Category Archives: The human body

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Why won’t tall women date short men? A theory…

I’m 5′ 11”. In my life, I have slept with a fair few men, most of whom were the same height as, or taller than me. Am I horribly shallow? No, not really. But I can tell you that as a tall girl it’s genuinely quite difficult to find shorter guys who are actually willing to fuck me.

Of those who might be up for a shag, many have spent a long time making excruciatingly tedious comments about how massive I am, or listing ways in which I need to slightly adjust (take off heels, slouch a bit, sit down) in order to meet with their approval. That tends to put me off a bit, to be honest.

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How fashionable are your tits?

My tits are sort-of-round-ish, perhaps not as firm as they were when I was nineteen, and they have nipples that sit a little bit lower on the breast than I believe is currently fashionable. They’re probably a bit bigger than they were when I was young, which I think makes them a bit more fashionable, and because I am a white girl who barely gets out in the sun, I never have tit tan-lines. Which is great because as far as I understand it, tan lines are less acceptable than no tan lines, in this year of our Lord 2016.

Does that paragraph sound a bit weird to you? Like I am rambling drunkenly on a subject which should by no rights even exist? Of course. Yet all you need to do is look at some old-school porn to realise that there are distinct fashions in what we expect people’s bodies to look like.

I’m not talking here about hair – beards, bushes and fantastic 80s perms all seem to pop in and out of porn fashion depending on the country and the year. Things like body hair can be changed, so although naturally it’s shit that anyone’s expected to either grow or shave their hair, to a certain extent fashions are inevitable. I’m about as fashion-conscious as a dead rat in Marks and Spencer, but I do understand that for many people fashion is fun. You can play around with your clothes, hair, make up etc: making yourself look scary-executive-badass one minute and rainbow-coloured-punk-prince the next. Ace. Likewise when you’re picking your sexy look, you can have all-over body hair one minute, and the next decide you want to wax half of it off leaving just a hairy heart shape in the middle.

But there are also fashions for what breasts should look like. And that is WEIRD, people. Really fucking weird.

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One girl’s adventures in Cock Hero

Long-time readers will remember that a few months ago I got very excited by the concept of a Guitar Hero style game, but for wanking. It’s called Cock Hero, and the gentleman who discovered the idea and sent it to me very kindly gave me an in-depth explanation of what Cock Hero is, and why it is so fucking horny.

Essentially you masturbate in time to a beat, along to a montage of porn put together specifically to challenge you. It begins fairly softcore, and the beat counter at the bottom of the screen directs you in slow, occasional strokes. Then as the game progresses, the porn gets more intense and the beat counter speeds up, whipping you into a rhythmic frenzy until it’s all you can do to hold back on the inevitable jizzsplosion.

Naturally I was intrigued, and I have spent the next few months getting involved in Cock Hero on a casual gaming basis, because I like playing with dicks and I am lucky enough to know a guy who’ll let me have a go on his in the name of Friday-night fun. I thought I’d give you a run-down of my own tips and hacks, in case you fancy playing yourself. It is probably the niche-est article I have ever written, and it may only be of interest to me, so I have tried to spice it up with some detailed descriptions of wanking people off.

Ready? Let’s go.

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My clit is broken and I’m not happy about it

I have broken my clit on numerous occasions in the past. Usually due to excessive masturbation or obsession over a new sex toy that has led it to go sore and numb and good for nothing. Now, however, my clit is broken for a disturbing Other Reason, and that is that I have not wanked for over a week.

I KNOW.

Over Christmas, circumstances conspired to mean it was pretty much impossible for me to masturbate. Visiting family, stress, the stress of visiting family: these things don’t just add up, they multiply, and leave me totally unable to wank.

Hence: my clit is broken.

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Not perfect, but done

When I was young, I used to think about all the things I wanted to be when I grew up. Looking to the future, I’d see myself in lots of different roles. Lawyer (the first, and most intense of my Future Dreams), comedian (very brief desires, always stamped out by the fact that I’m not as funny as I think I am), and often writer (that one’s stuck).

It was – and still is – fun to imagine all the cool things I could do and be if I had the skill, and put in the effort.

But something’s changed since I was younger, and that’s that I think far less about what I could be, or what I want to do, and more on what I want to have done. Looking at writing, I am less likely to imagine myself beavering away at a desk with a typewriter (most dreams of writerhood involve those clackety old typewriters, despite the fact that they’re deeply impractical things), and more likely to imagine myself lying face down in a pile of scribbled-on manuscript, exhaling a sigh of relief and exhaustion.

Less likely to consider what I want to do in future, and more keen to think about what I want written on my gravestone.

“She tried her best” might be a good one. Or right now simply: “Knackered.”

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