NEW COLUMN: Dehydrated – the sex blog for the unsexy

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We’re pleased to announce the launch of Dehydrated, your monthly sex column written by our resident writer, Kim Bond. Every four weeks she’ll be here with your dose of real talk and a side order of relatable cringe when it comes to all things sex. 

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I first got the idea for Dehydrated after watching Sex and the City. The no-holds-barred frank sex confessions paired with its razor sharp wit made the show incredibly watchable. And yet, I couldn’t necessarily describe it as entirely relatable. Carrie was frankly too cool, too sitcom and too American for my liking – with a slight cock of an eyebrow and a wry smile she always had witty repartee with even the most tawdry of her shags. I mean I know she was a writer, but the woman could make a pun out of “shoulding all over yourself,” for fuck’s sake.

I am the anti-Carrie in that respect: less Sex and the City and more Awkward Fumble in the Dales. I am not collective and very rarely witty in person. Usually, I’m just a mess.

Sex And The City, as much as I hugely enjoyed it, scares me. It’s all very well watching four confident and communication savvy women going out there and playing men at their own game, but where was the representative for all those socially awkward? We have sex too you know, albeit rarely. The problem with Sex and the City was that they made it look so easy to take a man by the balls and lead him to the bedroom, and I’m sure it is easy when you have the looks of any one of the show’s main cast. But what about the rest of us? I’m basically R2D2 with armpits. Where’s my tall glass of water?

Hence the namesake; I am constantly thirsty, I am constantly lead to water but I’m rarely allowed to drink. It’s taken its toll, and my desperate search for an oasis in this desert has lead to some few sips, but they all turn out to be mirages; appearing promising at the time but ultimately have left me even more parched in my search for the real thing.

My thirst has got so bad I’m now at the (word) vomit stage of dehydration; the confused ramblings of a woman who’s simply gasping for well, anything, at this stage in the search of a drink.

So this is for my fellow thirsty friends, my cacti waiting for the storm; for those whose sex lives are not as exciting and cosmopolitan as television would like us to believe it to be but actually rather humiliating, painful, and depressingly infrequent. Hopefully my experiences as a thirsty woman will provide you with a few crumbs (or sips) of comfort that sex and relationships doesn’t have to be reserved for the socially competent.


Words by Kim Bond

Rebecca Curry is your Editor-in-Chief

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