2018: The Year I Began to Love My Body

When I was a kid I was always quite a chubster. My mum used to say to me that most of it was “puppy fat” – that when I got older I would stretch out and become thinner, and then I would have the body I always wanted. Well, as I got taller there was a fair amount of chunk still there, and now as an adult the only time I will ever be wearing a size 8 is in shoes. Naturally, I assumed there was something wrong with me, and have now finally been looking into my body dysmorphia in order to tackle my problems head on!

I’m not going to lie, I love food. I eat a lot. My dad’s side of the family are huge foodies, and I’ve emulated that my whole life. I used to eat a very unhealthy amount in a very unhealthy way. Food was my coping mechanism for a lot of issues in life. I was bullied relentlessly at high school for my weight, looks, anything that I did really. I could easily write a huge exposé on all the shit heads I went to high school with who have fucked up my self perception forever. It’s a vicious cycle we’ve all heard before. Bullied for being overweight, eat to cope, gain weight, feel sad, eat more…

After my first semester at uni I was the heaviest I had ever been, and a list of health problems longer than I had experienced before. I would go home to visit and was shamed by a member of my family (hi mum, yes this is about you), tormented night and day about how disgusting I was. My mother had commented on my weight throughout my life, saying I was too fat along with the bullies at school. When it’s your own parent agreeing with the hormone riddled kids at school, you’re more inclined to believe it. Now that I had put more weight on, I was never free from it. My dad’s side of the family never said a word, despite noticing, and admit they too were absolutely repulsed by the way my mother was acting. The saga of my issues with my mother is one that is novel worthy, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve luckily been able to understand why she acts out of line at times. I do need to mention I still love her with all my heart, she’s just very complicated.

I was determined at this point to silence the noise, and over the next 3 months through a dramatic change in diet (heelllloooo veganism) and exercise I dropped an insane 3 and a half stone. This would take me to my lowest weight, which is actually only roughly 5 pounds off of my current weight. My chest pains were gone, my blood pressure shot down, and I discovered I was actually lactose intolerant the whole time! This sounds amazing right? My family and friends were shocked by the transformation and applauded my efforts at every chance.

Well, it actually wasn’t great.

Guess who fell victim to the dieting marketing??? It’s me, ya boi!

For 3 months I was replacing one meal a day with hunger suppression pills. I also tried out detox teas, but didn’t follow the instructions properly.

Side note: dieting teas don’t work they’re a huge scam of course you lose weight when you’re dehydrated to shit!

Every second day the instructions called for the consumption of a night time tea. There’s no cute way to say this, that tea was essentially a laxative. I quickly put the 2 and 2 together of this was what was causing my stomach to be less bloated, so I only drank the night teas. Twice a day. Every day. I was constantly dehydrated and miserable, but the weight did fall off. Funny how abusing laxatives will do that to you, huh?

Despite all of this I still wasn’t hitting a healthy BMI. I was OBSESSED with my BMI! I actually checked mine out this morning and apparently I need to lose another 2 and a half stone to even get into the green category…nae thanks! I don’t know what eventually brought me to the conclusion I was acting like a nut case, but after that huge initial weight loss I cut back on the bonkers methods and just focused on keeping my diet. Veganism is the greatest thing I have ever done (personally I’m not about to start converting), and I’ll never look back on it.

This was all about 3 years ago, and since then my relationship with my body has been very up and down. My weight fluctuates all the time (yknow cause that’s how bodies work), and I’ve went through some pretty scary phases in terms of self loathing. I will admit a good 4 or 5 people I’ve had sex with I’ve merely thrown myself at just to feel attractive, which has resulted in me feeling even worse about myself. Last year I was weighing myself up to 8 times a day. I’ve now had to throw the scales in the cupboard to avoid the self torture. Roughly 6 times a day at work and at home I grabbed pieces of myself in the mirror, and whenever I was clothes shopping and have to go up a size I would cry over it and not buy the item (99.9% of the time this would be jeans). As you can imagine, this has been pretty exhausting.

