I’m a massive, massive girl. I stand at five foot 11 in bare feet, which means that in the pretty boots I rock a good six feet three inches. Massive.

Wikipedia informs me that the average height for guys in England is five foot 9 or 10 inches (depending on age). If I only fucked guys who were taller than me I’d have spent most of my life alone.

Practicalities aside, there is genuinely nothing wrong with a male/female coupling in which the guy is shorter. The only reason we think it’s weird is because cretins point out that society has certain expectations about height. It’s a way to make people feel self-conscious about things they have no control over – playground bullying that grown ups should have grown out of.

My first ever boy was pretty small – he came just a bit higher than my shoulder. But you know what? I got used to it after about a week, and from then on the only time I noticed it was when shallow, judgemental arseholes would make comments about it.

“Don’t you get a sore neck when you’re kissing him? HAHAHA.”

No more than guys get when they’re with shorter girls, you gold-plated prick.

People pretend to be interested in the mechanics of a small guy fucking a woman who’s taller:

“Doesn’t it make it harder when you’re fucking standing up?”

No. Doesn’t your miserable attitude make it difficult for you to fuck at all?

They’re not really interested – they just want to discuss it and point out how ridiculous it is that we don’t conform to the exact physical expectations that they’d have regarding gender and height. Ha fucking ha.

Dear short men

You’re hot. But you’re not hot because you’re short – as with the vast majority of the population your height has little bearing on your fuckability. A tight, firm ass, a deliciously-placed tattoo, a penchant for dropping filthy comments into pub conversation – these are the most important things.

So no matter how many inches you have, work them with confidence. If you’re low on self-esteem there are some things you can change – you can be fatter or thinner or nicer or more likely to put out, but you cannot change your height – rock whatever you have with confidence and charm, and the people who matter will fuck you no matter what.

Some guys try and disguise their height with, for instance, big shoes or by *cough* Sarkozy *cough* standing on a box. But not only is it unnecessary, I’d argue that it’s actually going to make you look worse.

I’d never turn down a fuck with someone just because they were short. But I might turn one down if he was massively paranoid about the difference between him and me. If he was uncomfortable about standing next to me, or hated it when I wore boots, or made me feel like I should slouch when I was around him – those are crappy things to do. Being short? That’s just who you are.

So dress yourself up, go out, talk to ladies, shatter people’s expectations, be great at your job, stand up like you mean it – love things, fuck things, do good in the world. And if anyone mocks your height or laughs at you when you’re with a taller woman, give them the biggest ‘fuck off’ you can muster. You’re always going to be short, but you should never ever feel small.

Dear tall women

Once I was in bed with a guy who whispered to me:

“You know, the great thing about small women is you can put them up against a wall and fuck them.”

I’m 5′ 11″ – a giantess of a woman – he wasn’t talking about me. Since then I’ve had occasional issues with my height – I used to find out how tall guys were before I went on dates with them so I’d know whether I was OK to wear heels. I’d slouch and I’d lean and I’d try to do most things sitting down. I’d refrain from dancing, I’d wear flats, I’d voluntarily make my life less fun just in case people judged me for being tall.

But since then, other guys have said other things:

“Fuck, you’re so tall. I fucking love tall girls.”

“Wear the massive pretty boots. Please?”

And I learned something utterly crucial: the best guys couldn’t give a flying fuck. Whether you’re five foot five or six foot six, a decent guy will fuck you anyway. Men don’t usually shag you because of your specific physical features – they shag you because you rock them with confidence.

So the next time someone says “wow, you’re tall for a lady” I want you to grab the nearest thing off a high shelf and fling it at their stupid sexist head. Find your biggest, stampiest pair of boots and crush them beneath the heel. Stand up straight, pull your shoulders back, and use your long, gorgeous legs to swing a kick in their general direction.

Because you’re massive, and brilliant, and you can take on the world if you want to. Don’t let that world make you feel small.

 

Warning: this entry was written back in 2011 when I was a bit of a shitbag and had some fairly trash opinions. I stand by what I said about not having a massive wank in anticipation of a date, but some of the other stuff is way harsher than I’d write if I were doing this post today.

If you have problems getting hard I will always say “it doesn’t matter.” You can hold me and fuck me with your hand, eat me out, beat me up, tell me I’m the sexiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen and it’s all just nerves/drink/etc and give me orgasms so explosive I can’t stand up for a while.

But it does still matter. It really does.

There’s nothing more satisfying than shoving your hands down someone’s trousers and finding something nice and hard to grip – rock solid. Sometimes, with particularly keen boys, it’s dripping. Hawt.

If I reach down and you’re flaccid it’s … disappointing. I’ll smile and I’ll kiss you and I’ll suck you until you regain some semblance of a hardon, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.

It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, and usually it’s a hurdle I’m willing to leap for someone filthy and funny and fuckable. But sometimes your reasons give me cause to not invite you back. Here’s the breakdown:

I’ve drunk too much

Fair enough: good excuse. But if you’ve drunk so much that you can’t get hard, why did you come back to mine? I wouldn’t invite you back if I’d glued my pants on and was incapable of sex, so why do you think it’s OK to make promises you know you won’t be able to keep? If you can’t fuck, don’t accept my invitation to fuck – you’ll only disappoint.

