Happy belated Valentine’s Day!
For someone whose working life consists of espousing the life erotic, you may be surprised to hear that I genuinely loathe the annual sentiment-and-spunk fest. This is purely on the basis that I’m not very much into the collective celebration of very individual communion (I take the same approach to God and working out). Nonetheless, despite sending my CP (Californian Paramour) a message on Facebook to double-check that we were not celebrating V-day earlier that morning, I was rollering my hair in the bathroom when said CP came home and filled the apartment with the suspicious sound of rustling cellophane.
CP appeared empty-handed moments later. Disappointed? How could I be? I’d strictly instructed him to forget about it. With relief, I found myself saying, ‘You know what I hate about Valentine’s? The fact hapless men decide they might as well buy a lacklustre bunch of flowers on the way home. Either do something grand and original, or don’t bother!’
‘Erm..’ He takes me into the living room and shows me the spikey native blooms that are my floral gift. ‘I looked everywhere for a cabbage for you [he means ornamental cabbage, my current floriferous obsession] but I couldn’t get one I’m afraid. At least they aren’t roses.’
‘You really didn’t have to, babe.’
‘Oh, but I did. As I said to my feminist co-worker, “my girlfriend’s a feminist too but I know that when a woman says she doesn’t want something, you ignore her at your peril.’
Shame on me for conveying a ‘no means yes’ – but I’m secretly glad he ignored my protests.
Anyway, here’s a little interview I did with the website West London Mums about erotic writing and partner pleasure to coincide with the festival of love. Enjoy.