I don’t know what about 2018 sparked a change in me. I say 2018, it’s really been over the summer. I’m pretty sure it started with the first time I wore a cropped top outside. I went out with a friend, who took a look at what I was wearing and started screaming with joy. It was nothing exciting, my outfit was all black, but she would not stop talking about how much it suited me. I started to take more time into coordinating outfits, and watched a lot of videos on how different clothes shop will interpret a different size. It all started to make sense! They say that Marilyn Monroe herself, possibly the most beautiful woman to have existed, was a size 16. Yes, in her day. Clothes sizes then dramatically changed, so I hate to break it to you but the clothes she wore then as a size 16 would now be our size 8. That’s how much these numbers don’t matter!! I also started removing labels off my clothes, which I would highly recommend. Once you remove the label it’s now your size, not a 12, 14, 16 etc.

I admit I still look in mirrors a lot, and still check to see whether I’ve put on 4 stone overnight. I sometimes worry about seeing my mother in case she comments on my weight, and I do compare my body a lot to even the curvy girls. I myself am a size 12/14, which big boobs, and bit of a tummy and thick thighs. However, I can look at myself naked now and actually dig it. I have curves that I love, parts of my body I know others have surgery just to look like me. Getting tattooed help me to love my body more, as I’m colourful and stand out and love to show them off. Even if that means getting my legs out! I will end this post with a photo I took last week and sent to my boyfriend that I have become completely obsessed with. Feel free to let me know how good my arse looks, cause believe me I already fucking know!

K

xoxo

#BiVisibilityDay – My Coming Out Story

This was not actually the story I intended to write today, however I couldn’t help but notice the date. September 23rd. Bi Visibility Day. The day of the unicorn! The day when all the greedy bastards come out of the wood works…some would say! In light of this, why not share my own story? I’ve been out and proud for nearly 5 years now, but I’ve known that I’ve not been straight as long as I can remember…

My first crush, if you ask my parents, was a boy in my class named Martin. I used to say he would kiss me in the toilets at break time and we got married in the playground. Neither were true. 5 year old me had an active imagination, and I actually thought Martin had a strange face. He just was the boy I was closest to at the time. My crushes would then go on to other boys, and I had a soft spot for Gareth Gates for many years.

At least, that is what I would say when I was asked. Turns out I was great at closeting myself even at primary school age!

My first real crush actually hit me like a rainbow brick at age 10. I was in drama classes all throughout my childhood, and one day a new teacher came to take the class.

For argument’s sake I’ll call her Laura, since Laura and I are still very much in touch 11 years later and I frankly find this whole phase weird in hindsight.

Laura was, and still is, a tall red head. She exuded energy and confidence, had curves everywhere, and was everything I wanted to be at age 10. She was the first woman I had ever met who I actually thought of as “beautiful”. We are raised to say mummy is beautiful or granny is beautiful, but when I said Laura was beautiful it was the first time I actually meant it. Obviously at age 10 I didn’t think of this as a sexual attraction at the time, and now I look back I still don’t. I didn’t know what sex was until age 13, ah Catholic school, but this woman had me transfixed. I remember being extremely confused about how I was feeling for a very long time. At this time in my life all my friends were looking through magazines, talking about how beautiful all these boy band icons were. I just saw the same frosted tips haircut and baggy jeans over and over again, it was the noughties! We were being taught in school that people develop at different rates, so I just thought that finding boys cute was something that just happened when you grew up. I was just a late bloomer. I’d just wake up one day and suddenly go “oh! Boys! Testosterone! Wife me! Women are friends, not for marriage”. After Laura came 4 more serious crushes until I hit teenagehood. It would be 4 more years until I had my first proper crush on a boy…

At age 14 I got into my first serious relationship…and the person I was in this relationship with very much had a penis. What drew me to him was his personality, the way he commanded a room, and, although I hate to admit it, he is probably one of the funniest people I have ever met. I fell in love with him fast, and honestly felt relieved. I wasn’t gay! Phew! Time to ride the privileged rollercoaster until death with my BOYfriend. The BOY. See how much he has an Adam’s Apple? Me straight.

