On being filthy

Sometimes, when I fancy getting off on something really, really hot and well written, I go and read @girlonthenet's blog (here). You should too, as long as you aren't easily offended or at work. It is graphic and gratuitous, gloriously filthy and wonderfully eloquent.

Every time I read it (pausing between paragraphs to masturbate furiously) I am shocked. I love being a bit shocked. You know that feeling when someone whispers something really, really dirty in your ear and it makes you gasp and the shock and the fire course through your veins, and it burns in your cheeks and in your loins. (Good word that, LOINS). Makes you so ridiculously horny you think you might just lose it, for a second? That? I love that.

Anyway so I read it and I ponder how freeing it would be to be this anonymous girl who fucks all these guys (and girls) and who prefers to fuck than be in a relationship. Bloody good on her. Mixed in with my gratuitous shock and borrowed pleasure is admiration, envy, and perhaps even insecurity. I love sex, and I'm not a prude between (or on/tangled up with/tied up by) the sheets. But the notches on my bedpost are very few, despite being single for quite a number of years. I've never had a one night stand, although I did once have casual sex with a friend for a few months. I find myself wondering why this is, when I am filthy as hell, constantly rampantly horny, a proudly liberated feminist, and frankly really quite depraved. I find myself strangely incongruous. I have decided that this odd dichotomy is due to one or more or all of the following reasons:

1. I am actually just a prude and slightly cowardly. I really like sex but I'm too scared to go and try it with loads of other people.

2. I have a secret latent prejudice towards people I perceive as being promiscuous and I don't want to be like them. However I'm still uncontrollably horny.

3. I haven't had the opportunity. I've lived in the north east for the last five years where, forgive me guys, but men tend all to be out looking for a Chezza replica in the Bigg Market in a neon bodycon dress on and dyed orange skin. That's er, not really my style.

4. I can't enjoy sex unless I feel safe, and I'm more likely to feel safe with a guy if I'm in a relationship with him.

5. I'm just a hypocrite who isn't really a sex pest at all, just pretends to be one. (It's not that, I am a sex pest).

6. I'm horrifically physically unattractive but I have such a winning, wonderful personality that you have to get past this to be able to have sex with me. (It's not that either, neither of those are true).

However;

7. I have concluded that it doesn't really matter. Have I missed out? Maybe. But the MASSIVE BONUS of feminism, guys, is that I can be whoever I want to be, enjoy sex in whatever capacity I like, shag a lot of people, shag nobody, engage in mild S&M (who said that?), be as damn well depraved as I want within the safe confines of a monogamous relationship, and its really ok. No-one can tell me or you or anyone else how to have sex and who with and what we should be doing and how often. Least of all me.

I'm off for a wank now.