Category: Essays

Saying what I like still feels risky. This is the essay about asking anyway, because hinting has wasted more good nights than honesty ever did.

A good kisser can ruin me faster than a speech. Bad kissing is a warning. I should have listened more often than I did.

I want the savage bit and the soft bit. Foot rubs. Kettle. Hair stroked. If he can only do one, he was never going to keep me.

In my head I am fearless. In the doorway I am shy. The gap between the filth I imagine and the girl who still hopes for kindness.

Not shame exactly. More the Tube ride home in last night’s dress, thighs still humming, wondering if I was brave or just lonely and lucky.

At work I am stern. At home I am greedy. This is about the sweet act, the private hunger, and why I keep those two girls separate.

Right then, let me just get this out there before my tea goes cold. People at the bank have this…

I woke up this morning to the usual racket of my phone buzzing like it had a personal grudge against…

A drawer can finish what a hurried man will not. No shame in it. Only in pretending five distracted minutes counted as paying attention.

Give me wine and I start telling conquest stories. Not to be cruel. Because women compare notes, and silence has never protected anyone I know.