In sixty minutes, my entire history makes more sense. I’m not broken, I’mdivergent. Painted in different colours on the samecanvas, but still a valid picture.
And I have Tippi to thank for nudging me towards the door I’d been too scared to open.
Speaking of Tippi…
I looked up her blog moments after she left on what I’m mentally calling Pancake Night. That was a big mistake. I stayed up until three AM, completely hooked.
Her writing is sharp and to the point, with a layer of mischief that never tips into cruelty. The photos are… let’s saychallenging. She models the most intricate lingerie sets in every colour and fabric I’ve ever seen, offering discount codes almost as an afterthought. It should feel like a barrage of affiliate links, but somehow it doesn’t. The products orbit the content, not the other way round.
My eyes keep going back to the pictures. The way silk and mesh hugs her body. The curve of hip and shoulder. In one series, she’s in printed cotton knickers so cute they make my brain short circuit; I have entirely ungentlemanly thoughts about hooking my teeth into the waistband and pulling them down.
Then I find the sex toy reviews, and that’s it. I’m finished.
I’m simultaneously blissfully relieved and crushingly disappointed there are no photos of her actually using any of them. She holds them like trophies, scored via a grid of stylised penis icons. I had no idea there was so much variety. In my mind, “sex toys” were just rubber phalluses in different colours.
She has rose-shaped toys; dual-stimulation vibrators that look like modern art sculptures; one gadget that resembles aStar Trekphaser and apparently uses rhythmic suction on the clitoris. The headline makes me snort aloud:Phasers set to thrill. It gets four out of five penises.
I scroll until I find something higher. One called the Passion Flower gets a seven out of five. It looks like a calla lily with soft spines in the middle.
Made my legs shoot out straight like a fainting goat… If you only buy one vibrator, let it be this one!
I actually groan, quietly but audibly, at my desk. My imagination supplies the rest: her hair in disarray, her skin flushed, her breath catching as she tips over the edge again and again…
I slam the laptop shut before I make a worse spectacle of myself. Even though I’m alone, I don’t want to know how ludicrous I was.
No subject seems off-limits onJust the Tippi. She covers everything: anal sex basics, best “rip-off-able” underwear, how to explore kinks safely, how to test the waters with same-gender attraction, how to navigate sex after trauma. Every post is a perfect balance of fearless and respectful. All genders and orientations are folded in. Nobody gets laughed at or excluded, only welcomed and celebrated.
I force myself to log off and go to bed. The blog will still be there tomorrow. One thing is certain, though: given the way I’m straining against my boxers, I don’t need to talk to my GP about erectile issuesjustyet.
I wake from a hazy tangle of half-remembered dreams of heat, hands, and silver laughter, and reach for my phone before my eyes are fully open.
Back to the blog.
She’s even more beautiful in the photos than I remembered, ifsuch a thing is possible. This time, I veer away from the images and open the podcast tab, letting her voice pour into my headphones.
She has a way of speaking that’s like a purr with teeth. Warm, but precise. Laugh ready, but never at the wrong person’s expense.
In one episode she discusses abrosexuality - sexuality that shifts over time - with a trans woman and a trans man who married before either transitioned. It’s fascinating and tender. You canhearthe affection between the three of them.
In another, she talks frankly about her pansexuality and invites her guests to do the same. Listening, I feel something settle inside me. If anyone could talk someone through confusion about their orientation or identity, it’s her. She moves between jokes and reassurance effortlessly, and the message remains clear: that love is never wrong, nobody is broken, and closeted people are still valid. She even offers actual, practical advice for those who have to stay hidden for safety.
The episode that won’t leave me alone, though, and plays on a loop through my workday, is a round table discussion she hosts at a sexual health conference in Brussels. She and a group of women from different countries compare favourite sex positions, what works with which bodies, and where pleasure and practicality intersect.
Dr Madhubanti Dutta (Harley Street gynaecologist): It’s always been my opinion that the cowgirl position allows for better control. You take whatyouneed, at the paceyouset; that’s YOUR orgasm.
Proletina Aladzhova (sex toy designer): True, but my preference is reverse cowgirl. I know you’re more likely to snap his dick [laughter from the group], but… I think I like the idea of him looking at my butt while I ride him. I have a nice butt.
Tippi Mills (sex blogger): You surely do, honey.
Dr Madhubanti Dutta: I savereversecowgirl for when I’m mad at my partner. I get to enjoy myself without looking at his stupid face. [More laughter]
Lieke Alderliesten: (Sex worker): I have many requests from my clients for me to be the one on top.
Tippi Mills: Really? That’s a surprise.
Lieke Alderliesten: Not so much. They get to lie back and move very little, just enjoying what comes. On top is a lot of energy. And one client was unhappy with me because I [sound of chair moving rhythmically] rode him like scooting in a chair. It felt nice tome, though! But he wanted up, down, up, down. More stimulation for his dick, and made him feel like a bigger man.
Proletina Aladzhova: Ugh, that’s so disappointing. God forbid his bed partner also enjoys herself. I don’t care if you were being paid, you deserved yours as well.
