hero should, because she was the 80s queen and he knew it. The important life lesson here is that Love Conquers All, alcohol addictions are a father daughter bonding experience and that James Spader deserved to have his party ruined.

From Back to the Future, I learned a lot about friendship and that it comes in all shapes and sizes and even moments in time, and that being a young teenaged boy who befriends a cooky older man everyone thinks is weird will not result in molestation or Stockholm Syndrome: It will result in TIME TRAVEL. I think this is partly why I tend to gravitate towards the older generations, in the hopes that one day, when I’m having an extensive conversation with an old man on the bus, that he will lean into me and whisper I have a time machine. And I will believe him and travel through time with him.

Back to the Future also taught me that incest is surprisingly sexy and that part of me really wanted Marty McFly to kiss his mam because she was way prettier than his 1980s girlfriend and by the sounds of things, way hornier too. And I mean, it wouldn’t be that creepy because it’s a film and people in the 80s didn’t care about incest the way we do now. I mean, the only reason we care Is because of one man who locked his kid in a basement and spoiled it for everyone. But, at least Game of Thrones are bringing it back! The important life lesson here is: Friendship with the elderly will result in time travel and that mothers are sexy.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is perhaps the most important life lesson of all. I mean, firstly, this is the guy who will go ahead and reignite a generation of children’s passion for Africa and is probably the sole reason that we grew up caring about animals, because, let’s face it, anyone who plays SIMBA in a movie is going to be the voice of a generation. I mean, he totally cheated on his wife when she started earning more money than him, but fuck off, he was SIMBA and he also played a person called Ferris, which takes a lot of balls. I take my hat off to him. I think I like this movie so much because it doesn’t play along to the pre-ordained constraints that a lot of movies adhere to. I mean, here he is, a dork for all intents and purposes, bunking off school and having a day of sheer awesome the likes 80s children had never seen before. I mean, he gets involved in a parade that just happened to be making its way down the street when he decided to grab a microphone and join in. I mean, back in the 80s, random parades for no reason were pretty commonplace and it wasn’t weird that no one had the day off work or school to go and see it, because they have parades of everything in America, so people aren’t even that bothered by them. Another parade? ANOTHER PARADE? Ugh, I can’t be dealing with this shit, I have a maths test today! He’s not the traditional romantic hero that a lot of 80s movies encapsulate in their discourse; he’s insightful and inspirational to a generation of teenagers, even today, who feel a little lost and a little broken. The Life Lesson here is: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

The 1980s saw some of the, arguably, best movies of all time and movies that literally shaped a generation of people who were really pissed off not to have been born in a society where no one seemed to care or get down about really shit stuff, I mean, Freddie Mercury, rock god of the time not only came out as gay and people were SHOCKED because flamboyance was not only accepted, it was expected and didn’t see homophobes everywhere clenching their arse cheeks and standing so close to the wall that they could be furniture, but he died and instead of saying horrible things about him being a homosexual, people were sad because his sexual preferences weren’t even a big deal: He was Freddie Mercury for fuck’s sake and he was awesome. Living in the year 2014 sucks, not only because there ARE NO HOVER BOARDS AND TIME TRAVEL DOESN’T EXIST, but because everything is so, so crap these days. You can’t even turn on the news without seeing someone being beheaded or raped. Just once, JUST ONCE, I would love to turn on the news and hear: London came to a halt today as a truant child jumped on top of a float during one of  London’s random daily parades and sang us all a song that caused so much joy that he didn’t even get in trouble for truanting and his childlike joy was so infectious that we cured cancer. That’s all from us this evening, goodbye and have a great night!

I think the most important life lesson from my essay of remembrance is that we definitely need to start finding more time in life for joy and in that same respect, eighties movies. Life is too short to watch a shit, independent French film about the nuances of glancing at someone fleetingly for half a second (but then goes into a two and a half hour diatribe as to how negative this can be on human beings), resulting in a lifetime of misery realising you watched this instead of WarGames. So, let this be a lesson to you: Find more time for joy and more time for dissecting 80s movies to make you feel better about having a shit day. Tot Ziens!

