Tag Archives: Michael Thatcher

What if radfems spanked sex workers, why I fancy Thatcher’s grandson and how I almost deleted this blog

I have so much to tell you. I’m negotiating with 1 guy and have been contacted by 1 couple to sell virginity, and The One’s just texted me. I also have to tell you why my name won’t be on the Merseyside petition and the next campaign that’s on the horizon. And on the 17th I decided to do a blog called “All My (blonde) Loves: how blonde Americans are all out to screw me (but sadly not literally” which will cover the years from 2001 to the present. I wanted to offer something un-Thatcher-related that’s a sort of pisstake of me from pre-puberty to now and how, though I have a thing for black-haired boys, I never learn that blondes are all jinxed for me. I’m not going to reveal my age, but I’m probably younger than some of you might think.

I’ve had emails from a couple of people, including a girl around my age whose experience of trying to sell virginity I totally get. (No – I am not the only VirginWhore around). People think I’m everything from brave to disgusting to talented but really I’m just me.

I seriously considered deleting this blog and my Twitter. It just seemed like I’d failed – I hadn’t yet found a new buyer (I’ve got 2 possibles now) and the controversy over Ruth’s tweets was at its height. And then there was the other thing which I may or may not blog about. I mean I’ve touched on it in this post but not very explicitly. Though if I’m honest it was mainly this third thing that was bugging me. Anyway 2 of my friends told me not to delete it because the blog is interesting and deleting it or even just deleting Twitter would not solve anything for me. I think I might have deleted Twitter at least if it wasn’t for the Merseyside campaign. I thought I’d wait till the petition went up and had enough support and then delete Twitter, but of course that timespan is far longer than the time it took me to calm down and realise the pointlessness of such action. I’d thought to return to an offline life of normality and forget any of this blogging/Twitter/sex work stuff ever happened. I figured I’d had a good run and now it was time to go back to the real world. But as time went by I felt like I shouldn’t destroy or abandon all my work just because of this thing.

I keep meaning to blog stuff but selling virginity stuff sometimes takes up time and yesterday just as I was about to blog “All My (blonde) Loves”, my friend Renata was on the phone to me and going on about morals, how it’s better to be honest and charge for time instead of dating because you’ll get a great dinner or a fab holiday, or marrying for money. Anyway as she was describing having sex for a meal, I got totally turned on and I was giggling and being like “this is totally turning me on, wait, I have to hold something cold”. My airgun is usually on my desk so I reached across and grasped it as Renata continued with her story and we were both giggling. It was utterly surreal, me sitting at a desk with a phone clamped to my ear, wearing a brown and gold hoodie and leaning across to clutch an airgun.

Then I told her that on the 17th I realised I fancy Michael Thatcher, the good-looking blonde 24 year old grandson of Margaret. She laughed and said she couldn’t believe it. But the truth is, I do want him. I’d love to have sex with him just to piss off Margaret. If she’s watching from beyond the grave she would be so pissed. My superficial lust-based attraction to Michael has totally lifted the first serious crush I ever had, which was a MASSIVE relief. I hate being under the influence of another person and I don’t know how anyone can stand it. It is the ultimate insult to free will. I was always cynical about love and having that crush has only made me terrified of it. I hope to never again be subjected to feelings outwith my control. You know how in ‘The Portrait of Dorian Gray’ Basil describes being dominated by Dorian’s personality? I think even in the fascination there is still domination. The only way to respect yourself is to have casual sex where you don’t fancy them or only fancy them superficially. I might do a blog on this, actually. And change all the names of course.

We were talking for over an hour and later we somehow got to talking about a sex worker on Twitter and Renata said she’s really nice. Then I told Renata a really funny thing I said to her about someone else, which is hilarious: “I hope the radfems find her house and eat all of her ice cream and then spank her until she cries”. (By the way, I did add at the time that if they did it would be rape and I’d be “absolutely mad”. I also added that she could just buy more ice ceam and being spanked can’t really hurt you.)

Then I got interested in what it would look like. This is absolutely normal for me – I love to imagine the nuance of every scene and how everyone would react. So I said “I wonder what that would look like?” and Renata says “Now you’ve put it in my head! I can’t get that image out of my head now”. I begged her to describe it to me and she would only describe it a tiny bit, saying stuff like “spanking session” and “rather large radical feminists” and I was giggling and writing it down for wanking material. Renata said she wouldn’t describe it and I was like “PLEASE! I’ll do anything, I’ll do stuff I didn’t do with Roland” and we’re both in hysterics and she says she has some old erotic books she can give me.

I’m like, “Is she crying? In your head?”

Renata: “No, she was into it.”

Me: “Oh. I thought she’d be crying and it would be really painful.”

Her: “That was in YOUR head, not my head.”

You see why I get distracted from blogging.


I was 7 years old. It was the Nineties. The place was a shop in Oban. The thing that was to change my life was a small, flip-pad style notebook with a Highland cow on the front cover. My mum bought it for me without me asking her for it. I filled it up in a few weeks and asked for another one. As the years passed I went through many, many notebooks. I made my own little books. At age 9 I created my first illustrated BDSM stories and comics. At 12 I was filling multiple notebooks with stories and had one for erotic stories. I typed lots of stuff on a word processor from age 11 and at age 14 we got a desktop. All those years ago I started writing in that Highland Cow notebook and I haven’t stopped writing since.



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