Columns: Making out

Sometimes it’s not the chandelier-swinging, gymnastic-style, heart-pumping sex that one needs. Don’t get me wrong – being thrown against the wall and screwed within an inch of one’s life, has its time and place, as I have said here many times. But there are occasions, particularly when one or both of you are tired, a

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Columns: Our lips are sealed

My unique situation with The Man means that very few people know what I get up to in my spare time. In fact I like to think most would assume I enjoy quiet nights in with a cup of hot chocolate, a good book and a spot of needlecraft or baking. But I am not

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Birthday bubbly

For DSM birthdays are not usually popping corks and explosive climaxes of fireworks. I prefer to get a year older quietly and discreetly, especially now I’m the wrong side of 35. A table for two somewhere half-decent is the most I aim for. So my recent annual day was set to be more of the

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Artistic licence

When I casually suggested The Man took up life drawing classes, naïve though it sounds, I had no idea that I was going to be his model. After all, at the time we had not had sex or been alone together for months. I had an eight-month-old baby so had been pretty tied up with

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Surrender your weapon

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” sings Tom Jones in his throaty, soulful tones to a rather breathless Cerys Matthews as they flirt and tease through the classic song. And it certainly is a touch chilly, but I am not here to discuss the weather – that would only disappoint you. But Tom Jones does lead me

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Column: Not in front of the children

When my daughter was about three she walked in on the ex and I ‘in the act’. It was a Sunday morning and as usual she had woken up and wandered into our room to try to burrow under our duvet. The ex developed a rather strange high pitched voice and said: “Can you get

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Columns: Cheap thrills

Like many girls pre-sexual awakening, I now with hindsight realise I had been turned on a number of times in my growing years, before I could even identify the deep stirring inside me. This is something very innocent and natural that occurs, often when you are alone; those feelings of excitement which you feel again

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Columns:Trying it on for size

If there is a sure-fire way to shatter the dregs of one’s self-esteem, it has to be trying on a pile of clothes in various shop changing rooms. And in the January sales, many of us have probably taken this reliable route, as DSM did today. Think you are getting a little too self-assured and

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Columns: Please please me

Happiness is often something you only know you have experienced retrospectively. The only time, in DSM’s view, that you know you are happy in the present tense (and omitting anything chemically induced) is either when you are laughing out loud or during an orgasm. Otherwise, it’s only after the event that you think: “Actually, that

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Is it a ‘Wonderful Life’?

‘Every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings’ or so they say in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’… If only life were so simple, innocent and beautiful. Frank Capra’s iconic Christmas classic from 1947 reminds us of those sweeter days. James Stewart is the businessman who loses everything but is saved from suicide by

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Sexy Santa

Dear Santa (or would you prefer Santa Baby or maybe even SB), I can’t say I’ve been an ‘awful good girl’ – I have probably been an awful bad girl for much of the time, or just plain awful… But if you can see your way clear of rewarding me for some of the good

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Catch us if you can…

…But please don’t – it’s the risk of being caught that’s so exhilarating. If we actually did get caught, we would probably die of embarrassment. And what are we doing that we don’t want to get caught doing? Nicking sweets from the newsagents? Writing rude words on toilet walls? Flicking elastic bands at people in

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Saying something stupid like…

…”Am I wobbling a lot?” Our whole lives are led by what we say – “I do”, “yes, I’ll take the job”, “Ok – I’ll put on the gimp mask”, “go on then – I’ll stay for another drink” etc. etc. Drunken Slut Mum has many moments when she wishes that, rather than letting the

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Shaves in toy land

Q: What do scallops, gin, spanking and olives all have in common? (This isn’t some kind of surreal joke, by the way). A: They are all things that Drunken Slut Mum would not go near with a barge pole when she was 18 but now she enjoys them all. I thought scallops looked too odd,

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Columns: Mediocre to Magic by Drunken Slut Mum

You may think Drunken Slut Mum is a woman lacking any conscience or morality, without any feelings or care for anyone else other than herself. She likes to pretend this, especially in front of the man, but sorry, this isn’t the case. DSM feels, hurts, loves and laughs just like any other woman. I love

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Columns: Light Relief by Drunken Slut Mum

As the hours of daylight start to dwindle, light and dark spring to mind as today’s theme. Before The Man, just the thought of sex in the light – be it daylight or with the light on – made me want to put on an extra cardigan. In the early years with The Ex it

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Features: Magic number?

So, we can all put our knickers back on again, pull up the duvet, look at the person next to us and consider how many notches we have now etched into our metaphorical bedposts… Is it single numbers?  Perhaps four, five or six? Or are we looking at the tens, twenties or even thirty plus?

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Columns: Back to School by Drunken Slut Mum

As a mum, who has the pastime, or affliction, of being a drunken slut, one has to grab opportunities with both hands, even if there are only minutes to spare… I walk briskly through the school gates, trying to avoid eye contact with the other parents. I try not to stand too close to anyone, just

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Columns: Enter ‘The Man’ by Drunken Slut Mum

So, I’ve confessed to being a Drunken Slut Mum – but who is to blame for my guilty secret? Yes, a lot of it is my fault, but The Man (we shall call him for lack of another name) – The Man who cleared the mist on my view of ‘the act’ and dazzled me

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Confessions of a Drunken Slut Mum

Hello there. Would you like to come and explore my world – a little secluded spot which sits somewhere between these lines? “Who are you?” I hear you ask. This is something I cannot tell you, but I am no one and anyone. I’m somewhere and anywhere: the tired-looking mum who’s waiting at the school

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