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Twenty Something Midlife Crises:

If you’re reading this, then you may be a twenty something individual going through a little bit of a crisis. I understand. Crises are usually reserved for the middle aged and are thus appropriately glamorised because they had their shit together in their twenties and have therefore earned enough money in their lives to buy a new hairpiece, fill their faces with botox, buy a red sports car and develop a drug addiction, derived from having many dinners and sexual dalliances with high end prostitutes. Twenty somethings are not privileged enough, nor have they earned enough money prior to fly around in a sports car, paying people to have sex with them. (I should also point out that mid-life crises are not gender specific; women have them too, only they are far less glamorous and probably result in drinking wine in the afternoon and declaring themselves ‘cougars’ hitting up clubs with their other miserable friends in order to revitalise their youth in a manner which botox and sex with prostitutes wouldn’t be able to fulfil). Therefore, there is no readily prepared information on how to stop having a crisis in your twenties, get your shit together and stop lamenting over the fact that you’re in thousands of pounds worth of debt because of a degree you were encouraged to get to improve your quality of life/employment chances has resulted in unemployment and eating dried garlic bruschetta for lunch because you’re too cast adrift in your life to consider proper food consumption. I get it, so I’m here to help.

You see, I too have been, adrift and in crisis. One could argue that my current state of affairs is akin to feeling adrift and in crisis, but I would say that you are wrong, because the first stage of a crisis is denial that you are in a crisis. Much like a red sports car is such a good idea, because the ladies love a red sports car and no the media has not bastardised the red sports car to the extent that driving in one is synonymous with being an old creep looking to touch people young enough to be their daughters. You see, denial, it knows no boundaries. I am not denying that I am in a crisis, because I’m not – there is a checklist, which I have handily drafted for you all to highlight that you may be having a twenty something crisis, but I, most certainly, am not:

  1. You have a degree in some kind of artistic pursuit that filled you full of purpose during your formative years, but has since left you feeling empty in body, mind and pocket.
  2. You choose to pursue the talents bestowed on you by said degree by pursuing this as a hobby, which will accidentally, one day, flourish into a career.
  3. You have more wine glasses than you do any other type of glass in your flat.
  4. You take stands quite a lot and are often incensed by things such as the news, adverts and the inability to use your television due to your partner’s inability to explain how to use said device properly.
  5. You have too many dishes to clean on a daily basis.
  6. You have stood in front of a mirror and lamented over your girth, foaming at your reflection, but happy in your resolve that this must be your natural body shape and not a sign that you should stop eating ice cream.
  7. You don’t often wear a bra during the day, so that when people deliver packages to your door, you look like you’ve been breastfeeding two baby elephants simultaneously for the past half an hour.
  8. Or, if you’re male, don’t wear a shirt and the results are pretty much the same.
  9. Your mother often rings you to ask you if you’ve had any joy on becoming a proper adult, instead of the overgrown toddler you have essentially become, given your addiction to bottle shapes, afternoon naps and tears at not getting your own way.
  10. You write lists.

If you have checked positive for any of these, then I am very sorry, but you are probably going through a twenty something life crisis. Given, of course, that you are in your twenties. If you are younger than in your twenties, then don’t worry, your parents pay for shit and this is just childhood, enjoy it, get a tattoo. If you’re older than in your twenties and/or are married with children, then you should probably get your shit together, get off the internet and do something more worthwhile in your life. There is no room for you here.

The main problem, I think, with people who are going through twenty something life crises is that it’s not glamorised enough. Instead of being rich and having sex with people, we are poor and watching Netflix on loop every day watching actors have simulated sex with other actors. It’s all very drab. Plus, if you decide to inform someone that you feel you may be going through a little bit of a crisis, that you feel that your talents and life are dwindling away, that you’re at a point in your life where you see others with their shit together and it gives you feelings of intense anxiety to know that you are at the bottom of the gene pool in both terms of sexuality and employment. These people who you talk to are inherently selfish and will therefore laugh heartily until tiny tears are coming out of their eyelids, they will shake their heads, smile at you and tell you that you should pursue a life of comedy, or that you should write a fictional novel because the stories you come up with are crazy. If you don’t speak to someone selfish, then they will tell you how great you are and buoy your confidence up to a level where you feel stupid for ever feeling that you were in crisis, until they leave and you realise all they did was make you feel temporarily better and are probably worse than the people who didn’t support you and thought you were insane.

