Hi. I’m Blue. The girl who writes about sex. The girl you usually meet when you come to this blog. Most of you will never admit to reading this blog and even less of you will admit to jerking off to my words. Some of you comment here. Some because they are friends and they are cool like that. Others because they are, I dunno, brave I guess. Some of you prefer to e-mail me (or DM me on Twitter). Most are very civilised. Others not so much. Most are relieved to know that they aren’t the only ones harbouring dark desires and take consolation in the fact they can now admit their true nature to at least one person who totally gets it. I imagine confessing to a total stranger can be quite therapeutic. I don’t mind these e-mails. I don’t mind keeping other people’s secrets. I think people should embrace who they are and do so unapologetically and fearlessly. There is no shame in being honest.
But what I do mind is when you contact me telling me that I am the object of your fantasies. While that’s always flattering to hear (and if you can spell properly and sound interesting, I might even begin to fantasise about you), it’s also kinda not cool. Because it’s not always about sex. My relationships, I mean. In fact, it’s never just about sex. It’s always something more. Much more. It’s just I choose to not write about that stuff here. And even if I do, I don’t make a habit out of it. If you haven’t figured it out by now, the girl you fantasise about is only a tiny part of me. The real me. The me who is so much more than just Blue. The me you don’t get to see here too often. So perhaps I have no right to feel enraged and frustrated and downright violated when some of you look down on me and think less of me for writing about sex. Or when some of you expect me to perform for you in private. I mean, I wrote that thing about sucking cock that time, and although I was talking about the man I was dating at the time, it stands to reason that I will want to suck your cock too ‘cos I’m the girl who writes about sex. And obviously any girl who writes such filth would be totally down with getting on her knees for cock.
But I’m not down with it. I don’t want to suck your cock. I don’t want to fuck you. And unless you are China Miéville or Slavoj Zizek or my Asian Studies lecturer, I am never having a one-night stand with you. I don’t do casual sex. Period. So please stop asking for Blue. Fantasise about her by all means, but please stop contacting me professing to want to get to know ‘me’ when we both know what you really want is a piece of Blue and not me. And I get it. Blue is exciting. You want her to be your fantasy and not a real living person. Because then that would mean you will have to take off your mask and face yourself. Face your dark desires. So you would rather fantasise about chasing Blue, slapping her in the face, spanking and choking her, fucking her and telling her what to do because you are the man and she’s the slut. And that’s okay. Fantasising is okay. What’s not okay is contacting me expecting me to be your slut. I am nobody’s slut. And if I decide to be one, I’ll be the slut of the man who sees me in my entirety (not just reduce me to Blue and be perfectly okay with it) and who tells me what to do not because he’s a man but because he’s a smart man who loves me.