Well, we broke up a year later…

Before this relationship and then after, people at school would always tease me for being gay. Why? Because when I was asked what boys I liked I would say none. Of course all these boys were absolute catches and exuded big dick energy in their teens, so the fact I didn’t like them CLEARLY meant I was gay and not that they were just knobs. Gay was such an insulting term to them. I apparently looked gay, acted gay, talked gay (cause that’s a thing), just all around clearly a flaming homo. I would get so upset over this, and spent so long trying to appear as straight as I could. Now if someone said I looked gay I know I would have clearly nailed my aesthetic for the day!

Then at 16 I met my current boyfriend. Again, very much a penis owner, 2 different types of chromosome. Still straight, banging! Who would’ve known it would actually be this man that would be the person who got me to come out…

We had been together for about a year. We were lying in bed, hugging, very much in love (with a BOY remember!) He needed to Google something so I gave him my phone to use, and then ran off to the bathroom. I came back to see my boyfriend looking very confused, but also trying not to laugh.

“K, your web history just popped up at the side. Why were you looking at lesbian porn?”

 

Uh.

 

Oh.

 

I quickly make up something along the lines of I just wanted to see if I was into it, which then quickly changed to clicking on it by accident. At this point the confusion in his face dies, and he does indeed burst out laughing.

“So you’ve been accidentally clicking on nothing but gay porn for the past 6 months?”

 

In hindsight this is hilarious, but back then I just burst into tears.

He then stops laughing and hugs me, assuring me it’s all OK. I couldn’t stop howling! I kept being asked what was wrong and I couldn’t respond. I’d be awful in an interrogation scenario let me tell you! All I could muster was whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again. It takes me about 15 minutes to calm down, and a talk then begins. He asks me if I’m attracted to women, and I say I can’t be. Our relationship was obviously sexual at that point, and I loved it. That means I can’t fancy women.

“When you watch these though, do you get into it?”

“…yeah”

“And have you fancied a girl before?”

“…mhmm. But, but I’m not gay!”

“Never said you were!”

 

More laughter ensues from him. I start crying again.

 

“K, I think you’re bisexual…”

 

*Cries like a Kardashian*

 

“Are you?”

 

“….yes”

 

At age 17, I had worked it out. It was OK to like men, and OK to like women. Now in my 20s I don’t think about it much anymore. If someone is attractive then they’re attractive. No big deal.

Puberty is a time where we go through hormonal changes. We might think we like boys, next day girls, next day no one. I still haven’t quite worked out what I like! I’ve found love and I’m happy, and I’m happy to say that I take all comers (ha, geddit!) I hope to raise my own children with the philosophy that they can marry a boy or a girl, and would hope that they would have the confidence to live life and love who they like. I still haven’t come out to my parents and hide behind heteronomativity.

Maybe this is a phase, but phases are fun! We learn from phases and get to try new things. In my case, both peen and puss! Hope all my fellow superqueeros are celebrating with their pink, purple and blue capes today. Keep flying the flag!

 

K

xoxo

STORY TIME | WORST ONE NIGHT STAND EVER!

So, now I’ve told y’all about how my open relationship began, let me start with one of my favourite stories that transpired from it. This is also in response to people who have said that me and my boyfriend have the sweetest deal in the world (people = men), and how we must be having great sex left, right and centre. 

Haaaate to break it to you, but being able to ride multiple people is fine, but doesn’t mean you don’t occasionally come across a dumb horse! Get ready to not only see some major red flags, but to be taken on a tour of the factory where they MAKE the red flags!!

(SHOULD PREFACE THAT THIS STORY INVOLVES A MAN AND NOT A HORSE AND I’M JUST SHITE AT ANALOGIES!) 

Anyway…

This story takes place 2 years ago, and like every regrettable story takes place during a night out in Fresher’s Week…off to a good start!

 

So this was my second year at uni. I had avoided the lure of the nightclubs and house parties the year before, because I hated everything, everyone and mainly myself. However, this year I was a new me! New friends, new found freedom, time to make up for lost time! And what better way to do that than on the 4th night to have 2 Weatherspoons pitchers to myself, before heading out to a club to consume yet more drinks that glowed like something you’d have to thrown away in a special toxics bin.

