It wasn’t meant to be like this. It was meant to be candlelight and a perfectly curated playlist and rose petals on the bed and me opening the front door to you in nothing but a silk dressing gown; yet here we are, on a rainy Tuesday night, and I can hear the neighbour’s radio while the smell of the weekly batch of chilli wafts in from the kitchen and I’m having sex wearing a scarf; and not a sexy scarf, I might add. It’s the type of chunky-knit woollen scarf that one’s grandmother makes them because our tiny,… Continue Reading
In Defence of Unsexy Sex