The truth is, twenty somethings worldwide are the first generation in life who are on the precipice of life but unable to jump over into that ship of self-sufficient adulthood and money in the bank that doesn’t need to be saved for bills or you’ll be kicked out of your house for not paying rent, because it’s just too far and you’re scared of the presumably shark infested waters that undoubtedly lie beneath. Our parents had their shit together, when they left school at sixteen, careers were pretty much handed to them, having been crafted throughout their school careers. My dad knew he was going to be an engineer and became an apprentice, my mam a hairdresser and did the same. I left school and I knew that I was going to spend a significant amount of time lying around looking at pictures of Ryan Gosling on the internet and reading books, before going shopping two days before college and buying clothes that made me look like a weed smoking hippy from the 1970s that wouldn’t make me any friends. We’re part of a generation that are in debt before we even decide what we’re doing in life, meaning we can’t pursue the things that we should do in our adult lives: mortgages, weddings, financial stability, babies, buying a car that we don’t have to lease, decorating and weekend DIY. Instead, we remain in an almost infantile state, attempting adulthood but failing miserably, working temporary, shit jobs whilst holding out for our degrees to finally pay off, developing addictions to things that remind us of childhood: which explains why EVERY male human you know has either an addiction to some kind of Japanese anime, playing army on his playstation or his xbox with his friends and that girls are weird and icky and why EVERY female you know has at some point in their lives bought a hat with animal ears on it and changed their Facebook status to Disney princess in training because they spent an entire evening drinking wine and singing along to Disney songs in their pyjamas, wishing that men were like Disney princes (not the parts where they kiss you without consent whilst you’re asleep, or kidnap you and refuse to let you see your family so he can force you to love him, though).

To me, it seems like the only thing we can really do at this point in our lives is develop the ability to time travel, go back in time and punch our childhoods right in the face. Tell them to not pursue academic excellence and instead settle for the mundane, because everyone you know who didn’t go to university is now in a proper career, has bought their first home and is married to someone they overlooked during childhood. Let them know that if they do pursue the arts they will end up fat, miserable and unemployed, the only joy in life being the fact that you have found your forever human, so at least that’s out the way and that if you’re asked to join companies under zero hour contracts or for barely minimum wage you should laugh in their faces and explain that they are what is wrong with the economy and spit on their shoes before storming out of their building, indignant and…well, unemployed.

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SEX. Sorry, did that shock you?

Sex is everywhere; it is inescapable from the moment we reach puberty until we’re ancient, our sexual years way behind us, instead we find joy in other things, like chess or our grandchildren, or watching paint dry on walls, cursing those years we spent simply worrying about sex. Because it’s true – everyone, at some point in the lives, has irrational worries about sex. I’ve spoken to countless men and women who have worried about pleasuring their partners, or lamenting over the fact that they’re not sure if they can actually reach orgasm; spending their time hopelessly thrusting, desperate to achieve the one thing we all hope to achieve during a sexual encounter: The Big O (a term I find disgusting, I have to admit). The reason we’re all worried, of course, is down to the incessant media barrage we’ve encountered since we were young regarding all things sexual: we should be having sex, but we also shouldn’t be having sex because of STIs that we are bound to catch. That we should be exploring our sexuality, but not to the extent where people will think you’re a homosexual, heaven forbid. The magazines that scream at us as we stand in line at the news agents: ‘how to pleasure your partner’ / ‘how to stop him/her from cheating’ / ‘how to give great head!’… Our lives are essentially controlled from the get go and thus, our perceptions of sex have been warped – we’re all stood around wondering how the hell do you have good sex?