Oh yeh, this was uni!

I should also mention that the club we was…well boring! It was packed to the rafters, sure, but the DJ was awful. Plus the wait time to get to the bar was at least half an hour, so whilst waiting to get a drink you were missing DJ fuckin bad boy play ‘Sandstorm’ for the third time that night. In short I was now wasted, bored and in need of something, anything, to liven the night up.

Turns out, that would be a guy in a white top and checkered shirt over it noticing me from across the dancefloor. Painfully cliché!

There were seven of us there together, all standing in a circle trying to dance and muttering about how the theme of this club night seemed to be ‘Dance With Your Elbows Out Like You’re On A Fuckin’ Tricyle’. I didn’t know these guys that well yet, so when they turned around after a 5 minute silence to discover I had pissed off into the centre of the floor with a stranger, they were surprised. They would soon learn over the course of 9 months that this was, at that time, standard night out procedure. I had been shuffling away, when I turn around to see a guy give me a smile and offer me his hand to dance. I mean, how gentlemanly, right? I had to at least have a dance around. So off I went through the sea of elbows.

I’d say it took approximately around 90 seconds of dancing before I started to attack his face.

After this I thought it only polite to ask his name. He told me, I instantly forgot, and then back to the public indecency. Shout out to my former flat mate for capturing our blossoming romance on camera, and the other 3 I lived with for then using that as blackmail for our entire stay together. Wanks! I’d then say within another minute he was already begging me to take him home with me. I’m aware I have skipped a lot of detail in terms of his looks etc, but I’m staying true to story. At that point I new he was taller than me and had a face, the rest is a blur. I’ll get into more deets as my former hoe ass sobers up. So after about 15 minutes of begging, my drunk brain gives me this solid piece of advice:

“Hey! If you take him home and just do it, he’ll stop asking! Genius!”

No.

No.

N O O!

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What was I thinking?! That genuinely was what made me leave with him. So he would stop talking.

NOT.

OK!

So being white girl wasted, bored and taking the dumbest piece of advice I’ve ever given myself, I say sure. He gets his coat from cloakroom, and the 20 minute walk home in the September rain began, and so does the REAL story!

 

The chat begins with some awkward laughter and mumbling, as I am once again reminded of his name. He then starts with the patter I’ve come to be familiar with; “I didn’t expect this to happen tonight”, “can’t believe I found someone like you” etc. He then starts telling me about himself; he’s a third year at a very good uni, he likes rugby, works in a supermarket. If I am honest, I am not caring. This is, safe to say, the one time in my life I have looked upon the face of a human being and seen them nothing more as a dildo with legs. Not proud of that, but I’m all about honesty. Baring in mind that I am all about honesty, I decide very quickly to tell him my “deal”. I am in an open relationship, am not looking to fall for someone and am basically just all about the peen at this point. Well, wouldn’t you know it, this guy was ALSO in an open relationship!

What. Are. The. Odds?

Whilst walking he shows me pictures of the two of them together, and says that they have been together for 6 months. 3 months in he discovers she has cheated, so they decide to make their relationship more open.

Yesofcoursethatwaswhatwasgoingonandthiswasntjustarevengeshagyoudumbbiiiiiiiiiitch!

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We laugh about our mad coincidence, and continue to walk. After some chit chat, laughing and being told to move along by a policeman after this boy tried to lift my shirt up in an alley way, I am asked a very odd question:

“So like, with guys, what dick size do you like? Y’know big, small, medium?”

….say whit?

I don’t think much of it and give a half hearted answer, and then skip ahead of him before he could respond. I then turn around, and he holds me and says:

“Wow! Sorry umm it’s just…you’re the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life!”

OK. Time out. I like to look at people, I am attracted to people. I have NEVER told someone they are the most attractive person in my eyes, as that title is very much taken. Don’t worry, the comparisons between me and the Mrs have just begun! We then get to my place, and he stops me before we head in to deliver to me what in his mind was a shocking confession. He wasn’t at uni, he had lied to impress me. He didn’t want me to think of him as a failure, so had made himself look smarter. I am pretty sure my exact words were something along the lines of:

“Mate, you know I literally couldn’t care less about your personal life, right?”