If you are in this situation, it’s far far better to snog me at the bus stop, grab my tits and growl something predatory into my ear, then tell me you’ll see me tomorrow or next week. That gives you time to sober up a bit, and gives me time to frig myself blind thinking about you in the meantime. Everyone’s a winner.

I’m old

Men of a certain age often develop problems with erectile dysfunction. I am not stupid. I also love older guys (there’s something about a dirty old man that makes me blush and get hot). So this is obviously an acceptable excuse.

It’s also, brilliantly, a problem for which medical science has come up with a solution. If you can’t get hard without help; get some fucking help. In my experience those sweet sweet blue pills get you hard enough that you’d confidently expect to beat a hormonal teenager in a boner-duel.

Massive disclaimer: I am not medically qualified and Viagra may have certain side effects that are bad for you. Please check with your GP, don’t just buy some random shit off the internet, yeah?

I’m on anti-depressants

These cause problems for a lot of guys. Am I particularly drawn to guys who are on anti-depressants, or is it just the case that a lot of people take them? Who knows. But I’ve been informed that, for some people, these can cause occasional impotence and anorgasmia.

That sucks, and you can have every ounce of sympathy that I have to spare at the time of you telling me this. But it isn’t going to make me acquiesce to any other kind of play. I’m not going to agree to fuck you if you’ve told me you can’t fuck – if there’s nothing in me there’s nothing in it for me.

I had a massive wank in anticipation of our date

This is not an excuse. Ever. If you do this I will be livid, and you don’t deserve my gentle “it doesn’t matter”s and soft blow jobs to try and make things work again.

Why, in anticipation of something sexual, would you want to forcibly expel all the sexual power from your body? Men often complain about the sexual power that women hold over them, with our lovely tits and sashaying arses that hold you in so much thrall. Well, you have that power over women too, and your power is generally manifest in a rock-solid dick that we’d like to sit on. So don’t get rid of it.

If you’re worried that you might get an erection under the table, get over that worry and think about what it means. If you were on for a shag anyway, your under-the-table erection is not a tragic, teenage thing; it’s an excuse for me to touch you under the fucking table.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good wank as much as the next sex-crazed harpy, but if your onanism interferes with the sex you’ve promised me, I’m going to kick off. Understand that there’s a time and a place for it. Before you come out to see me is definitely not the right time. But kneeling on my stomach with your cock poised over my tits is probably a pretty good place.

 

Postscript: I know this isn’t the done thing for girls to say – we’re supposed to be totally fine with impotence and accept that there’s more to sex than just penetration. And there is, for most people. But for me, that stuff is all just nice window-dressing for the bit that actually gets me off – the bit where your rock-solid cock is in me. 

Call me whatever you like, and tell me I’m a bastard, but if you could only get off if I pissed on your face and I was unwilling or unable to piss on your face, I wouldn’t expect you to have sex with me anyway – I’d expect you to find someone who could fulfil your specific sexual needs. My specific sexual need is that you’re hard. Hard and in me. 

It’s brilliant. Can I leave it at that? No, I guess not – it’s complicated.

Please assume when I’m talking about porn and singing its sweaty, jizz-splattered praises, I’m talking about porn in which the people are consenting, well paid (if it’s professional), well looked after, etc. Of course you can never fully know this. Even a lot of amateur porn sometimes gives me nervous thoughts if I realise it could have been filmed secretly or uploaded without all participants giving consent.

But perhaps this is a discussion for another day.

For now let’s just talk about why its brilliant. I’m a big fan of imagination, and I like to think that my own is, if not great, then at least capable of furnishing me with enough scenarios to keep me happily wanking for the rest of my life, with only occasional breaks to drink gin and eat crisps.

However, it’s nice to look at someone else’s imagination now and then. Apart from giving me some nice stuff to wank to, porn has also improved my life in a number of excellent ways.

Porn inspires me to try new things

Some things I do by instinct – mostly submissive stuff. No one needs to show me a video of a girl crying while she gets throat-fucked to tell me that, you know, it’s spectacularly hot.

But most of the dominant things I do I learned by watching porn. I’m not naturally the sort of person who would put nipple clamps on a guy, make him take the chain in his mouth, then ride him while he squealed in agony. Likewise, why would I instinctively tie something tight around a guy’s cock and balls so it throbbed and ached while I wanked him to the brink of coming, over and over again, until he cried?

These are things I learnt from porn. And now that I have seen them, not only have I done them and enjoyed it – I’ve also been tempted to try out more new things. Some of them hit, some of them missed, and some of them have blown my mind.

It gets boys in the mood

Believe it or not, guys aren’t always up for a fuck. Sometimes they’re tired or drunk or hungover or stressed or in the middle of rolling a joint or writing an essay. And in these situations, it is always worth picking one of your favourite videos and putting it in his line of sight. Sometimes he’ll ignore it, or shout “woman, you will be the fucking death of me” but sometimes it’ll work.

