Category Archives: Ranty ones
Do I really need an online dating photo?
About five years ago when my online dating activity was at its peak, and I spent at least as much time checking OKCupid as I did checking Facebook, I didn’t have a profile photo. Nothing.
I had previously had a profile furnished not just with a picture of my face but a couple of online dating photo ‘action shots’, by which I mean ‘pictures of me in a pub drinking’ and one awkwardly posed ‘full body’ shot. Because having just one photo meant I got messages from people asking for more. They kept asking, though, and eventually I got rid of all the photos – roughly around the time I started this blog.
When you don’t have a profile photo, most of the messages you get will be from people demanding one.
“What do u look like?”
“I won’t date u without a pic.”
“How do I know you’re not a man tho lol.”
They will explain to you, in patronising terms, that you will get far more responses with a photo. Like they think you simply forgot, and you’ll slap your forehead and go “Of COURSE! Thank you kind stranger for telling me what OKCupid tries to tell me every FUCKING TIME I log in!”
What are real women and how can I tell if I am one?
Guys guys guys guys guys you’ll never guess what, right? Real women have curves.
They do, you know. They have curves and faces and they are three-dimensional.
According to some magazines, they also have a ‘pre-sex ritual.’
Real women. REAL women. It is very important that you know this, for some reason. VERY IMPORTANT INDEED. For you must be able to identify the Real Women from the Women Who We Have Decided For Some Reason Are Not Real.
Real women shave their bikini lines, and simultaneously do not shave their bikini lines, like Schroedinger’s muff.
Real women eat brownies and are also ‘gluten-free’ and they shop in the sales and they laugh at crap telly.
Reel women like fish.
Real women have lipstick smears on their teeth and are half-cut on Christmas brandy that they found in the back of their Mum’s cupboard when they were visiting home for Christmas.
Real women don’t care if they have boyfriends.
Real women are married and will have children because that is the law.
Real women are composed entirely of dust, electrified into motion in a vaguely corporeal shape.
Real women hide their tentacles from strangers, for modesty.
Réal women like football.
Real women fly, but only at heights below 1000 feet, and only if they feel like it and they aren’t busy watching Bargain Hunt.
Real women prefer Cadbury’s Roses to crappy Nestle Quality Street and we will fight you for the caramel barrels.
Real women are solid at room temperature, but liquefy at 38 degrees centigrade, which is why we have separate saunas at the gym.
Real women – the ones who have curves – can tell you the exact equation of any given curve should you wish to reproduce it on a graph.
Are you cut out to be a sex writer?
Are you interested in sex? Do you enjoy the fact that humans have sex in different ways, with a number of different people, in a variety of interesting positions? If someone tells you about a cool new sex game or a fetish that’s new to you, is your first reaction to go ‘ooh, wow! That sounds interesting please tell me more’?
You might want to be a sex writer.
If any of the above things have made you recoil slightly, a frown of disgust on your face, or made you feel like you should hammer out a comment about how some people are just ‘sick’, ‘creepy’ or ‘gross’? Then I cannot stress this enough, but please:
do not become a sex writer.
Don’t tell me sucking dick is easy
Today a guy wrote a Vice article about why he doesn’t want to eat pussy. There are a number of things I could say in response to his article, mostly involving swearwords, and desperate pleas that he stop repeating the same tedious bullshit that comes out whenever any straight bloke thinks he has a Scorching Hot Take on the subject of eating cunt.
As a general rule, my opinion on cunnilingus is that it’s not really my bag, but I’ll enjoy doing it to a lady if I’m fucking her. If you want to eat it, tuck in, but I won’t shame you if you’d rather not.
However, what I DO object to is the implication that it’s far more onerous to ask someone to give cunnilingus than it is to ask for a blow job. In the piece, the author says:
“The penis is a simple thing – it’s hard to get things completely wrong.”
To which I reply: HOW FUCKING HARD ARE YOU SHITTING ME, SUNSHINE?
Beware the Superdom, and other people who tell you they’re good in bed
There’s a man who is half-human and half-legend. He is fierce, strong, powerful. He can pick you up with his bare hands, flip you over his knee, and give you a spanking so perfect that it will transport you to a new realm of ecstasy. Afterwards he will fuck you so skilfully that you will become aware of a new level of orgasmic joy.
That man is the Superdom.
If you’re lucky enough to meet him, it will probably be on a kink forum somewhere. Perhaps he will write a post explaining to other, lesser Doms how to control a submissive, hinting that if you’re lucky you could be one of them. Maybe he slides into your private messages with an order to “Obey.” If you don’t immediately slick your knickers/pop a huge, granite-hard boner, then you are probably not the submissive for him. He does not want your questions or your negotiation: he demands only your unquestioning obedience.
Superdom, sadly, is all too real. I met a fair few incarnations of him when I was pretty active on the kink scene. He’d look at you with smouldering eyes, and tell you exactly what he was going to do. He’d usually let you know that you could only come if he ordered you to, and that you’d come at exactly the moment he specified (yeah, right). He’d give you lists of punishments and tasks and insist on you calling him ‘Sir’, even if you’d never agreed to submit to him.
He was a dick.