Ouch. I’m aware that might have been harsh.

So now we are in my room. I should also do a bit of scene setting here. I had just moved in, and hadn’t quite had the time to buy a bed sheet…or to unpack. I let him into my room that was full of boxes and a sad looking mattress. I know, I know guys, one at a time, I’m a real smooth gal! He didn’t seem as concerned about this as I was, and was more concerned with trying to guess my bra size by literally honking one of my boobs. Apparently that was his superpower, I’d be more impressed if he could’ve actually make them go “AWOOGA!”

The usual chain of events proceeds. A sock comes off here, a pair of jeans there, praying to Jesus the whole time for salvation as I was taught at Catholic School. You know, the pre-party! He spends a fair amount of time talking about how ugly and unappealing he is (hot!), and I have to lazily reassure him, once again, zero fucks were given on my end about him as long as he gave me at least one. As my clothes start to come off he showers me with compliments. Mainly about how I was skinnier than his girlfriend, prettier than his girlfriend, had better boobs than his girlfriend, actively wasn’t his girlfriend…

It was getting weird, I’ll be honest!

Time for the main event. OK, here we go! He’s putting me in my favourite position, lucky coincidence, it’s all about to go down, ready for take off…

….

…..

…why can’t I feel anything?

I kid you not than when I say, on his first attempt at locating my vagina, he missed.

And didn’t notice.

 

Attempt 2 was marginally more successful. He had reached his destination after making a U-turn at the next available exit, but I might as well have just let him go to town on Casper the Friendly Ghost. It was clear this was gonna be all about him, and I had to just make the most of it. We’ve made our bed, badly, and now we’re having mediocre sex with a tiny dick in it. Lovely! After about 5 minutes everything came to a grinding halt, and he felt this was the most appropriate moment to ask me what my tattoos were and their meanings.

I had 5 at this point. I now have 27. Thank god this was 2 years ago! I’d still be there!

He then finds motivation to keep going for another minute or so, before once again coming to an abrupt pause to just stare at me. He was, in his words, “just trying to figure you out”.

MATE IF YOU WANT TO FIGURE ME OUT HOW ABOUT FIGURING OUT WHAT’LL GET ME GOING HERE!

…is not what I said I just laughed like an idiot.

Now, the worst part of the night.

 

There’s no polite way to say this, I was now on top of him. I figured switching it up might make this end faster. I’m no resident sexspert, but I am pretty sure that any position requires a little bit of give and take from each member involved. By that I mean, when a girl gets on top of a guy he is not supposed to freeze up like that one scene with Neville Longbottom in the first Harry Potter movie! I then had to do all the work just for anything to happen, but that’s not why I am internally cringing right now.

This guy clearly watched a lot of porn, like A LOT of porn. I like porn, porn is great, it has its uses, but it is not real life! I.e., when a girl you have just met is on top of you, who you claim is the most beautiful creature to have ever graced your dick and is also visibly not too into this, it is not appropriate to start a monologue:

“Yeh, you’re mine aren’t you? You bitch, whore, slut…”

I can honestly say I have never wanted to laugh so hard in my life!

In a very knee jerk style reaction to stop myself from laughing in his face, I place a hand over my mouth. The message seemed mildly lost in translation to my new found friend. Instead of reading the situation as what it was, he took it as meaning his hulk’s arm of a penis was causing such a commotion within my insides that I was about to scream the place down.

So his chat continued….and I was about to snap!

Cue the second input from the Drunk Brain of Wisdom!!

“If you hurt yourself, like really badly, you won’t want to laugh anymore”.

I didn’t have much material to work with to cause myself physical pain. I had a free arm, gravity, and a wall. Turns out when the 3 combine, it can make a hell of a bruise all the way up your arm! This stopped the mine bitch monologue dead. He asked if I was OK, and after a nod we resumed until he was done.

Thank god, I was done from the moment we began!