On a good day he’ll catch on to exactly what you want him to do and you can watch his dick grow hard through his jeans until it’s solid enough for you to sit on. Porn did that. Way to go, porn.

Porn’s good for hinting

Ever had sex and wished they’d fuck you just that little bit harder? Want to find out what buttsex is like but too nervous to ask? Got a thing for pissing into a cup then forcing your partner to drink it? Or soaping your girl up, pushing a shower hose into her cunt and watching her squirm as she comes in the bath?

These can all be difficult subjects to broach, especially if your sex life is reasonably vanilla. So porn can be a great way to test the waters of something before you leap in with it. Send someone a video with a teasing question – ‘I don’t know why, but this really gets me hot. What do you think?’ The worst they can do is say no. The best they can do is rock up at your house with a bucket of lube and a filthy grin.

But, girlonthenet, what is the best bit of porn on the internet?

Good question, I’m glad you asked. It is this one. You’re welcome.

Postscript: if this link breaks please leave a comment letting me know. Occasionally this video gets deleted from places and I have to do some crying and then re-find it.

Heresy though it is – I don’t really like it.

I don’t actively dislike it, and if you want me to sit on your face I will no doubt have quite a pleasant time. Ultimately what you’re doing is tonguing my clit, which is better than a kick in the teeth. But there’s something missing – your cock.

It sounds a bit dull, but my actual fetish (in the strictest sense of ‘can’t properly get off without it’) is your cock. I want it to be hard, and in me – I don’t care where. My mouth, my ass, my cunt – plunge it into one of my armpits and hump till you’re spent for all I care. But for me to have a good time it has to be hard and more or less in me.

And so getting head is usually a bit frustrating. It’s pleasant, it ticks most of the boxes and stimulates the nerve endings that matter, but there’s just something missing. In a contest between two otherwise equal guys, one of whom was offering to tongue me until I saw stars, and the other who was offering to fuck my mouth and then push me out of a window, I’d go for the latter, no question.

Getting head just doesn’t, as a rule, do it for me.

The bit that contradicts that bit I’ve just written

I feel like this would fall a bit flat if I didn’t give you some sort of detail – it’s quite a dull opinion, after all – so I’ll admit that there was one guy who gave head that made me drool. OK, not just drool – writhe and moan and whimper and squirm and sigh and come.

I had no idea why – at the time I couldn’t work out what the hell it was that made his mouth so much more worth having there than anyone else’s. Having had time to reflect on it I’d hazard that part of the reason was that he made a point of it. It wasn’t a cursory thing. He wasn’t bending down and licking as a short prelude to sex, a ‘do I have to do this?’ reciprocation of the head I’d given him – he lay between my legs, he got comfy, and most importantly (I think) he settled the fuck down.

That definitely made me relax and enjoy it more, but it still didn’t really explain why what he was doing felt so different. I enjoyed it partly because I knew he was in it for the long haul, but partly because I was genuinely enjoying the sensation.

I’m so ineloquent on this subject. I’m stumped. I have no idea what a boy can do with his mouth that makes a girl go crazy – I have no idea what, specifically, he was doing that made me so happy. But that’s OK – I don’t know everything. Luckily, there’s always the option to draft in the experts.

If you’ve never emailed an ex to say “hey, you did this thing that was fucking spectacular and I have no idea why or how, would you mind writing about it so I can publish it on (oh by the way I write) a sex blog?” then you definitely should. It wields spectacular results.

Ladies and gents, I give you Number 10:

I give my best head when I’m really turned on, and it’s largely intuitive/instinctual at that point. In order to stay at that maximum-hardness level of turned on for a decent length of time I need some sort of stimulation to my cock. Sixty-nine-ing or her having a hand free are obviously good (although if I’m doing it properly she won’t be coherent enough to stay focused on what she’s doing) but if I want her to be able to just relax and enjoy it I find lying face down with my weight on my cock suffices.

Here’s my theory on why it works, though I could be wrong. I thought before that it had something to do with equivalence of nerve endings – that you can see the connection between a guy’s cock and a girl’s clit, and imagine that one is the other – I don’t think that was quite right. I now think it’s more to do with being able to tap into the rhythm and intensity drives associated with being fully erect and stimulated. I’d guess what I’m doing with my tongue is following the same tempo as my cock would be, if it were there.

So there you go. But don’t take my word for it – or indeed his. Everyone’s different, which is what makes the world such a fascinating and disgusting and horrifying and excellent place. You might do it differently and have your ladyfriend squirming with the unrestrained delight of a kid in a Christmas-themed sweetshop. You might be a girl who can’t come without at least 45 minutes of good, solid, selfless head.

I just happen to be one of those who, barring extremely specific circumstances, can probably take it or leave it. But you know what? That’s OK.

It means that if you like it we can do it and have fun, and if you don’t like it you can sit back and recline while I take your dick right to the back of my throat, safe in the knowledge that you won’t have to reciprocate with anything more than a pat on the ass and a ‘good girl’ when I’m done.