Admittedly, perhaps not unexpectedly, I was a pretty sexually confused teen and my introduction to sex wasn’t the most nurturing of experiences, so for me to be as confident as I am about talking about sex, having sex and being a human with whom other humans enjoy having sex, is something that I never expected. But, I also think that because of my horrendous past experiences, I feel that I am also in the best position to have sex, because, through my own sexual awakening (which I’ve documented previously), I was able to normalise sex in a manner which the magazines and TV shows that targeted me and my age group weren’t able to do. I was able to realise that sex wasn’t about a yoga class full of perfectly executed karma sutra positions, or playing games, or using certain techniques with kitchen appliances and food in order to keep another human interested in my vaginal regions – it was about, ultimately, being myself and exploring my sexuality in a manner that included my own methods of research. I have to admit that my sexual research was more ‘sitting at my laptop with a notepad open to jot down some stuff’ rather than going out there and actually doing it, but I think that by reading about everything sex had to offer, stuff that I was confused about and things that people I knew were talking about (anal sex: will it really rip out my intestines and result in my death? No), helped me to realise what I want out of my sex life way more than actually being involved physically in any of the things I researched would. Now, it’s upsetting, because not a lot of people my age had those types of experiences and as a result, my opinion about sex differs greatly from many other people’s (so much so that I have been accused by actual family members of being a dominatrix… Not that the accusation is a bad thing, but it is said in a manner that people must find confusing: What? You find sex empowering? So you whip people and stamp on their genitals? No) and it makes me feel sad that as a society, we don’t have anyone normal that we can go to for sexual advice and have it normalised as much as we can in order for it not to be such a huge deal for so many people; men and women, young and old.

I think the thing most people, unless you are as comfortable in your sexuality as I am, don’t realise is that sex isn’t a public platform on which our peers judge us. Women don’t all sit around rating their boyfriends out of ten and there are so many ways of doing every position you can think of that you can guarantee that one person doesn’t do it the same way as another. Sex is personal purely to the two people having sex at that particular moment in time; missionary for one person is totally different to the next and that is what a lot of magazines and media outlets manage to deceive us in: That we’re all mechanical and by fingering a girl that way, or giving him a blow job this way is an access all areas guide to having successful sex with every human you encounter. So the question remains: How do you have good sex?

The best advice I could give anyone in a position where they feel that their sex lives are stale, or they don’t know what or how to do this certain something to someone that they really like and would like them to enjoy it, rather than flee the room in tears, then my honest advice to all of you is: You talk to that person. You don’t ask Cosmopolitan magazine or scroll through online forums (because believe me, the majority of those are either trolls or people who NO CLUE on how to please someone other than themselves) or even watch porn or a graphic sex scene in a movie; none of it is real and none of them care about your feelings on the matter. Talking about sex is so sexy – talking about your needs or desires or things you don’t like or things you would like to try but you’re really scared about trying because you read on the internet that it can make your intestines fall out of or you arse, you talk about it to the person that you’re having sex with. Because you should be able to. If you’re having sex with someone you can’t talk to, then you shouldn’t be having sex with that person and I urge you to stop, immediately, because no matter what your favourite magazine tells you, no matter what you are doing to please a person in that situation; if you can’t talk to that person about your needs or desires, then it doesn’t matter whether you learn to give the best blow job in the world, or give her the most amazing orgasm she’s ever had in her life; it won’t work in the long run. This goes for long term relationships or not; this goes for every single person you’ve ever thought about having sex with. Communication is an aphrodisiac and if you don’t consider it one, then you should, because in order to achieve awesome sex, ridding yourself of the stigma of the act, you need to be able to communicate.

This post, I guess, was written for anyone a little sexually confused. From my research into this as well as reading people’s Twitter feeds or social media pages is that sex is too much of a big deal and that no one really knows how they should be having sex. I guess I could redirect you to sex bloggers I love or a really great article, but the truth is, these people would probably tell you the same; communication is the key to a great sex life whether it be communicating with yourself, or another person. So remember that and go forth and enjoy all the awesomeness sex has to offer, kind regards, your cheesy normal sex advice giver (who gives advice no one asked for).

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