He lay back, and then went on another rant about his girlfriend’s supposedly inadequate sexual performance. I had no choice but to come at the conclusion at this point that his girlfriend was made of plastic, made of stone, or literally dead at this point in order to be worse than what I had just been through. He then asked if he could stay the night and I said no, saying I had to be up early. This time I didn’t cave into the begging, and sent him on his way. I would like to say this is where we end things, but there’s one tiny detail left.

Remember that open relationship he was supposedly in? VERY MUCH CLOSED!

He had somehow found me on Facebook, knowing only my first name and where I went to uni. They say women are CIA level detectives, but this dude was the 007 of online creeping! He had messaged me with his Snapchat name, and I just ignored it. What a night, time to put that behind me forever.

Oh no!

Turns out Mrs Shite In Sack had got a hold of his phone that next morning and saw my name. Imagine my absolute delight to receive a message off her at 7am, going into very thorough detail about how much of a home wrecking slut I was! I was planning to ignore this, however after 15 more messages I caved and told my side. It was scary how quickly that girl did a 180! Suddenly we were sisters together, both hurt by the same man, and we needed to stick together?

Sweetheart, I wish he would have hurt me just so I felt something!

This led to me calming her down and agreeing to meet up for coffee, before blocking her on every social media platform I had because I am the worst. And that, my friends, was finally the end.

Minus him stalking me on social media for months and calling my work drunk several times at 3am but I think I have said enough!

I promised you a story, didn’t I? Hope you’re satisfied with it, because I sure as hell wasn’t!

 

K

xoxo

 

 

 

 

Starting an Open Relationship

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I know, I know. Open relationships get a seriously bad rep. They are stereotypically something used to ‘save’ a dying relationship that ends in one person leaving or cheating. I mean, it’s just permission to cheat right? It seems this lady above here seems to think the mere suggestion of something totally legal yet a bit taboo, merits a just as taboo yet completely illegal reaction of second degree murder. What a classy widow! Here me out. I am going to attempt to do the impossible – make an open relationship look healthy and mutually beneficial! Here is my story, which starts about 4 years ago…

Picture this. A young couple, 18, living miles apart, newly in love. Not uncommon, we see it everywhere. Over the past year the two of them had been doing some soul searching, and had both come out to each other as bisexual.

But that doesn’t exist, you’re both clearly gay!

Ha. Original.

Years and years of questioning and confusion had led to us finally able to be open and honest with ourselves and each other. On a side note my coming out story is in hindsight quite hilarious and I can’t wait to share it some day! But over the course of the next year I had started to think. I had already said that whilst he was on a lads holiday to one of those Spanish party islands (name escapes me) that if he got absolutely wankered I wouldn’t mind him having it off with someone. He didn’t fully believe I would be OK with this, and his friends actually thought I was trying to test his loyalty!

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I kid you not. Their exact words.

But why would I have been OK with it? Well in my mind it was simple. Before we met he was a virgin, and I wasn’t. I knew I wanted to be with this guy for the long haul, and I guess the feeling of being someone’s one and only was very uncomfortable. I had had a few sexual partners before him and wanted him to actually be able to experience what everyone else got to at a young age. Fast forward another year to us coming out, the guilt was even stronger. He knew what he was and knew he was interested in men as well as women, yet because of me he would never get to learn more about himself. It’s at this point I should preface he was NOT EVER telling me this himself, and after talking it through it was NEVER how he was actually thinking. This was my own conscious thought, and was not made to feel like I was holding him back from shoving his dick into more things. I am fully aware that’s how a lot of stories like these go, but I just wanted the love of my life to get to experience the hoe life like most of us do!

I had been sitting on the idea of giving him the green light for some time, and never ever was going to suggest we fully explore an open relationship. I had had other partners, I’d done that bit, for him this would be something new. Something I could give to him to show how much I loved him and trusted him. We lived, and still do, in different cities. Our schedules didn’t always line up. It would be a source of comfort in a way for him. Finally, I decided I was going to go ahead and make my proposal. He didn’t have to accept, but I wanted him to know that option was open.

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We were sitting in a restaurant, not the most private location but hey we went with it, and clinked our glasses of over priced wine like we normally do. I sipped quietly before piping up with the classic, “hey, I’ve been thinking…”

Now, I’m pretty sure I have never seen a man’s face go from pink to pure white so fast. Looking back it really does make me laugh. I was offering him the chance to spread his thot wings and his first reaction after hearing those 4 words was that of someone being asked to kill their own mother. But anyway, I laid the idea out on the table (I mean metaphorically, I hadn’t come with diagrams…though I feel a tasteful PowerPoint may have helped me in hindsight!). Once I explained my thought process, much like I have now, he started to laugh. It turns out for the past 2 years he had been thinking the same thing. Here I was, open about the fact I liked women, and had never really properly got a chance to explore that. He said he felt bad too that I couldn’t due to being with him exclusively. This is why I love this boy. We’re always on the same page. We started to talk more in depth for about an hour, outlining the rules and what would be deemed OK or straight up cheating. It turns out we had the same thoughts about it all. We had to be honest about what we intended to do, and we could deny the other from sleeping with a particular person which was absolutely not negotiable. We call this our ‘Veto’ system, and it’s saved my ass more times than I care to admit from doing something very very stupid. We drank more wine, agreed on it, and left with a huge smile on our face.

That was 3 years ago. I am still with the same person, still love him with all my heart, but now have some cracking stories! Seriously this range from good, to scary, to funny, to just down right odd. For those of you who don’t agree with this lifestyle that’s fine. It won’t work for you, awesome! Meet your Prince Charming and fall in love and die 80 only having sucked one dick. That’s beautiful! But when you sit back and wonder what if I could’ve done something different, I will be here to live vicariously through….

K

xoxo

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A Wee Introduction…

“Here we go again, another new blog written by a middle class white girl who think she’s being original. Bet she’ll have so much to tell us on how to get boys to like you and why replacing 2 meals a day with avocado toast will guarantee you live to see the birth of your great-great-grandchildren”. 

I hate disappoint you, but I ain’t that bitch!

Although I don’t eat meat or dairy, I’m Scottish. Green things terrify me and I’m more likely to shout abuse at a boy until he runs home to his maw than charm him into bed with sweet nothings and fluttering lashes. What I can instead offer is some stories from nearly 22 years on Earth. Stories of what happens when you turn your back on the traditional boy meets girl and settles down, as well as how to turn your trauma on its head and come out the other side with a sense of humour darker than I can put into a socially acceptable simile.

“But why? Who gives a shit on what you have to say?”

First of all, dad…is that you?

We live in an era of judgement. We constantly judge ourselves and others based on their actions and opinions. Girls are meant to look gorgeous at all times, but God forbid they actually do it to liberate themselves. They should flaunt their bodies for the boys in the club, but if she decides to take one home she’s easy. If this girl is lucky enough to find someone to take care of her, she should devote herself. Her man is the only man that matters. No matter how hot Channing Tatum looks she should only have eyes for Scott, the apprentice plumber from round the corner. They should then get married, have 2.9 kids and live eternity just like their parents did, and so on so on. Mental health is something that also supposedly weakens us. Young people are meant to feel embarrassed or ashamed for something they can’t control. Just cheer up, right? What have you got to feel sad about? This is all in your head and I just can’t understand how you feel…

If only there was something out there that normalises not listening to all of this bullshit and just doing things because it feels right, huh?

In short, what this blog is sure to become is a collection of stories and thoughts from a girl who is:

  1. Exploring her sexuality, because f**k living in denial
  2. Very much in love but also non-monogamous, because f**k heteronormativity and people are beautiful
  3. Learning to love a painfully average body, because f**k shaming your own genetics
  4. Dealing with mental health issues, because f**k suffering in silence when you could actually help people feel less alone
  5. A vulgar mouthed moron, because why the f**k not!

 

So if you like stories about hilariously awful one night stands, terrible Tinder texts and how awesome life can be when you stop caring about Big Brother watching..then stay tuned! And hey, maybe we can all celebrate the original idea of being unoriginal!

 

K

 

xoxo